Hotblooded (4 page)

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone and she knew the answer even before he said, “I guess that depends on you. That’s something I’d like to talk about.”

“So, if it’s not something that will definitely make me happy, why would I want to take time out of my day to hear it?”

“It’s…important,” he finally said.

“Is it important to me or to you?” she asked.

“It’s important to me,” his voice finally rumbled. “I really need to—”

“No offense,” she inserted, though she didn’t really care at this point if he was offended. “But I’m barely keeping up with the things in my life that are important to me. I don’t really have the time or energy for things that are important to complete strangers.”

“I want to help you,” he said firmly, undeterred by her statement.

That made her pause. “Help me?” she repeated.

“I know what’s going on in your life. You’re on your own professionally and personally now. That can’t be easy,” he pressed.

Brooke could count on one hand the number of people who had offered to help her or acted like they cared about her situation in the months since her husband’s death. Her pause had nothing to do with the fact that the man offering to help her was also the star of some rather lusty dreams last night where he
helped
her quite a lot, she insisted as an afterthought.

“I want to do something for you,” he said.

He didn’t know that he was talking to the woman he’d practically made love to on a desk yesterday, she reminded herself, so the sexual images that sprang to mind at the something he offered were one-sided.

“Why?” she asked, instead of giving suggestions.

He was quiet for a moment. “I’m a nice guy. At least I try to be,” he said gruffly.

She pulled over to the side of the road two miles from the Nelson’s driveway and shifted into park. Her hands were shaking but she wasn’t really sure why.

“Brooke, are you there?” he asked.

She started at his use of her first name. Until that moment he’d been calling her Ms. Donovan. Which kept things nicely distanced between them. But when he said her name, she was instantly jolted back to how it felt to be in his arms, with his mouth doing decadent things to hers.

“Yeah.”

“I feel terrible about what happened to Mike. I want to help you out in some way. I have a check for you.”

His answer was out of sync with what she’d been thinking and it took a moment for her mind to discard her assumptions and understand what he’d said.

“A check?”

Jack sat on the edge of his bed, his morning coffee churning in his gut as he plodded his way through the conversation he’d resigned himself to having over the phone. At least for now.

He’d tried three times now and still couldn’t get the words out that explained his part in Mike Worthington’s death. But at least she knew why he was here, mostly, and what he wanted to do for her.

“A check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” he said. “It’s what’s left of the life insurance policy on Edward Movey.” He waited a heartbeat for her to recognize the name.

“Edward Movey?” she asked hoarsely. “Two hundred and fifty thousand… But…why?”

“If anyone deserves the money it’s you, Ms. Donovan. Mr. Movey’s beneficiary wants you to have it.” That was the absolute, unadulterated truth.

He could have said, “I’m the beneficiary and
I
want you to have it.” But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Just like he couldn’t say
I caused the accident that killed your husband.

It probably made him a selfish bastard but he just couldn’t admit his guilt.

Besides, what did he really expect from confessing? Forgiveness? He didn’t deserve forgiveness. Would he feel better? He didn’t really deserve that either.

He was used to fixing things. He didn’t save everyone, but he could always tell the family that he’d done everything in his power. In this situation, he
hadn’t
done everything in his power and Mike Worthington and Jack’s uncle Ed were dead. And Brooke Donovan’s life had been turned upside down.

She was truly the only one left behind. Ed hadn’t been married, had no children, so his passing had affected the bartender at his regular hangout and his poker buddies more than anyone.

But just because no one was blaming him didn’t change the fact that Jack had failed.

He despised that.

He wasn’t used to be anything less than a hero. He spent his days in the ER where he didn’t always win, but where he always fought the good fight and got credit for trying.

Something good
had
to come out of this. He needed to fix it. He needed to fill in the gaps that he’d created for this woman.

“Surely his family could us it or donate it or something,” Brooke said, sounding a bit dazed.

