She smiled wearily. “A little late, but here nevertheless.”
He pushed the door wide and she stepped past him and into the warm house. The scents of cooking food drifted to her nostrils, reminding her that she’d not eaten since midmorning and that had been a hastily swallowed Danish at her desk.
The trips here to the Chino home had taken huge bites out of her normal routine, forcing her to work without any sort of breaks.
As they started down the hallway, he said, “Grandmother is improving. She ate stew tonight. Your medicine is working.”
The gratitude she heard in his voice warmed her and lifted some of the fatigue from her shoulders. “It’s not just my medicine that is helping to pull Naomi through this illness. She’s fighting to be well.”
By now they had reached his grandparents’ bedroom and she was about to step through the partially open door when Johnny’s hand suddenly touched the back of her shoulder. It was the first time he’d voluntarily touched her since that day they’d kissed so passionately in the kitchen and she tried to hide her surprise as she twisted her head to look up at him.
“She’s fighting because of you, Bridget. I don’t know why. But you turned something around in her.”
For the first time since she’d been coming here to treat Naomi, his eyes softened and a faint hint of a smile lifted the corners of his chiseled mouth. For a second he looked like the Johnny who’d once kissed her so passionately, who’d held her so closely and lovingly that she very nearly wanted to weep.
“I’m not so sure about that,” she said in a strained voice. “But whatever the reason, I’m grateful for it.”
His brown gaze slowly roamed her face and as it purposely drew downward to her mouth, he drew in a long breath then released it. Except for the tingling in her lips, Bridget felt paralyzed as she waited for his next word or move.
“Grandmother is waiting.”
His pointed reminder caused her to quickly clear her throat and step into the sickroom. As Bridget moved toward the bed she was acutely aware of Johnny following.
Since Naomi no longer needed an IV drip, Bridget gathered up her evening oral medications and helped her down them with a glass of water.
After she’d listened intently to the woman’s heart and lungs, she asked, “Do you feel like sitting up this evening, Naomi? I’d like for you to stay up a while. It would be good for your lungs.”
“I can sit,” the older woman assured her.
Johnny and Charlie helped the woman out of bed and into a padded wooden rocker with a view out the room’s single window. Once Bridget made sure the woman was comfortable with a warm blanket tucked around her and her husband to keep her company, she and Johnny left the room.
“She needs to sit up at least forty minutes,” Bridget told him as they ambled down the short hallway toward the kitchen. “But I’ll check on her before then to make sure she’s not getting too tired.”
“If that happens Grandfather will tell us,” he assured her.
Nodding, she said, “I smell something delicious. Do you have anything left in the kitchen to eat?”
“Venison stew and cornbread.”
She cast him a sly glance. “Did you make it?”
“Grandmother has been in her sickbed. So I’m the only cook around here.”
Surprised by his remark, she paused to look at him. “You mean your grandmother normally does all the cooking for the family? She’s ninety-three years old, Johnny!”
“She would be offended if I tried to take over her job. Besides, it’s good for her. It gives her purpose.”
“What about Charlie?” she asked.
“He never learned how to do anything in the kitchen. On purpose, I think.”
His remark was the closest he’d come to joking since she’d seen him again and she felt warm all over as they both chuckled.
“C’mon,” he told her. “I’ll heat the stew.”
A few minutes later, Bridget finished the last few bites of the meaty mixture, then carried her bowl over to the sink where he was washing the last of the dishes.
“That was delicious, thanks.”
“There’s plenty more if you’re still hungry.”
“I’m stuffed. I couldn’t eat another bite.”
He washed her bowl and after placing it in a nearby dish drainer, dried his hands on a tea towel. “Would you like to walk to the barn? It’s not all that cold this evening.”
The unexpected invitation surprised her, especially when he’d seemed reluctant to spend time alone with her. Could he possibly be thawing toward her? she wondered. Was the time she was spending at the Chino home growing on him as it was her? No. These past few days, he’d simply decided to be civil and friendly. That’s all. To think otherwise would be foolish.
“Sure. The fresh air would be nice,” she agreed.
“I’ll fetch your coat from my grandparents’ room,” he told her.
When he returned to the kitchen a few moments later, he was already wearing a jean jacket with a sheep wool collar. As he helped her on with her coat, Bridget tried not to think about the feel of his warm breath close to her ear, the touch of his hands as they smoothed the heavy fabric over the slope of her shoulders.
It would be so easy to turn and press her body against his, to slide her arms around his neck and invite him to kiss her. But he didn’t want that from her, she thought sadly. At least, he’d said he didn’t. And she didn’t want to risk the chance of freezing the bits of warmth that had grown between them these past few days.
“One of the nannies had twins last night,” he announced as they stepped onto a small back porch. “You might want to see them.”
He started down the steps and she joined him in the descent. “I’d love to. We used to have a few goats on the ranch. The horses like them for company. But Daddy replaced them with donkeys. You probably already know that donkeys help keep predators away from the brood mares.”
