The Doctor Wore Spurs (8 page)

"I was just persistent," she said around a yawn. "Persistence solves a lot of problems. When do you think you'll perform his surgery?"

"Maybe as early as Sunday."

She nodded and opened her eyes to meet Tyler's gaze. "He might have been unlucky to lose his mother, but he's lucky to have you for his doctor."

"If you keep saying things like that you'll make my head swell," he told her, "and other parts, too."

She couldn't fight Tyler tonight. She just didn't have it in her. "I'm not saying anything that isn't true."

He leaned closer and ran his fingers through a strand of her hair. "When I look at you, I want you so bad I can taste it. Tell me I'm not in this alone."

His intensity made her stomach tighten. "I want you," she admitted, "in a way that frightens me."

Over the next forty-eight hours she astonished him with her tenacity and perseverance. Sam awakened crying for his mother, and Jill comforted him. She sang songs and read books until her voice grew hoarse. Although he tried to get her to go home, she refused and took brief rests on a cot he brought into Sam's room. It wasn't that she always knew the perfect remedy for Sam. If there was a magic it was, as she'd said, her persistence. Throughout the hours, he watched the two of them bond like warriors in a battle.

Despite the demons that must have haunted her, she seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment, assuring Sam that someone would take care of him. He wondered if this was her trial by fire, if this was the reason she'd taken his dare.

By Sunday noon Sam's surgery was complete. He awakened quickly in recovery, and Jill came to his side. She stayed there until late Sunday night, and Tyler insisted she go home.

"I don't want him to wake up and panic," she argued, but the dark circles under her eyes spoke louder.

"You can't be here every single time he wakes up," Tyler told her. "It's physically impossible. You've gotten him through the worst weekend of his life. He has to be able to let other people take care of him."

She sighed and stood unsteadily.

Concern raced through him. He swore. "You're so exhausted I'm almost afraid to drive you home on my bike."

"Oh, I'll be okay." But she was swaying as she said it.

He put his hands on her slim shoulders. "Give the nurse some pointers, then we're leaving."

She sighed again and rubbed her eyes, walking to the nurses' station. "Whatever you do, don't lose the bunny. He loves
The Little Engine That Could
and the song 'Mares Eat Oats.' Do you know it?"

The nurse shook her head, so in the middle of the hallway, in a croaky voice, Jill sang the silly song, and turned him inside out.

He knew he didn't want her for just a night. It couldn't be forever, he told himself. Nothing ever was. The Logan Curse taunted him, and he felt the familiar twitch of his eye. When it came to love, Logan men didn't win. He scowled. He didn't believe in the curse, but he also didn't believe he would ever know what forever felt like.

He was determined, however, to make Jill Hershey his for whatever time they could have.

Jill was numb. She was pleased with herself that she hadn't fallen off Tyler's motorcycle. The bath he'd drawn for her had taken what little starch was left in her limbs. The scented water was beginning to cool. Loath to leave the tub, she knew she needed to go to bed.

Her only trouble was that her legs didn't want to help. She tried unsuccessfully to rise from the tub and only succeeded in dropping back down, splashing cold water on herself.

"Jill?" Tyler called. "Are you okay?"

Embarrassed beyond belief, she called back, "Fine. Just fine."

She tried again, but her legs were still no use. "This is so embarrassing."

Tyler must have heard her pitiful efforts. "I'm coming in."

Panic crowded her throat. "No!" she squeaked.

Too late. He stared down at her. She closed her eyes. She'd practiced the same thing as a child. If she couldn't see him, then he couldn't see her.

"What's wrong?"

"My legs are spaghetti. Beyond al dente." She could feel the blush of her life building from her toes. "Just go back out and give me a minute or two and—"

The sensation of his arms under her back and legs as he picked her up stopped her words and heart and forced her eyes open. "You have no idea how awkward this is for me."

"I've seen many naked bodies," he assured her.

"Why don't I feel better?" she asked.

"I'm a doctor. I've seen many bodies," he said, "and yours is very nice. Is that a birthmark on your left breast?"

"Stop looking," she told him.

He chuckled, grabbed a towel and carried her to her bed. She saw a cup of kava tea on her nightstand and a nightgown. In the same way he would care for a child, he pulled the gown over her head and offered her the tea.

She sipped it, feeling his gaze on her. "It would be easier for me if you would be less kind."

Arms crossed over his chest, he stood over her looking confused. "Why?"

"Because I don't want to like you." She made a face and shook her head. "I already like you. I don't want to fall for you. I don't want to think you have the capacity for a deep relationship with me. I don't want to get any crazy ideas that I could really be special to you."

His eyes made sensual promises that he would keep at another time. He took the cup of tea from her hands and tucked her in. He flicked off the lamp, brushed his lips over her cheek and whispered, "That wouldn't be crazy at all."

