While he got to his feet, she fished the phone from her slacks and after a brief conversation, slipped the device back into her pocket.
“I have an emergency at the hospital,” she stated with obvious regret. “I’ve got to go.”
Reaching for her hand, he helped her off the hay. “Thank God,” he said gruffly. “We were about to—mess up everything.”
She shot him a dumbfounded glare as he reached to douse the light. “Oh? You seemed to be enjoying what was going on between us,” she had to point out.
“I enjoy a lot of things that aren’t necessarily good for me,” he muttered.
He might as well have stabbed her with a knife. “You’re a bastard, Johnny Chino.”
Curling his hand around her elbow, he led her out of the barn. “That’s right. I am. And you don’t need any part of me. No matter how much you want it.”
Chapter Seven
The next afternoon, during a short break between patients, Bridget used the time to sit at her desk and go over a few pages of test results she’d ordered for a teenage girl with stomach complaints.
Since all of the tests had returned normal, she could only conclude the episodes were brought on by nerves. Not a surprise there, she thought grimly. Once she’d finally gotten the teenager away from her possessive mother long enough to talk with her privately, the girl had confessed that she lived under constant pressure from her mother to not only be a star athlete in high school, but to also take honors in speech and drama class.
To heal the girl’s stomach, Bridget was going to have to find a way to make the overly zealous mother be more understanding. But how could she give mothering advice when she’d not yet been a mother herself?
Face it, Bridget, you’re never going to be a mother. Johnny isn’t going to give you a child. He isn’t going to give you anything but heartache.
With a heavy sigh, she dropped the reports onto her desktop and rested her head against the back of her chair. Up until a few weeks ago, thoughts about Johnny had rarely interrupted her work and when they had, she’d managed to push them aside. After five years of nothing from the man it had been easy to tell herself she was wasting her time thinking about things she couldn’t have. But treating Naomi had changed everything. Being back in Johnny’s arms had changed everything. Now all her mind wanted to think about was seeing him again.
A slight knock sounded on her office door and she glanced around just as her sister Maura stepped into the room.
“Is Mrs. Monroe ready to be examined?”
“Yes. But she can wait,” Maura insisted with a sly smile. “I gave her the latest tabloid magazine. That’ll occupy her for a few more minutes.”
Bridget started to rise from her desk chair. “That isn’t necessary. I can see her now.”
With a hand on her shoulder, Maura pushed her back into the chair. “Just a minute. I want a word with you. Before we get busy with the rest of the afternoon patients.”
Easing back into the seat, Bridget looked curiously at her sister. Maura was good at multitasking. If she wanted to talk, she did it while they were working, which meant this had to be something personal. “What’s this about? You want a raise?”
Maura chuckled as she eased her hip onto the edge of the desk. “I don’t know what to do with the money I have now. Give Janna a raise, she deserves it.”
“I’ll think about that. So what’s on your mind? The babies are okay, aren’t they?”
Maura’s smile was full of affection, making it easy to see her two little boys were the light of her life.
“You’d be the first to know if they weren’t,” she assured Bridget, then quickly asked, “Were you aware that the annual charity ball for retired thoroughbreds is tomorrow night?”
Totally lost, Bridget looked at her. “No. How would I know something like that?”
Maura let out a disbelieving groan. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you live on a thoroughbred farm. That might have given you some clue.” She darted a hopeless look at her sister. “I figured some of the family had mentioned the function to you.”
“I’ve been getting home so late at night here lately that I’ve not talked to any of the family. But don’t worry, I’ll write a nice check and leave it with Mother. She’ll see that it gets into the right hands.”
Maura shook her head. “Sis, I’m not soliciting you for money. Although I’m glad you’ll be contributing to the cause. I was thinking more on the lines of you attending.”
Bridget actually laughed. “Me? Attend a ball? Are you serious?”
Frowning, Maura said, “Very. And why wouldn’t I be? You’re twenty-eight years old, not to mention beautiful and you do know how to dance.”
“I don’t have time for such things.”
“You used to make time. What’s happened?”
Bridget sighed. “My practice is growing. That’s what happened.”
“Yeah. Growing out of control. You’re going to have to get another doctor in here soon to help you or you’re going to become the patient. But that’s a whole other argument. Right now I want you to tell me you’ll go to the ball. Someone is going to be there that I want you to meet.”
Wary now, Bridget skeptically studied Maura’s smug face. “I’m afraid to ask, but I will. Who?”
“Wes.”
Bridget’s brows arched quizzically. “I’m supposed to know who that is? Sorry, I see and hear too many names throughout the day. After a while they all start running together.”
“Wes Hollander—our new foreman for the Golden Spur.”
Since Maura and Quint owned a ranch and a gold mine of the same name, she had to ask, “Foreman for the ranch or the mine?”
“The ranch. Remember I told you about Quint hiring him a while back. And since you can’t seem to drive over to the ranch for a visit and meet him, I thought the ball would be the perfect place. He’s handsome, single and the right age for you. A little quiet, but that’s probably because he doesn’t know many people around here yet. Besides, you could probably get him out of the quietness.”
