Rocky Mountain Hook Up (To Love Again Book 1) (2 page)

“If I did go, it would just be to observe. I won’t be dragging any young thing home.” Isabel shook her head and checked her watch. “Ohmigod. It’s five to three.” She leapt up, grabbed her purse and gave Jenny a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks for meeting me. I do feel better.”

“Just think about it, Isabel. Come to the club. It’s only one night of your life, and if you hate it, I’ll refund your misery, okay?”

Jenny’s words floated over her shoulder as she strode across the cafeteria toward the elevator. Only one night of her life. How hard could that be?

CHAPTER TWO

After slipping quietly in the back door, Isabel tapped open the intercom. “Heidi, you can send in the Steiners now.”

Heidi paused before responding. “Dr. Chapel, the Steiners called and cancelled their appointment.”

Isabel stared at the intercom, trying to find her voice. The silence pressed in on her.

“Dr. Chapel?” The anxiety in Heidi’s voice crept through the line.

Isabel jerked away as though just waking. “Thank you, Heidi.” She released the button on the intercom and realized she’d been holding her breath. She braced herself against the desk. “Breathe, Isabel, breathe,” she reminded herself softly. “It’s not the end of the world.”

Slowly, her breathing resumed its normal rhythm. In, out. “See, Isabel,” she whispered. “It’s not that hard … in, out. In, out.” She walked to the window and looked out over Prince’s Island Park and the Bow River beyond. She was a grown woman. She could handle this. She had an analytical mind; this was no time to be emotional. It was just a matter of problem-solving and she was good at that. Or at least, she used to be good at solving other people’s problems.

Crossing the room, she jabbed the intercom open again. “Heidi, can you come in with the weekly stats file, please?”

“I’ll be right there, Dr. Chapel.”

Seconds later, Heidi swung through the large oak door, her blonde hair trim in the page boy cut she had worn since Isabel hired her. She crossed to the cream leather loveseat and perched on the edge.

“How many people have cancelled this week, Heidi?” Isabel slumped into the white brocade wing back chair her grandmother had gifted her when she first got the office. As she watched Heidi flip open the file and run her perfectly manicured finger down the right hand column of figures, she realized that part of her did not want the numbers confirmed.

“Three, and it’s only Thursday,” Heidi’s voice was quiet and she kept her eyes focused on the file. “We had two last week, and two the week before.”

Isabel jotted the figures on the blotter in front of her, tracing the pencil over and over the numbers. Three, two, two. Three, two, two. The lead snapped as she pressed down sharply.

Heidi shifted on the loveseat and adjusted the long print skirt she wore over her knees. Her brow creased. “We seem to be running at an all time high,” she ventured.

“I’m aware of that,” snapped Isabel. She was only too aware, hyper aware, losing sleep aware. She caught the surprise in Heidi’s eyes and was immediately sorry for being so sharp. She smiled wryly. “I’m sorry, Heidi. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Heidi attempted a smile, but Isabel caught the telltale twitch at the outer corner of her lip and prayed she wouldn’t cry. She had enough on her plate without having to deal with a tearful assistant.

Isabel reached for the file and flipped through the well-organized contents.

“Maybe it’s because you haven’t had any big media coverage lately,” suggested Heidi, nervously twirling a lock of blonde hair around one finger.

“I don’t think so, Heidi.” She was the best known sex therapist in Calgary, often quoted in news stories and sometimes called to trial as an expert witness. Her work as a sex therapist was often misunderstood, but she enjoyed helping people overcome their problems, and often was able to help them regain an active and satisfying sex life. Doing so made her work very rewarding. There was no question that the media attention brought her new clients, but it had nothing to do with the retention - or in this case - the loss of clients.

“No, I don’t think it’s that,” Isabel continued, rising and leaning against the edge of her desk. “It’s something else. We’re still getting lots of referrals. It’s just that once they’re here, they only come for the first appointment.”