“You are aware Mr. Movey was drunk when he hit your husband.”

He heard her pull in a long breath. “Yes.”

“His beneficiary…his nephew,” Jack said, trying to be as truthful as possible without exposing himself, “feels that because Mr. Movey’s recklessness directly impacted
your
life, perhaps the money can help you with some needs that may have come up since your husband’s death.”

“The family should consider giving the money to an alcohol education or prevention program,” she said. “They could impact a lot of lives that way.”

He barely avoided swearing. That sounded great, but it wouldn’t be
enough
. He needed his help to be more direct.
This
woman had been affected by
his
actions—or lack of in this case—and he needed to directly help
her
.

Dammit, his brother was right.

“The family has already made their decision, Ms. Donovan. The money is yours.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Yes, I do. Edward Movey’s family feels bad about my husband dying and wants to give me money to make it all better.”

It definitely sounded lame when she said it like that. But giving her the money had seemed like a decent gesture. And it was easy. Write the check, hand it over, leave town. At least, that’s what he’d imagined happening. He let his head drop, resting his elbows on his knees. Of course, if he imagined it going that way, it would go any way but like that.

“Ms. Donovan—”

“Mr. Silver, I’m not taking the money. There’s nothing you can say to change my mind.”

And she hung up on him again.

Brooke shut her cell phone off to prevent any callbacks and pulled back onto the gravel road to the Nelsons’. She was strangely restless after the phone call. It was really too bad that such a good-looking guy, who could kiss like it was a superpower, was determined to complicate her life.

Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars was a hell of a lot of money.

There was just no way around that fact.

But she couldn’t take it. As unbelievable as that was even to her.

A good-looking man that she wanted to sleep with was offering her money.

An exorbitant amount of money.

She was proud of her ability to say no in the face of such temptation.

But she had said no. Emphatically.

If only Walter Worthington could see this. Her ex-father-in-law would never believe she was saying no to both sex
and
money.

But she was not taking help, and definitely not financial help, from anyone. Especially young, hot, single men.

Even if taking the life insurance money hadn’t seemed creepy—which it did—she still didn’t want any help. She was going to pay her debt to Honey Creek with hard work. Period. Because it would shock and amaze them all.

She had a contract—a stroke of genius on Mike’s part—that stated as long as she showed up to staff the clinic every day for two years, Honey Creek would pay off the student loans she’d taken out to get her Physician’s Assistant degree. Mike had known how things would go with her and Honey Creek in the case he wasn’t there to be a buffer, so the contract read that as long as she showed up she’d have her loans paid. The fact that almost no one came to the clinic for care didn’t matter. She was still going to leave Honey Creek debt free in another eight months. In the meantime, she knew it bugged the hell out of Walter for her to even play at running the clinic, so she showed up every day and went through the motions.

The thing was, she didn’t want to be here either. She’d agreed to come back to Honey Creek to help Mike out. Again.

And then he’d up and died.

When she saw him in Heaven, he was going to owe her big-time. Heaven better have a Macy’s
and
Starbucks.

But for now, she was stuck here. She couldn’t leave. She wanted Honey Creek to be shocked and amazed, to know they were wrong about her. They figured that she was the kind of person to get going when the going got tough.

Which was exactly why Walter kept making things tougher and tougher. It had worked with her mother. Dixie had finally tucked tail and slunk out of town.

But Brooke was not her mother.

In any way.

She’d been intent on proving that for years and damned if she was going to let a little thing like Mike’s death derail her efforts. She didn’t need a man to take care of her. She could handle anything that came her way.

She could also resist the temptation of money, gifts, flattery, hot kisses and even hotter sex. Even with Jack Silver.

She could.

Absolutely.

Brooke eyed her cell phone with trepidation as it lay ringing on her kitchen counter. Only a very few people had this number. But there was one—with a rich, deep voice that made her tingly—who seemed intent on using it. Hourly. And she somehow knew he’d just keep calling back.

