by Gail, Stacy
“She wasn’t exactly thrilled with the situation. Why do you think I always entered through your window?”
“I thought you were keeping in practice for when you visited your girlfriends.”
“Cute.” And she was, he realized half-angrily. When she wrinkled her nose and laughed at him, she was the cutest damn thing around. “Coming in through your window was my way of avoiding Deborah. Despite the fact that tutoring me looked good on your college applications, she thought it would cut into your studying time.”
“She was always worried about that.” She poked at the ice again. A cube spun up and almost cleared the rim. “I think she was disappointed I only skipped three grades.”
“She wanted the best for you.”
“She wanted the best from me.” Then she shook her head, a gesture packed with frustrated resignation. “Crap. That isn’t fair. She did want the best for me. That meant making sure I received an education that would take me far away from this ‘hick town.’”
“That’s right. I remember Deborah wasn’t Bitterthorn’s biggest fan.”
“She still isn’t.”
“Really? You sure about that?”
“I know my mother, Wiley.”
“You knew the woman she was.” When Payton frowned, he wondered if anyone ever had the chance to correct her. Probably not. “When was the last time you saw your mom?”
“Well...we were never very close.”
“When?”
“Good grief. I bet you’re a killer in the courtroom.”
“You should see me in action. And you still haven’t answered my question.”
“It’s been seven years. Counselor,” she added sweetly and crunched down on an ice cube. “We had an epic screaming match after my father’s funeral.”
“So I recall, since it was right there at the cemetery.”
She winced. “Ouch. That’s right, you were there, weren’t you?”
“You were there for me when my dad died. I wanted to return the favor.”
“I can still hear myself screaming at my mom,” she said without emotion. “I felt that after a lifetime of waging war with him, she’d finally won by killing him off with her never-ending poison of how much she hated the life he made her live in Bitterthorn.”
Wiley grimaced. “I always knew there was tension between your folks, but I never knew how bad it was until your dad’s funeral.”
“At the time, I really believed she’d pushed my dad into a premature grave with all her nagging.” Then she shrugged. “I could never figure out why they married in the first place. It was so obvious they were mismatched, they never should have gotten together.”
“Your dad was a native of Bitterthorn, wasn’t he?”
“It’s weird, but whenever you ask me a question I feel like I’m on the stand.” Payton shot him an exasperated glance. “Yes, he was a native of Bitterthorn, he loved it dearly and not only was he this town’s last librarian, he was the founder and sole member of Bitterthorn’s Historical Society. But you know that already.”
“I’m just making sure you knew it as well.”
“What makes you think I don’t?”
“Your mother still lives here in Bitterthorn, seven years after your father’s death.”
“That’s not exactly a newsflash.” Setting her glass aside, she fiddled with her necklace before bringing it to her lips. “What point are you trying to make?”
“No point, really.” The urge to touch her was overwhelming, and Wiley had never been one to curb his impulses. He reached across the table, caressing the soft silk of her lower lip as he brought the chain from her mouth. “Not unless you see one there.”
She jerked back as if burned. “Don’t.”
He gave a shot at looking innocent. “Don’t what?”
“Look, I’ll admit I’m baffled by my mother’s refusal to move,” she said, ignoring him. “Everything she’s ever done baffles me. I mean, a big-city woman from Dallas, marrying a quiet small-town librarian? Anyone could see that relationship for the train wreck it was.”
“Love’s blind that way, I guess.”
“Blind? Try stupid.” She couldn’t seem to hold back an eye roll. “There’s no other way to describe it. After all, it was my mother who agreed to marry him and live out the rest of her life in Bitterthorn, knowing full well what she was getting into. He never lied to her about how much this town needed him, since he was the driving force that kept the library going. Yet not a day went by when she wasn’t complaining about living in this town.” Sudden realization lit her face and she snapped her fingers. “Maybe that’s why she’s staying on here. Maybe she feels she’s atoning for the past.”
“Or maybe she saw just how important your dad was to this community when the library did close after his death,” Wiley offered, fascinated at how the ebb and flow of emotions played across her face. If she ever tried to play poker she’d lose her shirt. “It’s possible she realized you can’t make people be what you want them to be, and she’s had enough time to accept that.”
“Trust me, my mother isn’t the accepting type. And I seriously doubt she’s had a miraculous change of heart when it comes to Bitterthorn. People don’t change in just a handful of years.”
“True. Sometimes a person can change in a single day.”
She made a sound of exasperation. “Wiley, my mother’s one burning ambition throughout my entire life was to get out of Bitterthorn.”
“It could be that it was enough she got you out.”
“I wouldn’t know about that. I do know she and I are more alike than I thought.” Apparently that didn’t sit very well, if Payton’s disheartened sigh was any indication. “I can’t deny I’ve always had ambitions, and they didn’t always come from my mother.”
“Ambitions to do what?”
“To achieve. To succeed.” Her smile was rueful as she encapsulated her life in two short phrases. “I’ve always needed that.”