Heidi met Isabel’s look straight on. “They don’t say anything to me, Dr. Chapel. Would you like me to call and ask why they didn’t come back? It may all just be coincidence.” Heidi’s voice trailed off. She didn’t sound at all convinced.

As sure as her feet were planted on the Turkish carpet beneath her, Isabel knew it was not coincidence. With a six-month waiting list, seven cancelled appointments in three weeks was no coincidence. No, she suspected that Jenny was right.

Since her divorce from her lying, cheating snake of a husband, Isabel had kept a low-profile. She had poured all her energy into building her practice so she could provide for her two daughters. Now with the girls at college, her practice was the only thing Isabel had left to hang on to. The only place she felt confident and in charge. Except lately, she hadn’t felt confident. She felt like a fraud. Maybe her clients had tuned in to that?

She needed to bump up the heat a little in her own life, get more experience in her area of expertise. How could she pretend to help her clients with their sexual problems if she could barely remember what sex was?

Breaking out of her thoughts, she caught the stress on Heidi’s face. “Were the Steiners the last appointment for today, Heidi?”

“Yes, Dr. Chapel,” she confirmed, rising from the love seat and retrieving the file from the desk.

“Why don’t we call it a day, then?” smiled Isabel. “Go home early. We could both use a bit of a break.”

Heidi nodded and walked back toward the reception area. “Maybe things will change once you publish your new book - ” Heidi said just before she closed the door, her smile not quite convincing.

Isabel looked around her office. Her beautiful office, filled with things she loved. The perpetual clock on the faux mantel a gift from her mother when she had graduated. The oak desk with its scarred top left behind by her mentor. Josef, a brilliant sex therapist, had not only helped her choose her specialty, he’d also passed on both his office and his client roster when he retired. Along one wall hung her diplomas and a framed photograph of her first book signing. A newspaper clipping with the national best-seller list showing her book third from the top was mounted over the bookcase. It would kill her to lose all of this now.

She simply couldn’t let it slip away. The long years at school had been hard, the painful years after Chet left even more difficult. It had been such a struggle to keep going. And financially, there was no one else to care for her and the girls. She had a mortgage payment, college tuition for the girls and a book deadline looming. She couldn’t afford to jeopardize any of it.

But casual sex? She’d only had two partners before her husband. According to Jenny, that was the problem. She needed more experience, and more than that, she needed more
life
in her life. Jenny could be right about that. Lately her life seemed to flat line. How could she encourage her clients to explore their sexual needs if she denied her own? At the very least she could go out and see what was going on in the world.

But The Shore? Or as Jenny called it - ‘the sure thing’? When Jenny had first suggested the newest hot spot for the older lady and younger guy, she’d been appalled at the idea. She wasn’t sure when older women had come back in vogue, and at forty, she had difficulty thinking of herself as an ‘older woman’. Now, it seemed the quickest way to reach her goal. One night plus one boy would equal a renewed enthusiasm and a better practice, she hoped.

She sat staring at the phone, then took a deep breath. Punching the familiar numbers into the keypad, she tried to ignore her stomach clenching with each ring. “Come on, Jenny,” she whispered. “Pick up before I lose my nerve.”

CHAPTER THREE

Tray Taylor’s head pounded with the music that vibrated up through his feet and seemed to course through his very core. The club was loud. Capital L. Dodging and pressing his way through the crowd, he ignored the candid approval and come hither looks he received from several of the women.

He knew he cut a pretty picture, as his mother would say, but for now he had only one goal. Get to Barry, who was waving from the far side of the club. His best friend had been a good sport about this evening, even claiming he could not, absolutely would not, step foot in The Shore on his own. Tray knew it was a crock, but he still appreciated Barry’s clumsy way of tagging along to make sure Tray would find the courage to go ahead with his plan.

The club was shaping up to be all that Barry had promised and the women were stunning. Lean, full, tall or short, there was one for every taste. Impeccably dressed and several sexy as hell. If this was the over-forty crowd, Tray couldn’t help thinking he had many good years to look forward to.