Bridget groaned. It had been a long while since Maura had tried to do any matchmaking for her little sister and Bridget had been hoping she’d completely gotten that idea out of her mind. Apparently this Wes person had gotten the cupid cogs in Maura’s head spinning again.
“I don’t want to get him out of anything,” Bridget said bluntly. “I’m—not interested in dating anyone right now, Maura. I’ve told you that.”
Completely disappointed, Maura slipped off the desk and stood with her hands jammed on her hips. “So you have. May I ask why?”
Rising to her feet, Bridget picked up a stethoscope lying on her desk and slipped it around her neck. “Men disappoint me.”
“What men? You haven’t dated in—how long? A year—two?”
Grimacing, Bridget started toward the door. “Over a year. It’s taken me that long to recover from the last one.”
Maura followed on her heels and the two women stepped into the hallway. “You need to get your hormones tested, Brita. Yours must be dwindling. A woman your age—”
“Can have other things on her mind besides men,” Bridget said firmly. “Now come on before Mrs. Monroe puts her clothes back on and leaves.”
To Bridget’s left, toward the front of the building, a small section of the waiting area was visible from where she was standing. From what she could see, the chairs and couches were full, while one man was actually standing as he waited. She was going to be working nonstop for the next several hours.
Turning to her right, Bridget hurried down the hallway to examining room 2 with Maura close on her heels. As she pulled the patient’s file from a holding compartment on the door, her sister poked her head over Bridget’s shoulder.
“Does this mean you’re not going tomorrow night?” she whispered the question.
Darting an annoyed glare at her, Bridget whispered back, “I’m not going. And I’m not interested in Wes Hollander. So forge
t it.”
With that, she quickly ended the conversation and stepped into the examining room.
At the same time Bridget was trying to work her way through a clinic full of patients, Johnny was sitting in the Brown Bear Cantina swallowing down the remaining bite of apple pie on the small dessert plate.
Located on the edge of town, the little cantina was too shabby to be frequented by tourists, unless they were brave enough to search out the local flavor of the area. The regular customers it served were people like Johnny, who didn’t care that the vinyl seating was ripped in spots or that names and other colorful remarks had been gouged and carved in the wooden tables.
Behind the counter, Rosalinda, the one and only waitress on duty for the slow afternoon, tilted the coffee carafe over his cup and filled it to the brim for a second time. She was a young woman, even younger than Bridget, and pretty in a simple kind of way. She’d been working in the café/bar for several years and during that time he’d never heard her mention having any sort of family. He’d once heard she was a runaway from Gallop, but that was only rumor and Johnny had never asked her about her personal life. It was enough for him to have her as a friend. Even though, she’d often let him know in subtle terms that she’d go out with him if he were to ask her.
Johnny had quit the dating scene a few years ago, after he’d finally come to the conclusion he was wasting his time. What was the point when his mind and heart were already consumed with Bridget? Kissing a woman, making love to a woman, those pleasures meant nothing to him now. Once he’d put Bridget out of his life, his body had become dormant. Like a piece of brown grass with no moisture or sun to bring it back to life.
“I’m glad to hear your grandmother is on the mend,” Rosalinda commented as she placed the carafe back on the warming plate. “We haven’t seen you around here in several days.”
“I didn’t want to leave my grandparents alone for very long,” he explained.
She walked back over to the long bar and rested her forearms on the polished wood. The woman’s dark hair and eyes hinted at Indian blood, but she’d never mentioned belonging to the Apache tribe, or any tribe for that matter. And maybe she didn’t know where she belonged, Johnny thought. Just like he didn’t know who his father was or where the man might be.
“So what’s brought you out this afternoon?” she asked. “Meeting some clients?”
“No.” He was trying to clear his head, he thought. He was trying to forget that last night he’d been close to making love to Bridget. If her phone hadn’t interrupted, he doubted he would have found the willpower to stop. And there was no chance that she would’ve put a brake on things. She thought she loved him. She thought the two of them were supposed to be together.
Oh, God, he didn’t want to think about her or him and the hopelessness of it all. This past year he’d finally gotten to the point where he could mentally say her name without being swamped with pain. Now that their lives had collided again, the pain had returned twofold and he didn’t know how to blank it out.
“Those two guys who were hunting a guide the other day are still hanging around town,” the waitress informed him. “They were here in the cantina this morning and left a number to give you. Do you want it?”
His grandmother had now improved enough for his grandfather to see after her needs without Johnny being there twenty-four hours a day to assist. And the money could definitely be used. But Johnny was reluctant to commit himself to taking on any sort of job for the next few days.
Admit it, Johnny, you don’t want to miss seeing Bridget. You know that soon, very soon, her visits to Naomi will end. And then everything will go back to the emptiness you’ve endured these past five years without her.
Disgusted with his weakness, he shrugged one shoulder. “Sure. Give it to me.”
She fetched a small piece of paper from a drawer underneath the bar and handed it to him. “I heard snow was coming,” she said. “I doubt a couple of city guys would want to camp out in that kind of weather.”
“There’s a fool on every corner, Rosalinda. Remember that when you start looking for a husband.”