He had wanted to make love to her every day since she had arrived at the hospital, but last night he had wanted her so much it had kept him awake half the night. Now he knew she wanted him and was frightened by it. He just had to make the desire stronger than the fear.

Leaning against the doorjamb, he shook his head. Nope, a kiss was not going to cut it this morning. He would need to bring out the big guns.

French toast.

He threw in extra cinnamon to help his cause and halfway through the second batch on the griddle, she appeared in the doorway. "This is a dream," she said in a sleep-husky voice. "You can cook, too."

"Nothing gourmet," he said. "But I get tired of takeout and frozen food sometimes."

She reached for the phone.

"Sam is fine," he told her. "He woke up whimpering for 'Jelly,' but the rabbit, the book, and the oat song and a promise to see 'Jelly' later quieted him.

She sighed and gave a little smile. "Thanks for checking."

"He's my patient, too."

Her smile broadened. "I like the way you're possessive about your patients."

"I can be possessive about other things, too," he said, which was as much a surprise to Tyler as it might be to Jill. Tyler had never been possessive about a woman before, but he could easily see himself becoming that way about Jill. "Powdered sugar or syrup?" he asked, flipping the toast from the griddle onto a plate.

She bit her lip sheepishly. "Both."

His lips twitched. "Indulgent little thing, aren't you? Are you sure you don't want ice cream and hot-fudge sauce too?"

She lifted her hand. "Don't mention ice cream. Because ice cream goes with everything. Everything," she emphasized.

Tyler bit his tongue and bided his time, telling himself that very soon he would be consuming her like a bowl of ice cream.

"How am I different from your stupid ex-husband?" he asked as she poured orange juice for both of them.

She looked surprised, then thoughtful. "You are dark and he is blond. He is a salesman. You are, too, but not professional. You just use your persuasive abilities when it serves your cause, and your cause is a good one. He is a flirt. You are too, but—" She frowned.

"But what?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Your way is different, somehow." She grew serious. "You are excellent in crisis situations. You aren't the type to fall apart when others may be depending on you."

She didn't need to finish by saying that her husband hadn't cut the mustard during a crisis. Tyler had an agenda for asking the question—reduce the fear.

She ate another bite of toast and looked at him consideringly, seeming to hesitate. "You also seem to be more—" She hesitated, a self-conscious expression washing over her face. "—sexually driven."

"Does that bother you?" he asked mildly.

"No," she said too quickly. "Why should it bother me? It doesn't really affect me."

"I don't affect you at all, right?"

"I, uh, didn't say that," she hedged, and took a sip of orange juice.

"How long do you think it's been since I've had sex with anyone besides myself?"

She squirmed in her seat. "I really don't know. No idea," she said.

"Take a guess."

"I really—" She exhaled. "A week or two, maybe three."

"Try a year."

Her jaw dropped.

"Sex can be a pretty combustible action. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. You have to be careful with yourself and other people."

"A year?" she echoed. "But you're so—"

"So what?"

"So sexy. Everything about you. The way you walk, the way you talk, the way you smell. And women pine after you."

"I'm careful," he said, deliberately holding her gaze. "I want it to be right." He could tell he was shaking up her perception of him, slicing past her objections. Good, he thought. He leaned closer and took her mouth in a surprise kiss. She tasted of sugar and orange juice. He cupped her chin and felt his need for her rise in his chest like an ache. He was beginning to wonder if they could make the ache go away.

Jill spent the afternoon in a state of complete distraction. She tried to blame it on her lack of sleep and concern for Sam, but she was truly thinking about Tyler. Flowers arrived while she was pacing her office and brooding over him.

Trina raised her eyebrows. "It's the
other
florist," she said.

Jill made a face. At least Tyler wasn't here to witness it. She reached for the card, and he blew into her office.

Jill swore under her breath. She'd experienced the choreography for this scene one too many times.

Tyler frowned at the flowers. "I'm beginning to not like this guy."

"He's a very nice person. I think he just doesn't seem to grasp subtlety very well," she said weakly.

"I'll say," Trina agreed. "Do you want to keep them or share?"

"Share."

Trina promptly removed the offending bouquet from the office while Tyler steamed in front of her.

"I think I may have to call him."

"Good idea," he said. "Unless you're interested in him."

"No," she said. "I mean, he's a very nice man, very stable, but—"

"But he doesn't crank your engine, flip your switch, light your fire, get you going," he said, his gaze dropping over her like a hot breeze.

Her heart tripped over itself as he moved closer. "Uh, no."

He backed her against her desk. "How long has it been since you had sex, Jill?"

She swallowed. "I told you. A long time." She tried to take a breath, but couldn't seem to find it.

He brushed his body against hers. "I'm gonna change that answer very soon, but you'll come to me," he told her, and took her mouth.

It wasn't a nice little kiss. It was a hungry, sexual oath of more to come. He meant business, and her body responded like kindling to a match. He slid his hands down to cup her bottom and pull her against him to feel his arousal.