He took in the scene. Women clustered in small groups, chatting, laughing, and discreetly – some not so discreetly – surveying the prey for the evening. If men were from Mars, these women were Venus fly traps. He only hoped he would have the nerve to follow through on his plan. He was grateful Barry had known about this club.

Reaching the table, he slapped Barry on the back in greeting. “Been here long?”

“Long enough to know you’re a loser,” Barry joked back. “It’s too bad you came all the way down here to be ignored by all these women.”

Tray flinched but he wasn’t surprised that Barry had watched his progress through the seething press of dancers. Tray’s looks always brought more attention than Barry’s, yet Barry didn’t seem to mind. And he loved to rib him about it. For years it had irritated Tray that someone with as good a heart as Barry didn’t have women falling all over him. But Tray had learned that women were fickle, and in a shallow world it seemed that appearance was sometimes everything. In the looks department, Barry was Joe Average, but his IQ was off the charts. Too bad most women never went beyond the surface in order to see that side of him.

“Eye candy,” replied Tray. “I’m not interested in being somebody’s boy toy.”

Barry raised his eyebrows. “Really? Isn’t that exactly why you’re here?”

Tray shifted behind the table, pulling out a stool next to the wall and throwing one leg over the top. “Well, I guess. But it doesn’t mean I have to be some sort of trophy.”

“Chum, these babes are all looking for trophies,” laughed Barry, waving his beer bottle in the direction of the dance floor. “That’s the point. That’s the whole game here.”

Tray wasn’t convinced. His eyes told him there were women on the make and almost as many men to match them, but surely there were a few looking for something more lasting and more meaningful than a trophy boy. “There must be more to it than that,” he said.

“Uh oh. Here were go, pal. See, that’s why I needed to come with you. You are such a bleeding romantic. You get your mind set on one thing and once you’re here you can’t see just having one night off.”

“It isn’t just one night,” began Tray.

Barry cut him off. “So a series of one nights. A serial one-night stand. Look at these women, buddy. If there aren’t at least fifty of them that could fit your needs, I’ll eat this beer bottle.”

Tray glanced around the room again. There was no denying that Barry was right. Tray had come looking for one woman that he could spend some time with. No romance, just a sexual tutor. He’d spent too much time around death, and with his father’s long struggle with cancer lost, he was ready for life. But after the long years on the farm, he couldn’t seem to revive his libido. Although the girls at university were falling over him and he could date almost anyone he might choose to, he didn’t want to get involved with any of them. What he wanted, what he needed after his years of celibacy, was someone to train him in the finer aspects of love-making. Someone who could take her time and appreciate him and not want anything from him. The starry-eyed girls at school all had Christmas engagements and spring weddings on their minds. It amazed him that after so many years, women were still going to college looking for an MRS degree.

“All right. There’s a lot of nice-looking women here,” he agreed, running a hand through his hair.

“Is the beer affecting your eyes, bud? Nice-looking? I’d give my eye teeth to go home with any one of them. What about that little redhead across the way?”

Tray followed Barry’s line of vision. Anticipation ripped through him when he saw the petite redhead, laughing self-consciously with a friend. She looked as nervous as Tray felt. There. There was more to some of them. As he watched, she shook her head at something her friend had asked and then watched her friend disappear toward the dance floor. “She’s kinda cute.”

“She’s your type, bud. Go get her, I’m going to dance.”

Barry made his way onto the dance floor and Tray felt an unfamiliar stir. The redhead was damned attractive. In fact, she was hot. As hot as the blood starting to rise in his veins. She was also dressed more conservatively than some of the other women. Certainly more than her friend with the trendy purple hair, who was a hottie of another type. Tray could sense the woman’s discomfort, as she sat there by herself. She twisted her napkin until it was almost in shreds, then moved on to rolling her drink between her hands.