by Terry Spear
“Not from here, wherever here is.”
She glanced up at him, having forgotten the question. “Uhm…” Her gaze moved from his abs to his serious face to his wound—which is where it should have been all along. “…Yuma Town, Colorado.”
He frowned. “Am I mistaken, or do a lot of cougars live in the area?”
“You’re not mistaken. Cougars run the town.”
He whistled. “Now that’s a new one on me.”
Finally concentrating on the business at hand—which she was highly trained for so why he was distracting her so shouldn’t have been an issue—she cleaned up the entry wound in front, and then bandaged it. Then she moved around to clean and bandage the exit wound in back.
“Do you live alone?” he asked.
She stilled, her hand still pressing the sterilized cloth against his smooth skin. “No.” She finished cleaning up the blood around his wound, disinfected it, then bandaged it. Then she came back to his front and finished washing off the streaks of blood that had run down his torso all the way to the patient gown he had bunched over his crotch, his legs completely bare. She was trying not to notice, but as she washed his chest, the gown began to tent over his erection.
“Two-and-a-half kids, husband, and the dog?” he asked.
“Three kids, the husband, and a cat. You scared Sheba already.” No way was she going to let on she lived alone.
“The place was dark when I came in. I didn’t see her, but we…”
Sheba jumped up on the exam table and stalked straight to where he was sitting.
“No, down, Sheba,” Kate scolded. Her cat never did that. Her intruder was a totally bad influence. Worse, Sheba ignored her and rubbed up against the stranger’s naked waist, and licked his skin, as if she was scent marking him and claiming him for her own.
“We already met. Didn’t we, girl?” He smiled down at Sheba and ran his hand over her back, and her little motor began running.
“Sheba,” Kate said in her you’d better obey me or else tone.
Sheba meowed in her kitty cat way that said, “All right, already. But he’s mine.”
Sheba hopped down off the table, wound her way around Kate’s legs as if to say Kate was hers too, and left the room.
“Cute cat. Anyway, you left the back door to the clinic unlocked, by accident, had to have been. You were tired, fell asleep in your office. No one’s calling here looking for you, so undoubtedly, no one’s missed you. I suspect there’s no one waiting for you at home. You have a cute little accent. Australian? Not real pronounced, but enough that it shows. Are you from Australia?”
“Born there, but my mother was American and my dad Australian. They met at a writers’ conference in New York. They’re both nonfiction writers, but there’s a problem with being cougar shifters in Australia.”
“No cougars exist.”
“Right, and years ago when it was rumored American soldiers or a circus had released cougars into the wild—the big cats were blamed for killing two-thousand sheep--no evidence was ever found. But with a twenty-thousand dollar bounty on the cougars dead or alive, my parents felt it just wasn’t safe to live there after all that had happened.”
“Two-thousand sheep? Sounds like a wild pack of dingoes might have been the culprits.”
“Could have been.” She threw the bloodied cloths in a wastepaper basket. “You’ve got to report this to the sheriff.”
“I told you I can’t.”
“Because, don’t tell me, you’re deep undercover. So what are you going to do now?” She was hoping he’d say he was walking out of here, but with no clothes, and a bandaged shoulder that wouldn’t do well with shifting into a cougar? He needed to rest and to heal. And he needed clothes.
“Take me to your office.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.” He sounded tired and irritable.
Aggravated with his bossiness, she knew she should be careful and not irritate him further, but she felt just as tired and ill-tempered. She yanked off her lab coat, wanting to wash out the blood before it left stains, but then thought better of it. If this undercover cop, or whatever he was, took her hostage, it would be better if she left lots of clues to indicate that she had trouble after everyone left.
Before she could leave the exam room, he set the bunched up hospital gown on the counter, seized the wastepaper bag containing his bloodied cloths, and said, “Want to put a new bag in there?” He wasn’t asking a question, the tone sarcastically demanding. “We wouldn’t want the cleaning staff to have to clean up all over again, now would we?”
