Dr. Hot Stuff (Ponderosa Resort Romantic Comedies Book 9)

by Tawna Fenske

  “No.” She shakes her head slowly, sadly. “My family drew the line in the sand. I’m required to return next week.”

  Anger washes through me, and I’m not sure who I’m mad at. Izzy for keeping me in the dark all this time? Her parents for placing absurd requirements on a grown-ass woman?

  Or this Prince Whatever asshole, the guy who gets to marry her. Thinking of him sets my blood boiling again, and I blurt my next question without thinking.

  “Do you love him? Is there some part of you that wants to marry this guy?”

  She blinks in astonishment. “What? No.” She says it like it’s the last thing in the world that crossed her mind, which points to a pretty major cultural gap. “He’s nearly twenty years my senior. I’ve heard he’s a decent enough man, but I have no frame of reference. We literally met twice—once at a regatta event, and another time at my mother’s birthday gala.”

  Her eyes sweep mine, and I see the moment she hears the question I’d never be rude enough to ask. “He’s never laid a hand on me,” she adds. “We haven’t touched or kissed or—anything.”

  “Okay.” I need to tread carefully. It’s not my place to mansplain free will, to downplay someone’s cultural heritage. “Izzy, you’re an adult. You get to make your own choices.”

  She shakes her head slowly and swipes at the trickle of moisture on one cheek. “It isn’t that simple.”

  “Why not? Explain it to me like I’m three. Like I’ve never heard of the concept of arranged marriage or like I’m not the guy in love with you.”

  Her mouth falls open, and she stares at me.

  Oh, Christ. I really said that, didn’t I?

  But I’m not taking it back. In fact, I take a step closer. “Izzy, I love you. If you feel even a fraction of the same, we can figure this out together. We can find a way for you to stay.”

  “Oh, Bradley.” A fresh wave of tears descends as the crumpled tissue falls from her hand. She starts to reach for it, but I close the gap between us.

  Catching her by one elbow, I reach up to cup her cheek. “Iz, what? Tell me all of it. Please, you owe me that much.”

  I feel her stiffen, and wish I could take back the word “owe.” That’s not what we’re about, especially now that I’ve laid out my cards. I love this woman, and unless I’m nuts, she’s not far from feeling the same.

  “I—I can’t.” She whispers the words, then closes her eyes. “I care about you so much—a million times more than I expected to. But that’s not enough.”

  She didn’t say love, but she didn’t run screaming from the room at my declaration. “The hell it’s not enough.”

  “Bradley, no.” She opens her eyes again and shakes her head, tears shimmering on her lashes. “My brother, he was supposed to marry Stefano’s sister.”

  “Your brother.” I stare into her eyes, trying to understand. “Not one of your Bracelyn brothers?”

  She shakes her head and swipes a sleeve under her eyes. “My brother, Oliver. He was born when I was twelve and he was the best baby in the world. Always laughing and smiling and grabbing my hair in his little fist.”

  There’s a dimness to the light in her eyes, and I reach up to swipe away a freshly fallen tear. “What happened?”

  “He died,” she whispers. “He was only a baby, and he died. But before that, the Duke promised him to Caroline. Stefano’s sister; she was four at the time, though they wouldn’t have married for many years.”

  “Okay,” I say, struggling to follow. “So this was a strategically arranged marriage, like you said.”

  “Right, but more significant because Oliver was the biological child of my mother and the Duke. They both come from powerful bloodlines, but together—” She shakes her head, not bothering to complete the thought. “Once Oliver died, it fell to me to carry on the legacy. It’s my duty as their only daughter.”

  She sways a little on her feet, so I reach for her again. I expect her to flinch, but she leans into me like my touch might be the only thing holding her upright.

  “So it’s about duty.” Some selfish, egotistical part of me likes hearing it’s not a love match. That Izzy’s not enamored with her fiancé. “What about duty to yourself? Making yourself happy and chasing your own dreams.”

  Her eyes search mine, still glittering with tears. “Is it ever really that easy?”