She had the exhilarating and terrifying sense that he would take her at this moment on her desk. She had the exhilarating and terrifying sense that she would let him.

He pulled back instead, and the passion in his eyes was almost too much for her to bear. They had been through so much together during the past few days it was as if their bodies were demanding an ultimate union.

Trina opened the door and Tyler quickly turned around shielding Jill from her prying eyes. "Dr. Logan, I don't mean to bother you, but there's a discrepancy on your favorite color, and a reporter from a West Texas weekly newspaper would like to clarify. It's a human-interest story."

Tyler glanced back at Jill's dress and met her gaze with brief possessiveness. "Purple," he said, and headed for the door.

Trina blinked, then slowly nodded at his departure. "Okay."

That evening Jill visited with Sam, reading, singing and playing. She marveled at his resilience. It was hard to believe he'd just lost his mother and had been through major surgery. He was still quiet, and Social Services was searching for a foster family who could handle children with special needs, but he smiled shyly a few times and hugged her tightly.

The sensation of his little body grabbing on to her neck twisted her heart and made her long for the child she would never bear. She didn't, however, feel the same overwhelming grief anymore. The loss was still present, but taking care of Sam this past weekend had changed her. Odd, but caring for him nonstop had done something to her. She might often feel a twinge about babies, but she would never avoid children or their causes in the future. She wouldn't deny herself the fulfillment and pleasure.

As Sam drifted off to sleep, she thought of Tyler and a different sort of fulfillment and pleasure she'd also avoided for years. She groaned.

Putting Sam to bed, she remembered Tyler's claim this afternoon—that she would come to him. She still couldn't believe he'd said that.

Jill had never gone to a man's house with the intention to seduce. She didn't know if she had the nerve. While Tyler's sensuality was like a tornado, hers was like an ocean breeze.

How could she go to his apartment? She didn't even know his address. It wouldn't be difficult to find, she thought. But what would she wear? What would she say? What would she do?

Agitated, she left Sam's room. She had no idea how to seduce Tyler. Sex with her husband hadn't been particularly memorable. She suspected her experience with Tyler might be quite different.

How could she go? she wondered, swearing under her breath. How could she not?

It took her hours to get up the nerve, and she looked at it six ways from Sunday and came up with six different answers. She picked up a bottle of wine and a country CD at a quick mart and found her way to his apartment. His motorcycle was parked out front.

She cut her engine and reconsidered for the fiftieth time, then gathered her courage. Or was it insanity? She walked to his front door and knocked before she could think about it.

It took him such a long time to answer she almost left.

He answered the door in a pair of jeans with the top button undone and no shirt. His hair was mussed and his eyelids heavy. He'd been sleeping.

Jill felt her embarrassment reach epic proportions. Thank goodness he couldn't see her face because of the darkness. "I'm sorry. It's too late. You've been sleeping," she said without taking a breath. "I shouldn't have come."

He reached out and took her wrist. "No," he said. "I was just dozing. Come in."

He pulled the door shut behind her and stood there for a long moment watching her in the semi-darkness.

Jill had practiced a zippy little speech that evaporated from her mind the second she stared at his bare chest. Just the right amount of chest hair arrowed down to the top of his jeans. Her pulse clamored in her head.

Forcing her gaze away from him, she took in what she could of his den. A comfortable couch, a southwestern throw, pillows, an overstuffed chair, a table topped with books and a terra-cotta lamp and an entertainment center.

CD player.

The sight jogged her memory, but her courage sagged. She wanted to say, help! "Are you sure this isn't too late?" she asked in a near whisper.

He shook his head.

"I brought some wine," she said, not quite meeting his gaze. "And a CD. I thought you maybe could give me another lesson in two-stepping." She took a breath. "But you're probably too tired for that, so—"

"I'm not," he said, and reached for the bag she held. He took her hand, too, as if he knew she might back out, and led her to a small kitchen.

"You saw Sam tonight," he said, as he uncorked the wine.

Sam. An easier subject. She took a breath. "Yes. He was doing wonderfully. I think he had more energy than I did," she said.

Tyler filled one wineglass. "His prognosis is excellent. You should feel good. You helped him through a terrible time."

"He kinda helped me, too."

He nodded and offered her a sip.

She took two. "You aren't going to have any?"

"We can share," he said and took the bottle and CD with him as he led her back to the den. "Take off your shoes," he said, and with a slow wicked smile added, "and anything else you might like to ditch."

She stepped out of her shoes, shoved them out of the way and took another gulp of wine. He programmed the CD player, and the music flowed through the room. He took her hand and stood in dance position as if he didn't know she was here to make love with him. His shoulder was warm and muscular beneath her palm, and that single button at the top of his jeans was still unfastened. She bit her lip.

"The secret is the slide. When I slide forward, you slide backward. Slide, slide," he said, beginning the dance. "That's right."

Looking at him clouded her mind, so Jill stared down at her feet and concentrated on the movements.