“And that’s what you’ve done.” Before she had a chance to dodge him, he covered her hand with his. Pure delight coursed through him at how it curved into his palm as if made for that purpose. “Has it been enough, Payton?”
Distracted, her gaze bounced from his hand to his eyes, and the turbulence he saw in her fascinated him. But before he could discover its source, a steaming coffeepot appeared between them, followed by a voice that was the texture of quarry gravel.
“I can’t remember how many times I’ve seen you holding hands with a pretty lady.” A hangdog face peered down at them as he refilled Wiley’s cup. “Some things never change.”
“Evening, Buddy.” Wiley’s gaze traveled reluctantly from Payton to the older man, but he quickly glanced back when she slid her hand from his. “Busy night tonight.”
“I do more business than usual, come reunion time.” Clearly pleased with this, the pudgy proprietor of The Dirty Duck cast a satisfied glance around the bustling dining area. “You know how it is. People wanting to relive their old high school days.”
“God forbid,” Payton muttered so quietly Wiley almost missed it.
Buddy glanced at her. “What was that, miss?”
“I said, absolutely.” She turned a smile on Buddy that was so charming Wiley couldn’t blame the man when he struggled to pull in his generous belly. “This place was always jumping when Wiley and I were in school.”
“Still is,” Buddy announced with a proud nod. Tugging on his waistband, he peered at her with renewed interest. “You went to school with Wiley?”
“Yes, I did.”
“That’s funny. I’m pretty good with faces, but I don’t seem to remember you.”
Her smile turned bittersweet. “This is the first time I’ve been in here.”
“Buddy, this is Payton Pruitt.” Wiley�
�s tone was mild, but a smoldering knot of anger at both her and himself burned a hole in his gut. Payton’s social ostracism had been so complete she’d known she hadn’t been welcome in a public restaurant. Yet, for all her inner fire, she hadn’t fought against it.
And goddamn it, neither had he.
“Pruitt,” Buddy said meditatively before perking up. “Deborah Pruitt’s daughter?”
Payton’s brows shot up. “That’s right.”
“So you’re the smart one!” Well and truly pleased now that he had her pegged, the older man leaned against Wiley’s side of the booth. “I remember hearing about you when you were in school. Thought you were gonna be one of those mad scientists splitting atoms or something. You doing that now?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Payton’s a doctor now.” Wiley couldn’t help but smile when he caught the ironic light in her eyes when Buddy called her “the smart one.” “A medical doctor, specializing in family care and pediatrics. She’s more used to sniffles and broken wrists than split atoms.”
“Isn’t that something?” Buddy shook his head, eyeing her closely. “So. You coming back to practice medicine here?”
She shook her head. “I just signed a partnership contract in Houston.”
“That’s a shame.” Some of the light dimmed from Buddy’s face. “This town sure could use you.”
“What about old Doc Benson?”
“You said it yourself, Payton. He was old.” Wiley stirred cream into his coffee and watched her out of the corner of his eye. “He died shortly before he was supposed to retire, leaving no one to take his place.”
“How has everyone been getting medical care?”
Wiley shrugged. “San Antonio has plenty of doctors.”
“But it’s thirty miles away!”
“Twenty-eight,” he corrected, and had to stifle a grin at her characteristic sound of impatience. “We’re a small town, Payton. Places like Bitterthorn don’t attract that kind of talent, and you’re living proof that what homegrown talent we do have is lost to the cities.”
Since there was clearly nothing she could say to that, she waved it aside. “How long has this been going on?”
“Three or four years now.” Buddy cast her a mournful look. “It wouldn’t hurt to think about coming back to Bitterthorn, Dr. Pruitt. I’m sure your mother misses you, and you know what they say—there’s no place like home.”
Payton snorted as someone called Buddy’s name. “You can say that again.”
“I don’t suppose you would think about coming back,” Wiley mused as the older man waddled away. “After all, you’ve made it painfully clear you don’t have the greatest memories about this town.”
“It wasn’t all bad.” Her chin lifted, and she managed to look both dignified and feisty. “Don’t bother wasting your pity on me, pal.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I do have good memories of Bitterthorn, you know.”
“Really. Such as?”
“Wading in the river,” she said after a moment’s thought. “The strawberry festival. The annual rummage sale at First Baptist Church and Monique Corozon holding forth on how to hunt for antiques. Fourth of July picnics under the stars and all the fireworks. Combing the Giddings’ pumpkin patch for just the right jack-o’-lantern. Pauline’s praline ice cream.” Frustrated, she groped around for something more. “Watching you play basketball.”
“Payton, bless your heart.” His face split into a pleased grin. “I never knew you saw me play.”
An intriguing flush bloomed over her high cheekbones, and she reached for her empty glass once more. “Well...yeah. Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Maybe I saw a few of your games.”
“Just a few?”
“All right, I saw all your home games.” Her flush went nuclear, and he couldn’t have been more satisfied if she were a hostile witness confessing to murder under cross-examination. “So what? I love basketball.”
“God knows you’re tall enough for it.” Delighted out of all proportion, Wiley leaned his forearms on the table. “Do you play?”