  “Why the hell wouldn’t it be?”

  “You’re asking me about duty?” She shakes her head slowly. “If it were that simple, you’d be an Army doctor. Your sister might still be stuck in an unhappy marriage, and your mother—your mother would have faced your father’s death alone. You do understand duty, Bradley.”

  Her words land like blows, but soft ones. I get her point, and yet— “Changing career plans isn’t the same as sacrificing your own happiness for someone else,” I say slowly. “I’m happy as a private practice doc. I’m glad I came home to Oregon.”

  Glad because it means I met Izzy, which I don’t say out loud because the last thing she needs is more guilt piled onto her sagging shoulders.

  “You don’t understand.” Shame twists her features like she’s heard my thoughts. “I owe them. My family, it’s the least I can do.”

  “Why?” I ask. “You’re technically not even the Duke’s heir, and your mother—surely she wants you to be happy?”

  She shakes her head, searching my face like she’s waiting for me to get it. Like this should all make sense. “It’s my fault he’s dead,” she says softly. “My brother. I killed him.”

  “What?” I trip over the word, recognizing its inadequacy in the face of so much pain in Izzy’s eyes. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because it’s true,” she says. “I was in charge. I was watching him when he died, and everyone knows it’s my fault. My mother, the Duke—”

  The sobs that seize her this time are unlike the ones before. She’s wracked by huge, heavy waves of shame, crying so hard that her whole body caves in on itself. I’ve never seen anything like this, not even when I’ve delivered terminal diagnoses. It’s like her heart is breaking right before my eyes.

  Holding her tight against my chest, I reach up and stroke her hair. I want to ask more, to wrap my brain around how she could possibly blame herself for whatever claimed the life of a child. But interrogating her now would just fan the embers of guilt, and I’m not that cruel.

  So I just hold her. I’m not sure how long we stand like that. Ten minutes? Ten hours? When Izzy draws back, her eyes are red and raw. She’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but right now, she’s a hollow shell of herself.

  “I need a tissue.” She takes a step back, putting distance between us. “I need to wash my face and maybe you should—maybe you should go.”

  “Izzy, no.” I start toward her, then stop. “I’m not leaving you like this.”

  “You need to.” She bites her lip. “The more time we spend together, the harder it’s going to be to say goodbye in a few days.”

  Harder for her or for me? I’m not sure which she means, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. I cast a glance around the room, gaze landing on Kevin snoring in his jaunty bowtie.

  “Maybe we should slow down and talk things through.” I’m fighting for more time, but what else can I do? “If we just stop and talk about—”

  “You’ve been so good to me.” Her voice is choked and high. “So kind and caring and wonderful. You brought me dinner and a pig, and I’m sending you away like some ungrateful—”

  “Iz, no.” I shake my head, struggling to understand how we got this far off track. “You don’t owe me anything. What we have together, it’s not some quid pro quo. I don’t do things for you so you’ll be indebted to me. I do them because I love you.”

  There, I’ve said it again. If she feels the same, this is her chance to say it.

  But she bites her lip instead. “I’m so sorry, Bradley. It wasn’t supposed to go like this.”

  The words land like sharp blows to my sternu
m. I take a deep breath, ignoring all the things I want to say.

  Please stay.

  Please fight for us.

  Please give us a chance.

  But if she did that now, she’d be doing it for the wrong reasons. She’d be sticking around out of guilt and obligation, not love.

  And that’s not how I want this to go.

  I take a shaky breath. “So that’s it.”

  I watch her hesitate, and for an instant, hope blooms bright and feathery in my chest.

  “That’s it.” She holds my gaze, and those words are like a hammer slamming one last nail into the coffin. “I’m sorry.”

  So there’s nothing left to say. “All right.” I swallow back my own bitterness. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It’s not what I want. But it’s what I need to do.”

  “I don’t buy that.” It’s an asshole thing to say. I’ve never been in her shoes, and I can’t pretend to understand what she’s facing.

