Spurs and Lace (Lonely Lace Series Book 1)

by Bonnie R. Paulson

  She pulled her gloves off and escaped his presence to the reception area. Oh, crap. She was done drinking. Every time she had alcohol, she screwed up or said something stupid. She’d lost her virginity after her first round of Mai Tais. Stupid pink umbrella had duped her into thinking the drink was too pretty to do much damage. Yeah, all inhibitions go with her underwear – to the floor.

  Tears smarted at the corners of her eyes. For no good reason. She ducked into the bathroom off the waiting area and patted her cheeks with a damp paper towel.

  Click. The front door closed and Becky stuck her head out the bathroom door. “Hello? We’re closed.” But empty silence answered. She froze and listened harder. The absolute silence of being alone assailed her ears. “Slate?” She tossed the towel in the garbage. Empty, the exam area returned her calls with an empty echo under the vowels.

  Slate had left and he’d taken another piece of her pride with him.

  Cleaning up the abandoned surgical tray, Becky mumbled under her breath. “Of course, don’t say goodbye. I’m just the girl you kissed. I only tried to help you after you fought in my office. I saved the life of your baby horse. But, no, you can’t be bothered to say ‘goodbye’.”

  The phone rang, the peal calling from the front room. Tossing a stack of used material in the garbage by the door, Becky rolled her eyes. “It’s tacky saying goodbye over the phone, Slate. Just sayin’.” She lifted the phone. “Colby Medical Clinic. This is Dr. O’Donald.”

  But Slate’s harmonic tone didn’t come from the earpiece. She didn’t recognize the voice, but she knew the words. “Becky. It’s John. John Adamson, your mom’s neighbor? Yeah, you need to get home as fast as you can. Your mom had a heart attack.”

  “Where’s Dad? Is he alright?” Becky yanked her white jacket off and tossed it to the counter. Her fingers tingled and her knees couldn’t hold her. She sank onto the nearby stool.

  “Your dad is just fine. He asked me to call you while he sits with Mrs. O’Donald. She’s pretty fragile. He didn’t want to leave her.” Of course Dad wouldn’t want to leave Mom. He’d given up everything for her.

  She needed to see her parents. All of a sudden, the overwhelming urge to see them piled in on her from all sides. And why couldn’t she? The clinic was closed due to the weather and another storm was forecast in a couple days. She could visit and get back before the next storm hit. The drive to Spokane wasn’t more than three hours. Four at the most.

  But wait… Slate. Mac. Amelia.

  And for those three reasons alone, she needed to get out of there.

  “John, I’ll be there in a few hours. Which hospital?” She pulled her white coat off, the stethoscope and pens clinking together when they landed on the counter.

  He sighed, his relief palpable even over the miles between them. “Oh good. She’s at Sacred Heart. I’ll meet you here.”

  “Thanks.” And she clicked off. She didn’t need anything that hadn’t already been packed for her stay at Slate’s. She’d be out of there in no time. Leaving Slate and his attractive soap opera in Colby had appeal.

  One quick call to Nurse Dallan, first. Ring. Ring. Lovely, voicemail. “Hey, Shelley, it’s Becky. Tim is out at Lacey Caverns if there’s anything anyone needs. I just had a call from home. My mom’s in the hospital. It’s three to four hours out, no big deal. Call me, if there’s an emergency. I can be back pretty fast. And Slate’s nephew had urgent surgery at their place. They’ve been instructed to contact me directly, if there are any complications. Thank you.”

  Bases covered, at least enough she could leave without feeling like things were left undone in the work area of her life, Becky ignored the nagging sensation she was leaving more unfinished in her private life.

  And quite frankly, she had no problem with it.

  Chapter 20

  “Why don’t you call her?” Amelia set her coffee on the counter and thrummed her fingers beside the bird-decorated mug. At his silence, she slapped her other hand on the surface and leaned forward. Steam from her drink drifted around her cheeks and hair. “If you like her, call her. What’s the problem? If you don’t like her, go for someone else.”

