by Lisa Jackson
For a second he thought of the kiss they’d shared so recently, the intimate linking of their hands this afternoon and how it had felt years ago, to make sweet, sensuous love to her. The turn of his thoughts was insane, here in this sterile office, with the sounds of the hospital vibrating behind him, and yet he couldn’t keep his mind from straying to a simpler, more innocent time when he and Nicole had made love in the long hay ready to be cut, while the Montana sun had shone on two naked bodies glistening with sweat, flushed from the heat of recent lovemaking and supple with youth. He’d kissed her then and she, giggling, had struggled to her feet, dashed through the waist-high grass and down a soft slope to the creek where she’d splashed through the shallow water and he, chasing after her, had caught her before she’d scrambled up the opposite bank. He’d kissed her again, the cool water swirling and eddying around her knees and then he’d cradled her body, drawn her down and made love to her in the creek, where the sunlight pierced the branches of aspen and pine to sparkle on the clear surface.
Finches and tanagers had fluttered in branches, singing over the babble of the creek and butterflies and water skippers had joined a few bees hovering near the water, but all Thorne really remembered was the silky feel of Nicole’s skin against his, the play of her muscles and the taste of her mouth as she kissed him wildly.
Now, staring at her he felt those same male stirrings that had been forever with him when he was near her. No longer a tanned girl running naked through a country field, she was a woman, a doctor dressed in a lab coat, seated in an office that boasted of the professional woman she’d become.
Surrounded by tomes of medical information, a sleek computer, certificates and degrees decorating the walls, Nicole Stevenson had come a long way since she’d been Nikki Sanders, a smart, pretty high school girl with big dreams and little else. As if she, too, in that split second remembered their reckless, jubilant lovemaking, she cleared her throat. “Well, good, then that’s that.”
“When are you finished here?”
“Just about done,” she admitted, and straightened a few files that were scattered over her desk. A forgotten, half-drunk cup of coffee, stained with peach-colored smudges from her lipstick sat unattended near her computer. On a small bookcase, along with medical books, were several picture frames that showed off photos of her daughters smiling and bright-eyed as they posed for the camera.
“So those are your daughters,” he guessed, surveying the snapshots of the sprites.
She nodded, her eyes glowing with parental pride. “Molly and Mindy and yes, I can tell them apart.”
He laughed. “But no one else can.”
“Just their father,” she admitted and seemed suddenly uncomfortable. “Or at least he could at one time. It’s been a while since he spent much time with them.”
“Why?”
She hesitated, sighed and picked up one of the framed photos. “Lots of reasons. Time. Distance. Space…but I’d say the most important was disinterest. Don’t quote me, though, I’m just the ex-wife who carries a grudge.” She set the picture back on the bookcase, ran her finger over the surface as if checking for dust and straightened. “But I’m sure you didn’t come here to hear me complain about my divorce.”
“Actually I stopped by to see if you needed a ride. Your rig’s not in the lot.”
“Towed earlier. And thanks.” She was touched that he’d thought of her, then reminded herself not to trust him. He’d left her once before, destroyed all her silly schoolgirl fantasies. “But I’ve got a rental.”
“When will the SUV be ready?”
“That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, I’m afraid. Don’t know yet.”
“Well, if you need another vehicle we’ve got more than we need at the ranch and I’d give you a ride anytime.”
His eyes held hers for a split second and the back of her throat went dry. Unspoken messages—all male—filled his gaze.
“Thanks. I’ll let you know.”
“Do. And there’s one more thing.”
“What?” she asked, looking up.
“Would you have dinner with me?”
“What?” To his amusement, she actually looked shocked.
Thorne’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. “I just asked you for a date. For Saturday night. This shouldn’t come as a big surprise. I think we talked about it a few days ago.” He folded his arms across his wide chest and smiled. “So, Doctor, what do you say?”
Chapter 7
“I just don’t want the rug pulled out from under me again,” Larry Todd said. He was tall, about six-three or six-four, with straight blond hair that fell over piercing green eyes. Somewhere between forty-five and fifty, he stood military straight on the porch, a thick jacket zipped to his neck as a raw wind chased down the valley.
“I’ll draw up a contract for a year,” Thorne assured him. “By that time Randi should be in charge again. Then you can deal with her.”
Frowning slightly, Larry gave a sharp nod. “Okay.” He slid a glance at the three brothers who had spent the day showing him around the place that he already knew like the back of his hand. If anything, Larry had pointed out the flaws in the ranch—the stretches of fence that needed to be repaired, the way the soil was eroding on the north side, why it would be a good idea to sell off some of the timber on the lower slopes of the foothills, pointing out that buying a new bailer wasn’t necessary this year, while investing in a larger tractor was a necessity. He knew about a neighbor’s bull—a prize-winner that could be traded for one on the ranch to mix up the genes of the herd. Why Randi had seen fit to let him go was beyond Thorne.
“So, how is that sister of yours?” Larry asked and, despite his falling out with Randi, deep grooves of concern stretched across his brow.