  “My family needs me,” she says. “Surely, you understand that.”

  I do. I hate that I do, and I don’t think it’s the same thing at all. But I find myself nodding anyway. “Yeah. All right.”

  She bites her lip “If you want, we could still go to the wedding together. I owe you that much, to be your date.”

  “Stop saying you owe me something.” I take a deep breath against the anger building inside me. “I don’t want to be with someone who’s with me out of obligation.”

  “I understand,” she says. “I truly do.”

  I’m not sure she does, but there’s no point belaboring it. She’s made her decision.

  But I’m not one to walk away without saying my piece. “Let me be clear.” I brace a hand on the counter, locking my eyes with hers. “I love you, Izzy. I want you to stay in Oregon. I want you to choose to be with me because it’s what you want for you and not out of guilt or obligation or some sense of what’s expected of you. If you’re not prepared to do that—”

  I break off because part of me’s still hoping she’ll put a stop to this. That she’ll change her mind, see reason, decide her own happiness matters just as much as her family’s.

  Instead, she shakes her head. “I wish I could,” she says softly. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too.” Not for the same things, but it doesn’t matter now. Nothing does.

  We’re done, and no miracle cure, no magical, healing powers are going to change that.

  I take a deep breath and a step toward the door. “Goodbye, Izzy.”

  I move away before she can say it back. Before I throw myself on the floor at her feet and beg her to change her mind.

  Because I know in my aching, shredded heart that’s not happening.

  So I find the strength to walk out the door.

  Chapter 13

  Isabella

  I cry myself to sleep that night. The next night, too, and the night after that.

  I know I’m pathetic, but I can’t seem to stop. I know I’m doing the right thing, the thing my family needs me to do.

  So why does it feel so wrong?

  At least I have Kevin, who delivers unconditional love in the form of damp piggy kisses and snorts that tell me he appreciates my affection. Or maybe he’s just hungry, since he’s intent on eating everything in sight. Three days in, I catch him devouring a bar of peppermint soap. In a panic, I call Jade at the reindeer ranch when I remember she’s a vet.

  To my relief, she just laughs. “He should be fine. Pigs love peppermint. Can you read me the ingredients on the soap?”

  I do, and she assures me all will be well. “He might foam at the mouth, but he’ll be okay,” she says. “And at least his breath is minty fresh.”

  In the background, I hear her husband saying something. Jade laughs and tells me she needs to go. “Of course,” I say, shoving back the sharp pang of envy in my chest. “Thank you.”

  Despite an overwhelming urge to call him, I avoid dialing Bradley. It’s better this way, a safeguard against getting more attached.

  But as the days drag on, I suspect it’s not that simple.

  On the morning of Jon and Blanka’s wedding, I wake with my face stuck to my Egyptian cotton pillowcase. Fingering the seam, I remember Bradley lying beside me, his hand stroking the soft cotton as his other traced the contour of my hip.

  A quiet snort at the foot of the bed reminds me that Kevin crept up in the middle of the night. I pat the pillow and instantly he joins me, nuzzling his sweet, bristly body against mine.

  “I hate this,” I murmur against him. “How do you get used to saying goodbye to people? Your last home and your foster home and then here, and I’m already failing you.”

  Kevin oinks softly and nuzzles my face, making me cry harder. I’m still at it when my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I roll over and grab it, hoping to see Bradley’s name on the screen.

  Mother: We need to discuss the wedding.

  I close my eyes and set the phone down unanswered. I’ve told her about Jon and Blanka’s ceremony, but I know that’s not the wedding she means.

  The last thing I need on the day of my brother’s wedding is to talk with my mother about mine, so I reach over and switch the phone off completely. Stroking a hand down Kevin’s plump side, I ponder how on earth I’ll stand there at the front of the chapel for Jon’s ceremony with eyes swollen shut from tears. Grabbing my phone again, I switch it back on and pull up Bree’s number.

  Any tips for de-puffing eyes quickly?

  The bubbles appear almost immediately with her response.

  Hangover? Poor sleep? Tears?