She wanted to ask if the “we” referred to the frog in his pocket. Only he was stark naked and she took an eyeful of his package—since he’d had the nerve to expose himself instead of setting her phone down to grab the bag. From a medical doctor’s standpoint and she-cat’s point-of-view, she was damned impressed. He retrieved the gown.
She couldn’t believe he’d think of grabbing the trash bag with the bloody cloths. Damn it. She jerked a trash bag out of a drawer and stuck it in the can. She wanted to shove it in and do a really sloppy job of it, indicating someone other than the cleaning crew had done it and something could be wrong. But he was watching her every move.
Transferring the used trash bag to his hand holding the gown over his crotch again, he motioned to the doorway with the phone in his other hand. Letting her breath out, she walked him to her office and flipped on the light switch, wishing she could think of something else she could leave behind as bread crumbs if he took her hostage.
He couldn’t leave without some clothes. And she wasn’t offering. But then she saw what he was looking for. A photo on her desk of her and Sheba in her arms. Another with Sheba catching her favorite pink ball mid-air.
She knew in an instant, that’s why he wanted to come to her office. To see if she had a family portrait. He was good. If he was an undercover cop, he had to be good at his job.
“I’ll show you a picture of my husband. Let me have the phone.”
He obliged, but stayed right next to her as she pulled up her photo gallery, his hot piney-woods scent drifting to her. Trying to ignore his close proximity, which was damn hard to do as he breathed down her neck, she quickly searched through the pictures until she came to one and clicked on it. She hoped he’d believe that the deputy sheriff who owned the cabins on Lake Buchanan, Chase Buchanan, was her husband.
“Here’s Chase. My husband.” Best of all, she’d given him a big hug for having taken her to the firing range and teaching her how to fire her 9 mm and his wife had shot the picture of them.
As long as he didn’t see the pictures of Chase and his wife, Shannon, and their adorable babies, Kate thought it looked convincing.
“Nice,” the man said, studying the photo way too long. “May I?” He waited for her to hand the phone to him, but she tried to turn it off. He took it from her and flipped through the pictures. “And this is his sister and her babies?”
“Uh-yeah.”
He flipped through several more photos. “No pictures of her husband. He must be a really close brother.”
“He is.”
He glanced at the walls in her office. Her medical credentials. More pictures of Sheba. Her Black Belt First Degree certificate in ju jitsu. Great.
Then he focused on her desk, and specifically her large desk pad calendar and studied it. “Vacation from now until Monday, returning two weeks. Rockies.” He shifted his gaze to her. “You and who else?”
“My husband, Chase, of course.”
“What happened to your three kids?”
She twisted her mouth in annoyance.
He cast her a small smile. “Why don’t we go to your house?”
“Sure. You can explain to my husband why you’re running around naked, wounded, and forcing me to take you places.”
“I could. Let’s go.”
Quickly, she tried to toss her lab coat onto her chair, just in case anyone might notice the blood and
she always hung up her lab coat. But Mr. Undercover Cop looked at it and smiled at her, not in an amused way. More sardonically, like he knew just what she was up to. “Why don’t we take it with you so you can wash it out? Blood can leave permanent stains.”
He caught her glancing at her desk drawer. “Got something in there you need to take with you on your trip?” He still had her phone in his hand, but dropped the trash bag and bunched gown on top of her desk to free his other hand. He reached past her, brushing against her, and pulled the drawer open.
When he grabbed for the gun in her drawer, she saw her chance at escape and made a dash for the door.
She should have known he’d drop everything, including her phone. Furious that he might have broken it when it hit the floor, she didn’t make it past the door jamb before he skirted the desk in a few long-legged bounds as if he were using his agile speed and turns like a cougar would. He grabbed hold of her with his suddenly very free hands, jerked her tight against his very hard body, and held on tight, his blue-green eyes nearly as dark as midnight, his nostrils flaring.