She gave him a startled look, then chuckled with a hefty measure of sarcasm. “I won’t be guilty of looking for a husband. I’ve got a cat at home. That’s enough for me.”
A few bar stools down from Johnny a customer suddenly called out to Rosalinda and motioned to his empty coffee cup. The waitress excused herself and went to serve him. Johnny rose to his feet and after throwing down a few bills for the pie and coffee, left the dingy cantina.
On the way back home, he used his cell to call the number Rosalinda had given him. The man who answered explained they’d drawn a permit to hunt a cougar and had been told that Johnny was the best man to guide them into the mountains.
Johnny didn’t advertise his outfitter services on the internet or in hunting magazines. For one thing, his wasn’t one of those fancy guide services that offered plush lodging, a hot tub and gourmet dining after a day of hunting. With Johnny you got sleeping bags, a tent and simple food from cans and packages that could be managed over a campfire. His fees were minuscule compared to the big outfitters, but he made it clear from the beginning that with him a hunter roughed it and liked it, or he stayed at home. As he’d warned Rosalinda, there were plenty of fools out there who could cause a person all kinds of trouble, so he was damned picky about whom he agreed to guide.
After a few minutes of conversation, Johnny decided the man wasn’t fair-weathered or faint of heart, but he needed to meet him and his buddy before he would agree to hunt. Tracking cougar could be very dangerous. He wanted everyone to be safe.
The man was quick to assure Johnny that he and his buddy would meet him at the Brown Bear Sunday morning to discuss the expedition further, then thanked him and ended the call.
Later that night, in his grandmother’s bedroom, Johnny stood at the window watching it snow, while Naomi ate from the tray of food he’d prepared for her.
“I doubt Bridget will come tonight,” he said more to himself than to his grandmother. “The weather is turning bad.”
“She’ll be here,” the woman said with certainty.
Sitting in a wooden rocker, with the tray on her lap, Naomi was beginning to look like his grandmother again, instead of an old woman lying on her deathbed. A rosy color had returned to her wrinkled cheeks and her dark eyes were clear, almost sparkling.
Traditionally, once an Apache mother had raised her son to manhood, she stepped aside from his life and chose to remain in the background. But technically Naomi wasn’t his mother and he’d chosen to remain close to his grandparents, to seek their opinions and advice. This morning he’d brushed Naomi’s long hair for her, then braided it into one long tail. The feminine task had left Johnny feeling a bit awkward, but he’d managed it just the same.
Thirty-one years ago when the Donovans had refused to take him in and love him as their own, Naomi and Charlie had gladly taken on the task. As far as Johnny was concerned, he’d never be able to do enough to repay them for his raising.
Pushing his mind back to the present, Johnny said bluntly, “You don’t need a doctor now. It will be all right if she doesn’t come tonight. Or any more nights.”
“Will it?”
Glancing over at his grandmother, he saw that she wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she was focused on slicing into a fried pork chop.
“You’re not going to have a setback,” he said firmly.
Her gaze cut his way. “No. I will be fine.”
But he wouldn’t be. His grandmother didn’t have to say much of anything to make a point.
Frowning deeply, Johnny looked back out the window. The snow was getting thicker while his heart grew heavier.
After several moments of silence passed, he said, “I may do a cougar hunt in the next few days.”
Naomi swallowed several bites of food before she finally replied, “I don’t like it.”
Once he’d become an adult, Nao
mi had considered him a man, capable of making the best decisions for himself without her pitching in her own personal opinions. But there were two matters that his grandmother hadn’t been shy about expressing her feelings. Bridget and hunting cougars. His grandmother believed that Bridget was good for him, the best thing that could’ve happened to him. As for hunting cougars, she’d lost a young cousin to one of the fierce mountain lions as he’d led a group of inexperienced hunters into the rugged wilderness. She hated for Johnny to expose himself to the same danger.
“It’s my job.”
Her only response was a snort and the sound reflected the same emotion he’d heard in Bridget’s voice when she’d accused him of drifting.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he bit back a sigh. What the hell did the two women know about him anyway? he asked himself. He wasn’t living his life to make them happy. He was living it to make himself—what? Happy?
I seriously doubt you know how to be happy. And even if you did, you wouldn’t allow yourself to be.
Bridget’s taunting words were rolling over and over in his mind when he noticed headlights slowly moving up the hill toward the house. As the twin orbs of light grew nearer he could see the shape of a Jeep emerging through the heavy snowfall and he cursed beneath his breath. She was a little fool for driving over the mountain in such weather. And yet his heart thrilled at the thought of seeing her again.
“Go help Bridget inside.”
He didn’t bother to ask his grandmother how she knew the vehicle belonged to Bridget. Naomi sometimes had a way of knowing things before they ever happened.
When he reached the Jeep he could see through the window that she was still inside gathering up her bag and wrapping a woolen scarf around her neck. Once she opened the door, he quickly reached for her hand.
Smiling warmly at him, she said, “I wasn’t expecting this sort of greeting.”
Her coat was red and the thick scarf mounded beneath her chin a dark green. As snowflakes dotted her fiery hair, he couldn’t help thinking she looked as beautiful as Christmas Day.
His Medicine Woman Page 8