“Still in a coma.” Slade kicked at a small dirt clod with the toe of his boot.
“But she’ll pull through.”
“The doctors think so,” Thorne replied.
“And the baby?”
The men exchanged glances. Thorne said, “We had a scare. He’s still not out of the woods, but he’s doin’ better.”
“Good. Good.” Larry tugged at the hem of his gloves, fitting the rough leather more tightly around his fingers as the phone blasted from inside the house. “Draw up that contract and we’ll talk again.”
He took the steps toward his pickup as Thorne heard Juanita shout his name.
“Mister Thorne. Telephone!” she yelled and all three brothers smiled. It was good to have her back. They’d grown up with her heartfelt convictions, flashing dark eyes and stern sense of right and wrong.
Thorne stepped inside the house. “Boots off!” Juanita’s voice rang from the vicinity of the kitchen. She appeared, round-faced, her black hair now shot with strands of wiry gray, wiping her hands on the edge of her apron. “It’s your secretary.”
“I’ll take it in the den.” Thorne snapped up the receiver and listened as his secretary gave him an update on his ongoing projects. The development he was working on with Annette’s dad had hit a snag with the planning commission, there was threat of a framers’ strike and a real estate agent he worked with was “frantic” to talk to him.
By the time he got off the phone his brothers had settled into the living room. They stood in stocking feet, warming the backs of their legs against the fire. Their jeans were grimy and they smelled of horses and dirt. A silver belt buckle—the one their father had won at a long-forgotten rodeo—held up Matt’s Levi’s and the watch John Randall had worn for as long as Thorne could remember was strapped to Slade’s wrist. So they all carried mementos of the man who had sired them—personal gifts he’d bestowed upon them with strings attached—just like the ring Thorne had gotten. Thorne wondered what promises John Randall had wrung from his younger brothers, but he didn’t bother to ask.
> “What’s this about you having a date?” Slade asked, a crooked grin slashing through the dark stubble surrounding his chin.
Thorne met his brother’s curious gaze steadily. “I thought I’d take Nicole out to dinner. That’s all.”
“Sure.” Slade wasn’t convinced.
A cat-who-ate-the-canary smile was pasted to Matt’s square jaw and he shifted the toothpick he’d been sucking on from one side of his mouth to the other. “She isn’t exactly your type, is she?”
“Meaning?”
“Kinda down-to-earth, for you.” Matt said, obviously amused. “A woman with as much brains as beauty.”
“The settlin’ down kind,” Slade added.
Thorne refused to be galled by his brothers’ needling. Neither one had much room to talk when it came to affairs of the heart. “It’s just a date,” he said, but sensed that there was more involved. He’d had hundreds of dates in his life, spent hours with lots of women and yet tonight seemed different—a little more serious. Maybe it was because Nicole worked at the hospital where his sister and her son were still recovering, but that wouldn’t explain the slight elevation in his pulse at the sight of her, the restless nights when he dreamed of making love to her or the fact that he was breaking one of his own cardinal rules: Never Go Back.
Never in his life had he dated a person with whom he’d once before been involved. He figured there was just no rhyme or reason to it. If a love affair hadn’t worked out in the past, why would a second try guarantee success? The old adage, Once Burned, Twice Shy, said it all. And yet here he was, planning a date with a woman who had been his lover long ago. He frowned for a second, remembering that he’d seduced her—taken her virginity and after a few short, hot-summer weeks, left her to her own devices.
It hadn’t been that he’d grown tired of her; quite the opposite. The more he’d been with her, the more he’d wanted to be with her and it had scared the daylights out of him. At that point in his life he’d had too much to do, too many ambitions yet to be fulfilled. He didn’t have time for a serious relationship or a girl he could have easily thought of as his wife.
The truth of the matter was that his feelings for Nicole had terrorized him. But then, he’d been little more than a boy at the time. Now, things had changed.
“If it’s just a date, then why all the secrecy, and why did you ask me to—”
“Just take care of it, okay?” Thorne snapped.
“Okay, okay,” Matt said holding his hands up, palms outward. “You got it. Two horses, saddled and waiting.”
“What?” Slade clucked his tongue. “Horses? Have you flipped? You’re taking out a doctor. One who practiced in San Francisco before she came here. She’s a classy, sophisticated lady.”
“But not the kind I regularly date?” Thorne threw back at him.
“Not the kind to jump on a horse in the middle of the winter.” Slade shook his head as if his brother had gone stark, raving mad.
“Maybe I’m not taking a doctor out,” Thorne said, though he didn’t feel the need to explain himself. “Maybe I’m taking out an old friend. Nikki Sanders.”
“Who’s now a mother, divorced and an M.D.”
“Well, you boys stay put and hold down the fort, would you? I’ll handle Nikki.”
“Or she’ll handle you,” Matt predicted. “Now listen, be careful with her, all right? She doesn’t seem to be the love-’em-and-leave-’em type.”
“And we might need to get hold of you. If there’s any change in Randi or the baby’s condition,” Slade clarified.
“I’ll have the cell phone with me.”