“Hello?”

“Hello.”

Something warm shimmered deep in her stomach like she’d just swallowed hot cocoa and it was warming her from within. Standing in only her jeans and a bra didn’t help.

“Mr. Silver, I presume.”

“I’m glad you remember me.”

Oh, she remembered him all right. The voice fit him. Big, strong, confident men needed deep, rich voices that would command attention and—with just the right intentional inflection—would pour over and melt a woman like hot fudge over ice cream. Oh yeah, hot fudge was a better analogy than cocoa.

“I need to see you,” he said.

“You’ve mentioned that.”

“And I intend to keep mentioning it.”

She wanted to offer him a chance to finish what they’d started at the clinic instead of talking about her dead husband, but she knew that would be a huge mistake. In a town where you couldn’t even wear new shoes without someone noticing, getting naked with the good-looking stranger from San Antonio would not escape attention.

And that was exactly the kind of attention she was intent on avoiding.

“I can’t do it, Mr. Silver.”

“Ms. Donovan. I have a large check made out to you, personally. I have no intention of taking it back with me.”

She scowled as she shucked out of her jeans. “And I have no intention of ever cashing that check or using any of that money no matter how many zeroes you add.”

“Then let me buy you—”

“I wish you’d just lost the money to him in poker or something,” she broke in. “I
might
take it then.” She’d save it until after her debt in Honey Creek was paid, but she really might spend Mike’s poker money.

There was a moment of silence, then, “A poker loss of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?”

“That would be a record,” she admitted. “But possible. He was in San Antonio for a big tournament. Well, that and Chris.” Poker was how Mike had met the man of his dreams. The man who he’d been planning to run away with. The man he’d been about to abandon her for.

She took a deep breath and tried to calm her temper. If Mike had left her in Honey Creek the way he’d intended she would have hunted him down and killed him anyway.

An unusual wave of nostalgia and sadness gripped her in that moment as she realized Mike would have thought that was really funny.

God, she did miss him. Her heart wasn’t broken like it should be after losing a spouse but it definitely ached. He’d been one of her best friends. If it weren’t for the fact she really was pissed at him, she’d be even sadder.

“I, um…I don’t gamble,” Jack finally said.

“Well, that’s too bad.” And she hung up on him yet again.

Jack was not used to not getting his way. And he wasn’t about to start getting used to it now.

He pulled the front door to the clinic open with much more force than was necessary. The little bell overhead tinkled merrily anyway, in sharp contrast to the very unmerry mood he was in.

He’d considered leaving town and being happy with the idea that he’d offered to help Brooke and she’d said no. There wasn’t much more he could do. She was an independent adult. He couldn’t force her to do or think or accept anything she didn’t want to.

But he was still here. Because he wasn’t satisfied with just offering help. It wasn’t his style to let people make bad choices. At least not normally.

Really just the one time. Which he could never forget.

It had been a stormy night seven months ago when he’d used the rationale that he couldn’t make a grown adult do anything they didn’t want to do. He’d given up arguing with his drunk uncle in frustration and had walked out of the house. Less than thirty minutes later, Ed had gotten into his truck and driven off, with his blood alcohol level twice the legal limit.

Jack could still smell the rain that had hung in the air that night. The cold, damp air had surrounded him, seeping into him, as deep as his heart. It had followed him all night—a frigid, oppressive reminder of all of the things he could not change: the weather, for one…and the fact that his uncle and an innocent man were dead.

Jack’s eyebrows pulled together. He could, however, change some of Brooke Donovan’s circumstances. He was going to help her whether she liked it or not.

He pulled himself from the past and stopped at the front counter, looking around the deserted clinic. He had a moment of déjà vu. It wasn’t the lack of patients or staff, or the furniture or any other triviality that came to mind, however. The only thing he could see, hear, taste or feel for a moment was the woman he’d nearly taken on the front desk.