“Okay, let me make one thing perfectly clear. I’m in a bind as you very well can see. I’m not letting you go until I can safely do so. So don’t pull another stupid stunt like this and you’ll be fine,” he growled, his voice dark and sexy—as much as she hated that it was.
And her darn body was reacting to his—burning up, her nipples peaking against his chest, her pheromones kicking into that feral stage that said he was totally hot, and she was completely interested! Which was the problem with being a cougar shifter. They didn’t have control over that aspect of their bodies if someone sexually intrigued them. And she had a mate! Well, not for real. Shannon, Chase’s mate, would be surprised to hear it. Chase too. But she was supposed to be pretending she had one! So she shouldn’t have had the hots for some strange, naked man, who was pressing his body against hers.
She heard the man’s heart beating furiously as much as hers was. But he was also gritting his teeth, and she knew he had to be in horrible pain. She thought to use her ju jitsu on him, but he was holding her as if he knew her every move.
Oh, yeah, her black belt certificate. As soon as she came back from vacation, if she managed to take one without getting herself killed first, she was going to redecorate her office in pictures of the Rockies. No personal information.
“Are you going to go like that?” she asked.
“Have you got some scrubs lying around?”
She smiled. As tall as he was, the pants would be mid shin level, and the shirt? Best of all, he didn't have much of a choice. She and her nurses had extra sets of scrubs stored here, but all were fun from purple dragons on pink fabric to red and pink hearts on a white fabric, nothing that would look quite right on Macho Man.
Before he let her lead him out of the room, he pulled her toward the desk drawer, pulled it open, and found her 9 mm. “Got a bag?”
She motioned to a backpack hanging on her coat rack that was underneath a hoodie.
“Get it.” He released her and she stalked over to the coat rack while he gathered up the gun, phone, bag of trash, gown, and bloody lab coat.
She handed him the bag and he deposited the items in there, including the patient gown. “Okay, scrubs?”
She let out her breath, glared at him, then led the way out of her office and into a room set aside for the nurses and doctor—complete with a changing room and kitchen. She pointed to a wall cabinet. “You’ll find scrubs in there. No shoes, but you can wear some of those cute disposable shoe covers in there.”
“Okay, Doc, sit over there while I get dressed.”
She sat down at the table where she and her nurses would eat a quick lunch. She folded her arms and scowled at him. “Did you break my phone? If you did, you’re paying for it.”
She said it before she remembered he came here without a stitch of clothes.
2
The lovely redheaded Dr. Kate Parker was a spitfire, Leyton thought as he made her stay near him and not anywhere near the door so he could keep her in sight while he looked through the scrubs. Hell, he hoped no one saw him wearing any of them. Why couldn’t someone be wearing normal blue scrubs, plain, and no decoration?
He pulled out a pair of pants that were neon orange and pink candy canes because they looked longer than the others. He held it in front of him and looked in the mirror. He would look like he was wearing knickers and was in the circus—as a clown.
He shoved his feet into the pants, decided to skip the shirt, and said, “Got your car keys?”
Her green-eyed gaze switched from him to the pocket of the backpack. She let out her breath as if she was totally exasperated with him, or maybe herself. He hadn’t even thought of it, but if she had gotten hold of her keys, she could have hit the alarm on it. If she could have gotten away with it¸ maybe someone would have come to investigate. But she couldn’t have sounded the alarm long enough for anyone to have thought it was more than just a mistake.
Leyton pulled out her keys. “I take it these are to the Ford Explorer out back.”
She pursed her peach-colored lips in an annoyed way. “No, to my Mercedes Benz, but it’s at home. Chase was supposed to pick me up in half an hour.”
“Right. Come on.” He slung the backpack over his good shoulder and escorted her to the back door. “Have an alarm?”
“Yes.” She set it.