“I’ve got a fabulous baby hook.”
“I’d love to see it.”
“I won’t be here that long.”
“That’s not fair.” Again he grasped her hand, this time curling his fingers warmly around hers. “After all, you’ve seen me play.”
She stared at their clasped hands as if she couldn’t figure out how to untangle them. “If this is a new spin on ‘if you show me yours, I’ll show you mine,’ I don’t have time for it.” She pulled her hand away on the excuse of digging into her purse for a couple of bills. “And speaking of time, I really have to be going. I want to be fresh tomorrow morning.”
“Of course.” Shooing her money away, he put a ten-spot on the table and searched for ways to stall her. “What’s your presentation subject again?”
“The need for readily available pediatric emergency equipment. When a medical emergency occurs where an ambulance or ER is called for, some facilities are equipped with only adult-sized apparatus, even in this day and age. When those large-sized devices are used on tiny bodies, more harm than good can come of it, and that’s...” She stopped and laughed, missing how his eyes narrowed at the husky, intimate sound. “I’d better stop before I bore you into a coma. Though it’s very important to me, even I know some of the technical rhetoric is on the dry side.”
He stiffened. “I have no doubt your lecture is in another language, it’s so technically superior. Certainly nothing the rest of us mere mortals could possibly understand.”
“I’d hardly say that.” She shot him a bewildered look. “I just assumed it would be yawn-worthy to nonmedical people.”
“You assumed wrong.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time,” she returned a little heatedly. And only then did he realize that she was watching him as if he were an animal that may or may not have rabies. “I just don’t see why anyone would be interested—”
“I am,” Wiley said, and though he had a suspicion he was overreacting, he didn’t care. One way or another, he was going to prove to former child prodigy Payton Pruitt that she was one smart cookie who didn’t make him crumble.
* * *
Payton’s hotel room was quiet when she entered, save for the gentle hum of the air-conditioning. Tossing her purse and hotel card key on a credenza, she toed out of her high heels, sank onto the edge of the bed and closed her eyes.
What a night.
She pulled in a measured breath and let it out just as slowly. It didn’t help. She couldn’t pull in the peace of the room any more than she could sprout wings and fly. The funny thing was, she’d been prepared for a certain amount of upset. She had run into the first stirrings of the emotional upheaval by deciding to attend the reunion in the first place. But she’d thought that for her pride’s sake, it would be worth the risk.
Then Wiley showed up and blew that theory to smithereens.
Wiley Sharpe.
Heaven help her, what a scrumptious man he’d become. Gorgeous. Confident. Sensually charismatic. There wasn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t suffer brain-melting hot flashes when confronted with Wiley’s masculinity. From nine to ninety, females fell for him in droves. And, damn the man, he knew it.
What she hadn’t known was that she—practical, intellectual Payton—could be just as susceptible as the rest of the drooling horde.
She flopped back onto the firm hotel mattress, arms outstretched. It was criminal how easily he got past her defenses with his stunning smiles and careless charm. She could accept that a decade ago, his friendly but impersonal touch could send her awakening nervous system into spastic overload. But not now. She wasn’t supposed to lose it at the merest touch, but she
lost it in a big way when Wiley inadvertently brushed her lip with his finger. Erotic heat had surged through her, loosening taut muscles and fogging her mind. That one caress had left her yearning to take his finger into her mouth and suck on it with wanton abandon. And that near loss of control had been terrifying.
No, terrifying was too strong a word, Payton decided, struggling to put the evening into perspective. Sure, she’d reacted to Wiley like every other female on the planet, but so what? Her reactions were probably just unresolved issues from her formative years. After all, he had been the only person who’d spoken to her in high school. It was logical to conclude she’d feel a certain closeness because of that.
Logical? Really?
Great. Now she sounded like a native of Vulcan.
But as a theory it didn’t sound too shabby. If she put her mind to it, she could even talk herself into believing it.
What she couldn’t believe was how she’d unloaded all her childhood traumas on him when he had been the one person who had made life in Bitterthorn bearable. He must think she was a total head case, Payton thought with a groan. She had to be, to compulsively reveal just how much the past still hurt.
Or at least...it had hurt.
It was strange, but after venting all the old grievances she’d lugged around like the world’s biggest carry-on, she felt...calmer. At peace. Maybe she was finally ready to stop whining about the past, leave it behind where it belonged, and concentrate on the present.
A present that didn’t include Wiley Sharpe.
With a strange ache burrowing into her sternum, she dragged herself off the bed and headed for the bathroom.
Chapter Four
All in all, Wiley was seriously done with gatherings where name tags were a necessity. Though admittedly, this all-business crowd was nothing like the easygoing partygoers from the night before. With the hotel’s ballroom door swinging silently shut behind him, he leaned against a pillar at the back of the room and hoped no one would notice his lack of a name tag, though he doubted security would be that vigilant. He’d be willing to bet there weren’t too many people who were eager to crash a medical seminar. Hell, he never thought he’d be a likely candidate for such a thing.