  I hesitate, then type my one-word reply.

  Latter.

  Her response is almost instant.

  Meet me at the spa in 15 minutes.

  I’ve avoided telling her about the breakup, but she’s probably guessed. Bree doesn’t miss much, but I didn’t want to put a damper on family festivities before Jon’s wedding. Instead, I pasted on my regal smile through family luncheons and rehearsal events.

  But it’s inevitable now. Bree’s going to take one look at my face and know something’s up. With a sigh, I heave myself out of bed and dress quickly in designer loungewear. I’ve got plenty of time to prepare for the ceremony, so I may as well be comfortable for this spa date.

  As I drag a brush through my hair, I turn to Kevin. “You know how we’ve talked about my brother’s wedding?”

  He sits down and tips his head to one side, oinking in earnest.

  “Right, so there’s a problem,” I admit. “I’m not sure about leaving you alone yet, but there’s only one person I know who’s not attending the wedding.”

  A person I’d prefer not to trust, though I’ll grudgingly admit he’s shown good rapport with my pig. When we crossed paths yesterday, Dante knelt on the damp path and looked deep in Kevin’s eyes.

  “You’re a good pig,” he said in Dovlanese, scratching beneath Kevin’s bristled chin. “A lot like Elias.”

  Kevin grunts and nuzzles my hand, dragging me back to the present. I clip on his leash and away we go, trudging down the walkway that leads past the spa and over to the farthest cluster of guest cabins. The air is crisp and bright, with tiny ice crystals clinging to the grass. The lodge is far enough from here that I can’t hear the bustle of wedding preparations, but I know it’s happening. I smell roast meat and something faintly vanilla, and there’s an energy in the air that wasn’t there yesterday.

  Stepping onto Dante’s porch, I lift my hand to knock. Before I can, the door flies open.

  His brows knit together below his bald pate. “What the hell happened to you?”

  “Nice to see you, too.” I hold out the leash. “Could you please pig-sit today?”

  He folds his arms over his chest and ignores my outstretched hand. “What for?”

  “Because you’re the only person I know not attending Jon’s wedding, and I’d like someone to keep an eye on him.” Feeling guilty for speaking sharply,
I temper my tone. “Please. I know you like animals. And I know he reminds you of your childhood pet.”

  His expression softens as he looks down at Kevin. My piggy pal flutters his lashes and grunts.

  “Fine.” With a sigh, Dante grabs the leash and wraps it around one meaty fist. “I might have to go out for a few minutes, but I can take him with me.”

  I bite my lip and survey the room. “Are the guns put away?”

  He eyes me with bemusement. “Kevin knows how to use a firearm?”

  “Dante, just please keep him safe.”

  He sighs again and rubs a hand over his smooth scalp. “Fine. For the record, the guns are in a safe. Odds are slim your pig can guess the combination.” An odd look passes over his face. “Or maybe he can. Pigs are damn smart.”

  “Thank you.”

  I turn and start to walk away, but Dante’s voice stops me. “You okay?”

  Squaring my shoulders, I nod without turning around. “I’m fine.”

  He’s silent behind me, so hopefully that’s it. I start walking again.

  “Isabella. Izzy.”

  That gives me pause. He’s never called me by my nickname, not once. “What?” I turn to face him, surprised to see his expression is…sympathetic?

  “What?” I ask again, crossing my arms over my body. “I’m expected at the spa right now, so—”

  “Be careful.” His brow furrows like he’s considering his words. “You’ll be with Deadeye at the wedding?”

  It takes me a moment to realize he means Bradley. “Yes.” I hesitate, not wanting to give anything away. “We’re seated at the same table for the reception.”

  He nods, eyeing me closely. “You have my number if you need anything.”

  That gives me pause. “What is it you think I’d need from you?”

  One corner of his mouth twitches. “A pig sitter.” He slams the door before I can respond, punctuating the end of our conversation. I stare at his door a moment, wishing I’d said thank you once more. He’s doing me a favor.