  “There’s more to it than a phone call.” Slate glanced at the stove clock, tacking another minute to his countdown since leaving Becky at the clinic. The girl was easy to be with, easy to upset, and hard to be away from. She stimulated his mind… among other things, and another woman wouldn’t do. “Why don’t you go for someone besides Robbie? It’s been four years. Maybe you should lecture on a different topic.”

  Even before his last word faded into the kitchen, Slate regretted what he said. Robbie was addicting. Even as a brother, there was a charm and a commanding presence about him. When he left, a large hole remained and ached. Slate missed his brother, maybe even more than the mother of Robbie’s child did.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He rubbed his hand down his face as if pulling his problems from his skin. “I think we’re not the best company for each other right now. We’ve both done poorly with dating.” Slate pushed from his leaning position against the counter and glanced at the snow accumulating outside. “I can’t wait for spring to officially start. The horses and mules have cabin fever, even in the paddocks. The cows are bitchy and giving half the normal amount of milk and the chickens are boycotting.”

  “I’m sorry, Slate.” Amelia half-smiled.

  He shrugged. “For what? The bitchy cows? Not your fault.”

  She shook her head. “No, for my bitchy brother.”

  “Oh, that. Well, it’s not your fault either.” He really didn’t want to rehash all the issues with Ronan James. But it seemed where Slate had problems there was Ronan.

  “As soon as we prove Mac is Robbie’s kid legitimately, I’ll have control of Mac’s shares and access to money to help out here.” She rubbed her cheek where a small scar hadn’t completely faded away.

  “Hell, Amelia. If we’re blaming brothers, mine is a terrific goat. Were he here, you wouldn’t be worried about so many things.” Slate shook his hands in the air as if brushing away a swarm of flies. “Whatever. It’s no big deal. I still have three days to come up with the last two months’ payments. Once the summer gets here, we’ll get some leeway.” I hope. Slate swallowed his sigh.

  The dude ranch had been Robbie’s idea which he’d abandoned along with Amelia. The whole situation left a sour taste in Slate’s mouth. Made it difficult to look in the mirror some mornings.

  He glanced at the clock again. Maybe Slate should call Be– the phone rang. She-Doc had to be checking up on Mac. He rushed to the phone to hear her voice.

  “Hello?” Was he breathless? Oh, for heaven’s sake.

  “MacAllister. Good. Glad it’s you.” Ronan’s smirk was louder than his words.

  “What do you want?” Slate glanced over his shoulder. Amelia stared at him but sipped her coffee.

  “Just my money, my family, my land, my rights, and my girl. But you most likely want to know why I’m calling.” A mirthless laugh crossed the lines.

  Turning to the wall, Slate tightened his jaw, but bit back his remarks.

  “I sent the paperwork through for the signature comparison as well as the order for the blood sample this morning. Just wanted to give you a heads up. They said it takes a month for private customers, but I paid extra. You can tell my sister that and if she wants to avoid a long, drawn out legal battle, she’ll bring Mac home with her.” Ronan hung up the phone with an audible click after his little speech.

  The phone cracked under Slate’s grip. She-Doc had given Mac’s blood to Ronan. How did the saying go? Scorned woman. She’d thrown herself at him, Slate had said no, and so she traded sides. Could she do that as a doctor?

  Amelia put her coffee down and crossed her arms over her stomach. “I don’t think you should talk to the doctor like that. She’ll never go out with you, if you do.”

  The doctor? Why would Amelia think it’d been Becky calling? Oh, yeah, he’d a
ttacked the phone like a starving man after a Twinkie. He shrugged. “I don’t think she’d go out with me anyway. She seems interested in Ronan.” The bastard. Anger ricocheted through Slate. And the wench. How dare she give up medical information about a patient – and his nephew at that!

  He was going to sue her. Report her to the State Board. Tell Dr. Roylance and then she’d lose her job. She needed to lose so much more than her job, license, and every cent she had. But he didn’t know what would be worse. She deserved it.

  A good chewing out would make him feel better.

  “Nah. I don’t think she’s into R.J. He’s charming and everything, but she looks at you with a certain hunger. Plus, if you went out with her, it would take the suspicion off us and a possible relationship, you know?” Amelia dumped more sugar in her coffee and stirred. Still blathering about how much the doctor liked him – her illusions were well built but poorly founded.