They started across the backyard toward a stand of tall pines to where a tin barn sat on a rocky slope of ground. Night had already fallen, but the light of a fairly full moon joined the glow of a yard lamp to illuminate the rough path they were taking.
“I’ve heard that said.” He settled a steadying hand beneath her elbow. “You have much to do with the horses these days?”
“No. My work schedule is very—demanding. I do try to get down to the barns in the spring, though, to see the new foals being born.”
“Sometimes Brady mentions the stables your sister runs for the kids,” he said. “I think he likes helping out there.”
“Brady unknowingly married a horsewoman. So Lass fit perfectly on the ranch. And she’s made a great partner for Dallas. My sister’s got a few special projects on the go.” Glancing his way, she asked, “Have you ever visited Angel Wings Stable—the riding stables for the children that Dallas runs?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t go to the Diamond D anymore,” he said flatly. “Not since—”
It didn’t matter that he’d chosen not to finish the remainder of his sentence. Bridget knew exactly what he’d been about to say.
“Not since our affair ended,” she finished for him. The faint smile on her face was tinged with sadness. “Well, you never did go there much anyway.”
“No. I—never felt comfortable there.”
Bridget could probably count on both hands the few times that Johnny had stepped foot on the Diamond D and even then she’d not crossed his path. She’d only learned about his being there after the fact, through Brady.
“We Donovans aren’t snobs,” she said defensively.
“I never thought you were. You’re just—different from the Chinos.”
The difference between the Donovans and the Chinos should never matter, but she purposely kept the thought to herself. Telling Johnny that he was just as worthy as a Donovan wouldn’t fix anything. She’d tried it many times before. He needed to see for himself that h
e was just as good as her or the next person. Until then, she could forget about having any sort of future with the man.
By now they’d reached the barn and he opened a wooden gate with a sliding latch and motioned for her to precede him through it. “I’ve penned the nanny and the babies inside so they’d have more shelter from the cold tonight,” he explained as they moved along a narrow pathway between two board fences.
Inside the building, he pulled a string attached to an overhead lightbulb and Bridget blinked as she glanced around the dim interior. In one corner a wooden platform held a stack of alfalfa and several feed sacks and buckets. Two black cats were perched on the hay and their green eyes followed her warily as she and Johnny moved deeper into the building.
As soon as the nanny goat saw Johnny approaching, she bleated loudly and trotted over to greet him. Two tiny babies, the color of caramel candy, tried their best to keep up with their mother’s long legs.
Laughing at the delightful sight, Bridget squatted near the fence for a closer look. “How adorable! I wish Naomi was well enough to walk out here to see them.”
“I’ve told her about them. Since they’re both females, Grandmother is already planning on having more milk to sell.”
She glanced curiously up at him. “You sell the milk? I wasn’t aware of that.”
He shrugged. “My grandparents sell it to city folks. Some of them believe it cures allergies.” A corner of his mouth twisted in a wry grin. “You’re a doctor. Is that just a hogwash notion?”
“Allergies are complicated things to treat,” she answered. “When patients ask me about goat’s milk, I always tell them it won’t hurt to try.”
To her pleasure, his grin deepened. “I’ll have to tell Grandmother that you endorse her product. That’ll please her.”
The baby goats ventured close enough for Bridget to touch and after she’d stroked the soft hair on their necks, she rose to her feet.
Once she’d reached her full height, she suddenly wondered if he’d moved a step or had she? Either way it had happened, she now found her face mere inches from his. Nervously moistening her lips, she unconsciously reached for a hold on the top board of the goat pen. Being alone, with nothing more than a hand’s width of cold air separating them, shouldn’t be taking her breath and sending her heart into erratic gallops, but it was. Everything inside of her wanted to close the small space between them, to feel his breath upon her face, his lips against hers, his hands plowing through her hair.
Steeling herself against the erotic wishes, she forced herself to glance around him to the remainder of the barn. “I don’t see any of your equipment in here,” she stated. “Where do you keep it stored?”
“What equipment?”
She could feel his eyes on her lips and wondered if the same desires were heating his blood, taunting him as she was being taunted.
“Brady tells me that you offer outfitter services to hunters and fishermen. Surely you have equipment.”
“Brady does a lot of talking.”
His evasiveness irritated her just enough to allow herself a breath of sanity and she rested her back against the board fence as she studied him with curious regard. “He only mentioned it offhandedly. About the time he was trying to solve Lass’s identity case and needed your help. We all thank you very much for what you did. Without the evidence you uncovered, Brady and Lass might still be in the dark about her past and the awful man who kidnapped her away from the race track.”
With a dismissive shrug, he glanced away from her. And it was plain to Bridget that he considered his talents unworthy of a compliment. The idea saddened her.
“I doubt that,” he replied. “Brady is good at what he does.”
Letting that go, she asked thoughtfully, “Do you miss being in the military, Johnny?”
His gaze returned to hers and she could see her question had surprised him somewhat.
“No,” he answered. “The structured life was good for me. But after my enlistment was up it was time to move on.”
“To what?”