Then they walked out and she locked the door. They headed for the car. “Think you can drive it without causing me grief?” He wasn’t sure what he was going to do next when he really needed rest, clothes, and food.
“You mean, that I won’t drop by the sheriff’s office first to tell them I have an armed gunman holding me hostage?”
“Yeah, something like that.” He pulled out her phone and turned it on. “Still works. Give me your address.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
She gave him her address. He pulled up Google maps and entered it, then glanced in the car. “You’re already packed for your camping trip.”
“Yep.”
“When were you actually leaving?”
“Why?”
“If it’s tonight, you’re getting a late start.”
“Yeah, well, no thanks to you.”
“You’re not taking your cat?”
“No. She stays at the clinic when I’m gone so everyone can love on her.”
Leyton decided it was safer if he drove. He could see her speeding or driving recklessly just to try and get someone’s attention. They climbed into the car and Leyton started to pull out of the parking lot. She might have given him a false address, but he suspected she figured she couldn’t pull the wool over his eyes. When he finally reached the location, he saw the sheriff's car parked out front. What the hell? He drove on past, hoping he didn’t catch the sheriff’s attention if he happened to glance out his window and wonder what Kate was doing in his neighborhood when she was supposed to be on her way to her campsite.
"Wait, that's it," she had the nerve to say, so perfectly innocent-like.
"You're supposed to be married to a deputy sheriff. His car isn't there. So the sheriff's visiting? And no one’s home? Hand me your driver’s license."
She jerked her wallet out of her purse and shoved it at him.
Leyton checked the address, then fed it into Google. "Your house is next to the damn clinic?" He couldn’t believe that she’d pulled this on him. What if he was real trouble? She was just damn lucky he was one of the good guys. Though he had to concede he was impressed in an exasperating way.
She smiled a little, definitely the cat stole the goldfish-out-of-the-bowl look, like she was proud of herself for proving to him she wouldn’t be cowed.
"Hell, woman, I feel like shit." He really didn't need the extra aggravation. Not that he blamed her, but he was feeling too damn rotten to deal with this.
When they arrived at the one-story white house, windows up above making it appear as though
she had a loft or attic room, he saw the garden at the back of the house, and a path leading to the back parking lot. The house had one light on in the living room, but he suspected no one was there.
Leyton grabbed the controller on her visor and pushed the button. The garage door rolled up. Verifying this was her house…this time.
"But I was supposed to be getting on my way. Won't that look suspicious if anyone sees me parking in my garage?"
Ignoring her question, he asked, "Why were you parked at the clinic when you could have just walked over?"
"Some of the ladies treated me to a fun farewell party. I had leftovers to take with me for the camping trip and a couple of ice chests in the back of the car. I didn’t want to have to haul the food all the way to the garage."
"Makes sense. But no more tricks," he said, driving into the garage. He didn’t want anyone seeing him getting out of her car. It would have been suspicious enough that she’d picked up some unknown man, but when he was wearing a bandage over his shoulder and candy cane scrubs?
He closed the garage door, but when she reached for door handle, he grabbed her wrist. “Wait.” He wasn’t taking any chances with her. “Got a house alarm?”
She shook her head. “Yuma Town is usually safe.”
“Wait for me.” He moved around to the other side of the car and opened her door for her.
She hesitated to get out on her own, looking up at him with an expression that said she was totally pissed that he was controlling her so much. “What? You’re going to be a gentleman and get my door for me, but then not help me out?”
He cast her a wry smile.
When he offered his hand, she ignored it and got out of the car. He shut the car door, then they walked to the door of the house, and she opened it. He thought she was going to need a key so he was surprised when she walked right in.
Inside the kitchen, she turned on the light. White tile counters and light colored oak cabinets, white appliances and a big picture window that looked out over the gardens made the kitchen airy and spacious. Red roses lined the white picket fence and solar garden lights made it like a fairy garden as they guided visitors down stone paths and highlighted a fountain and sitting areas.