  “I’m going to run into town. Did you want to come?” Slate carried his unfinished drink to the sink. “Is Mac ready to come out yet?”

  Amelia shook her head. “No. He’s been tired acting today. Still recovering, I think. I have some photos I’d like to edit, so I’ll just stay. Thanks, though.”

  Slate had already moved on from their conversation, immersed in planning what words would have the most impact.

  In the truck, at the edge of the drive where the best reception started, Slate punched the numbers of Becky’s phone into his cell. He couldn’t wait until he spoke to her in person and he couldn’t call from the house with the chance that Amelia might hear.

  It rang. And rang. Rang. Bloody hell. Rang. “Hello, this is Beck – I mean Dr. O’Donald or Becky, whatever. I’m not available right now. Please leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” Rustling, a mild curse and the beep.

  Slate gripped the phone and gritted his teeth, barely moving his lips as he prefaced his visit. “Listen, Doc. I’m not amused by your breach in confidentiality. Your lack of professionalism is disgusting. After going to your office, I’m seeking out my lawyer. And just so we’re clear, I’d never take you up on your offer. Not now. I’ll be in town in a little bit to discuss this crap with you.” The last bit he had to add to make the little teenager in his heart feel better. His feelings were hurt but he was too big a man to admit just how much.

  She’d kissed him. They’d kissed. He’d held her. She’d operated on his nephew. Seemed genuinely concerned for the residents at Lonely River Ranch. But now…

  ~~~

  “What do you mean she’s not here?” Slate removed his leather gloves and tucked them in his coat pocket. The uneventful ride had taken him by Ronan’s ranch which increased his need to talk to Becky. Somewhere in the minutes between the phone call and arriving in town, the desire to yell at her for all he was worth and the urge to just ask her what happened fought and his anger had muted.

  Junior yawned. “Look, Slate, she’s not here. She made me drive her to Slim’s to pick up her rig. I closed the clinic because of the weather and Tim’s on-call the next forty-eight hours anyway. Dad’s not gonna be back from Missoula for two more days, either. She had to leave. No reason just that she was taking a few personal days.” A good half-foot shorter than Slate, Junior scowled as he was forced to look up at Slate. He pushed his hand through unkempt hair. “Some guy called for her after you and Ronan left.” Junior smirked. “She took off after that.”

  Another man called? Slate crossed his arms. “Were you listening at the back again, Junior?”

  The smaller guy shrugged. “So what if I was? You two are fools to be fighting over her. She’s a prude. I tried getting with that and she laughed at me.” He winked, the stubble on his face patchy at best. “I think she couldn’t handle Ole Stallion.” A pat on his upper thigh and a rock of his feet indicated his crotch.

  Disgust filled Slate. He’d never understood how someone like Dr. Roylance had had a kid like Junior. Sometimes he was the nicest guy and other times Slate couldn’t contemplate they were in the same state. Slate was still stymied that Junior had been able to find a woman to marry him. “Did she say anything else? I could really use some help, Junior.”

  Slitting his eyes, Junior sucked on his tongue making a clicking sound. He considered Slate like an item he might sell. “Look, I told you she’s not worth it. Why do you want her info so bad?”

  He tried to hide just how bad he wanted to talk to her. “She’s doing a consult for me.”

  “Sure, she is. If she went somewhere and it wasn’t with another guy or Ronan’s, maybe it was back home. I think she’s from Spokane. Her parents own a place there.” Junior looked into his house toward the ring of a phone. “That’s probably my wife. Maybe it’s a booty call. Later.” The door shut in Slate’s face.

  Spokane. She’d mentioned she was from there. Had she been called home or had she left because of what he’d said? He wasn’t the most couth person in Montana, or even the nation.

  One minute she’s propositioning him with her lush little body and the next she’s driving off with Ronan. Okay, he’d seen her with Ronan. She didn’t feel anything for him. The lack of spark between the two wouldn’t start a scooter’s engine, let alone hurtle the couple into any throes of passion.