He frowned. “What kind of question is that? I had other things to do. Like seeing after my grandparents. I’ve told you how I feel responsible to care for them. How I want to care for them.”
“Yes. And I admire you for that. Most men your age would have already moved away and left it up to social services to see after your grandparents’ immediate needs. But when you and I first met, you talked about serving the community in law enforcement. What happened to that plan?”
His face turned stony and she knew her questions were scratching open wounds he didn’t want to have to patch again. But Bridget felt she deserved a few answers. After all, she’d given him everything a woman could give the man she loves.
“Things change,” he said. “That notion doesn’t suit me anymore.”
She pressed him. “What does suit you?”
He blew out an irritated breath. “Why are you asking me these things, Bridget?”
“Because I can see that—you’re drifting.”
Jamming his hands in the pockets of his jacket, he moved away from her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You haven’t been around me for—a long time. You couldn’t know what my life is like.”
Staring at his back, she fought the urge to grab him by the shoulders and force him to look at her.
“That’s true,” she admitted. “But I kept hearing all these wonderful things about you tracking missing children, saving their lives. What happened?”
He glanced over his shoulder at her and she winced at the hard, desolate expression on his face.
“You save lives, Bridget. Not me.”
His remark propelled her to cross the small space between them and stand before him.
“You could be saving lives,” she retorted. “Instead you’ve settled for less. Much less. Is that all you want for your future?”
Fire snapped in his dark eyes and then just as quickly it died to leave the dark brown orbs so cold the sight of them chilled her.
“My future is no concern of yours. My job supports me in the way I want to live. If that makes me happy, then you should be happy for me.”
“Happy? Who are you trying to fool, Johnny? Me or yourself?”
Suddenly he reached out and snared a grip on her wrist. “You don’t know what’s going on inside of me,” he said gruffly.
Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she was trembling from it. “Maybe not. But I seriously doubt you know how to be happy. And even if you did, you wouldn’t allow yourself to be.” Her throat thickened with emotions, making her next words come out in a hoarse rush. “You want everything to be difficult and hard and—unfeeling!”
“Unfeeling? You say too much, Bridget,” he muttered. “Always too much.”
Not giving her time to explain he tugged on her wrist and she staggered forward until she landed with a thump against his chest.
Gasping, she started to lever herself away from him, but he had other ideas as his hand wrapped around the back of her neck and drew her face up to his.
“I feel, Bridget. A lot.”
Having her body against his, in such an intimate way, was enough to melt her bones, and to keep from sliding into a puddle at his feet, she snatched holds on the sides of his jacket. His face was so close she could see nothing but his lips and then everything blurred as he closed the last bit of distance between them and his mouth began to make a hot foray of hers.
Shocked with overwhelming pleasure, she eagerly tried to match the wild exploration of his lips. At the same time, her body instinctively arched into his, her mouth opened to receive the thrust of his tongue.
Her senses whirled until the cold air went away, the light overhead dimmed and the soft rustle of the goats moving about in the pen could no longer be heard. Her body and mind were focused on one thing and one thing only. Making love to Johnny.
Her lungs were crying for air when he finally ripped his mouth from hers, but instea
d of stepping back as she feared, his hands fastened around her shoulders, his lips dipped to the side of her neck where a small path of skin was exposed above the collar of her coat.
As he nibbled a moist pattern beneath her ear, she gasped out his name and shivered as chill bumps covered her heated body. Without even trying, the man shook her foundation and turned her into the woman she was meant to be. He made her feel alive. Really alive. And that realization only made her cling to him more.
His movements rough with urgency, he unzipped her coat and cupped his hands around both breasts. She reached to grab his face, to latch her lips over his once again, but before she could, he dipped his head and pressed his open mouth to the skin bared by the deep V of her sweater.
The touch ripped a groan from deep within her throat as need and heat filled her body, her senses. “Johnny, this isn’t enough! Make love to me! Please! Oh, please!” she pleaded unashamedly.
He hesitated for only a moment before he swept her up in his arms and carried her over to the shadowed corner of the barn where the haystack made a perfect bed.
The black felines scampered as he eased her onto the pungent alfalfa and then his body was covering her, his hands diving beneath her coat and sweater and sliding against her heated skin.
She didn’t know exactly how this had started or where it was going to end. Nor did she care. All that mattered was the moment and the pleasure he was giving her.
His lips had fastened back over hers and she was in the process of unbuttoning his jean jacket when the cell phone in the pocket of her slacks emitted a ring.
The quietness of the barn made the sound seem absolutely shrill and it jarred them apart with the same effect of someone walking into the barn would have.
Johnny rolled away from her and though she pushed herself to a sitting position, she was too dazed to reach for the phone.
“Answer it!” he roughly commanded.
She swallowed. “I don’t want to.”
“You’re a doctor,” he reminded her, his voice going quiet and emotionless. “You might be needed.”
Bridget wanted to tell him that she needed, too. She needed him. But with her being on emergency call tonight, she couldn’t ignore the phone. No matter how much she wanted to go back to the warmth of his arms.
His Medicine Woman Page 7