  And to be honest, Ronan wasn’t really interested in Becky. He couldn’t be. He hadn’t been interested in anyone since Kelsey. Even Bethany, his wife had lost her position in his esteem when Dr. Roylance had offered his condolences to Amelia for Ronan’s inability to have children with his wife.

  No, for Ronan it’d always been Kelsey. Even with other women chasing him. The only reason he was after the doctor was to piss off Slate and to get something. Which he wasn’t getting.

  He wasn’t getting. Hadn’t gotten. Dang it. Becky hadn’t given him the blood. Or Ronan never would have called. The bastard wanted Slate mad at Becky to get distance between them so that Ronan wouldn’t have interruptions while he wooed her for the sample. The first thing Slate should’ve done was tell Ronan off and stick up for Becky. But of course he hadn’t.

  Damn. And of course, Slate had walked into Ronan’s setup like a kid into an ice cream shop.

  In the truck, he picked up his cell. Crap. He’d called her. Left a ruder-than-hell-man-he-was-in-trouble message. Slate dropped his head onto the steering wheel. The knee jerk reaction wasn’t like him. He didn’t do things like that. She-Doc was getting under his chaps. In a big way.

  Chapter 21

  Garth Brooks poured from the speakers. A nice change from her usual attempts at anti-country music – Def Leppard, Pat Benatar, Clapton, Aerosmith – the old school songs that still told a story. Stories country still told.

  Becky didn’t want to hear the stories of loss and longing. But a part of her pulled to the crooning lines Garth gave with a distinct strength.

  Garth was her mom’s favorite.

  And her mom was in the hospital. A hospital Becky had interned at. She still had her parking pass which slid into the ticket machine and back out like she’d been there that morning.

  The speed bumps grated on her nerves. Downtown Spokane hadn’t changed. The large buildings seeking metropolis-autonomy hadn’t changed. Even the drivers hadn’t changed.

  No, the only one who seemed to have changed was her. She missed the tallest building in town being the library/post office. The only places to park being on the road or in paved parking lots. She missed seeing one or two cars in town because everyone was busy doing something, or being somewhere, or working.

  She climbed from the car and clutched her keys in one hand and her paperback-sized purse in her other. Stairs down the side of the elevator shaft allowed her to pound out some of the nerves she’d built up on the drive down.

  It was late. The orange glow from the street lamps was nullified by the fluorescent light pouring from the hospital corridors. Even the snow drifting down seemed half-hearted.

  Becky sighed.

  Pound, pound, pound.

&nb
sp; At the bottom of the steps she opened the first door, rounded the next hallway and ducked through the outpatient reception area and into the service elevator. She nodded at a radiologic technologist manning a portable x-ray machine, punched the fifth floor button, and proceeded to ignore the tech the remainder of the ride.

  John hadn’t given her the room number, but all cardiac cases were directed to the fifth floor. Cases. Damn. She couldn’t even refer to her mother as a patient.

  Becky checked her watch. Quarter after nine. The elevator doors opened and a chime sounded overhead. The floor coldly acknowledged her presence with dimmed lights and dark corridors. An empty nurses’ station manned the blinking machines and silent phones.

  She’d left her hospital tennis shoes beside the makeshift bed in the loft. Her black-soled boots squeaked on the linoleum, stark against the evening quiet.

  A quick glance around for personnel as she approached the counter revealed nothing. Becky leaned over and flipped the cover of the patients’ log open and perused the list for O’Donald.

  Of nine patients, not one was Marianne O’Donald.

  Becky’s shoulders slumped and she rested her arm on the counter. Replaying the conversation with John in her head, the location and diagnosis were accurate. She would have been admitted to the floor immediately – certainly before Becky could make the six-hour drive from Colby-hole.

  Her phone beeped – a hollow bedunk sound. Low battery. Great. She flipped open the face and punched in her dad’s number to use up the last of the juice, but the cell gave one last attempt at a warning and cut out. “Great.” Becky slapped the phone shut on her leg and looked around.

  Exasperation had built up with Slate and Ronan, enhanced by her worry over her mom and now it was culminating in the ultimate climax because of her inability to escape the Spokane-Twilight-Zone.