Slade nodded. “Good. Just in case there’s any trouble.”
“There won’t be!” Matt was insistent.
“Let’s hope not,” Slade said, unconsciously running a finger over the scar running down his cheek. “We’ve all had enough of that to last a lifetime.”
Thorne couldn’t disagree. For the past few years, it seemed as if bad luck had become a part of the family legacy. John Randall had lived life full, made and lost fortunes, enjoyed good health and believed that it was his God-given right to be good-looking, rich and powerful. He’d stepped on those who’d gotten in his way, cast off a good woman for a younger model, sired three sons and a daughter; but when fate had turned on him, shredding his fortune, stripping him of a fickle woman, robbing him of his health, he’d been shocked, flabbergasted that his luck had eluded him and the gods of fortune had seen fit to turn on him and laugh, mock him for his pitiful arrogance, in the end leaving him a shell of the man he’d once been.
His death hadn’t ended the downward spiral. Randi had lost her mother less than a year earlier. Slade had suffered his own personal loss and Randi’s accident, her coma and the illness of her newborn all seemed to be part of a cruel twist of fate.
But it was about to stop. It had to. Randi and little J.R. would recover. The mystery over the boy’s paternity and her accident would be solved. Thorne would settle down, marry, have himself some kids.... He pulled up short as he reached the top of the stairs. How had his thoughts gotten so far out of line. Married? Kids?
“Not in this lifetime,” he told himself, but felt the pressure of his father’s wedding ring deep in the pocket of his slacks and had the vague suspicion that Dr. Nicole Stevenson might change his mind. The truth of the matter was that it was already happening. Even now, he couldn’t wait until he saw her again.
* * *
Why had she ever agreed to something as foolish as a date? Nicole wondered as she flung on her favorite black dress, then wrinkled her nose in distaste at her reflection in the full-length mirror. The short silk was far too sophisticated for Grand Hope, and yet Thorne was used to big-city women who attended charity balls and gala events.
Her bed was littered with other outfits, everything from black jeans and casual sweaters to this damned dress. “It’s just for a few hours,” she chided herself as she felt like a damned schoolgirl getting ready for a date with the most popular guy in school. Gritting her teeth, she settled for gray wool slacks, a fitted navy cowl-necked sweater, sterling hoop earrings and black boots. “The everywhere outfit.”
“Hey, Mommy. You beau-ti-ful,” Mindy said as she slid into the room in her slipper-footed pajamas and drew up short.
Molly was on her heels, sliding headlong into the bed and sniffing loudly from her cold.
“Thanks,” Nicole said. “But you’re prejudiced.”
“What’s that mean?” Molly asked suspiciously.
“That you like me just because I’m your mommy.”
“Yeth.” Mindy nodded, running in circles around the freestanding mirror and Molly raced ever faster, sliding on the hardwood floor.
“Careful,” Nicole said.
“Are they bothering you? Girls, come on into the kitchen,” Jenny called. “Let’s make some popcorn.”
“They’re fine,” Nicole yelled back.
Molly gave chase to her twin, around and around the mirror. Both girls scampered gaily, laughing and shrieking as Nicole twisted her hair onto her head, applied a few strokes of mascara, a light dusting of eyeshadow and a slash of lipstick, then eyed her reflection again. She was struck by her image. Not because she was drop-dead gorgeous, but because there was a light in her eyes, a bit of anticipation, that startled her. For all intents and purposes, she looked damned close to a woman in love.
“Don’t even go there,” she told herself as she saw headlights flash through the panes of her bedroom window. Thorne. Her stomach did a quick nosedive.
“Go where?” Molly asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Where you going?” Mindy asked.
“Out.” Nicole bent down to hug them both, careful not to let Molly’s runny nose brush against her sweater.
“Here, l
et’s take care of that,” she offered, reaching onto the bureau for a tissue, but Molly shrieked, shook her head violently and scampered off.
“It’s okay.”
Nicole caught her in the kitchen where Jenny was popping the corn and the smell of butter and sharp reports of the kernels popping reminded Nicole of a rifle range. There was a hard knock on the door and both twins slipped away and ran into the living room as fast as their little legs would carry them.
“I get it!” Mindy cried.
“No, me!” Molly shoved her out of the way, her springy curls flying wildly. Nicole caught up with her just as Mindy, without looking through the window, threw the door open. Cold air breezed through the house. Thorne stood on the stoop and Nicole, straddling a wiggling Molly managed to wipe her nose amid violent protests and wails.
“Sorry,” she said, looking over her shoulder, her hair falling out of its clasp. “Come on in.”
“No! No! Mommy, no!” Molly screamed.
Thorne entered as Nicole straightened, wadded the used tissue and blew her bangs from her eyes. Molly, her pride wounded, ran to her room while Mindy, sucking on a finger, looked up at the tall stranger with wide, suspicious eyes. “My daughter, Mindy,” Nicole said, “and the tornado that just screamed down the hall is Molly.”
“Am not a ’nado!” Molly protested.
Thorne couldn’t swallow a smile. “And here I thought you were skinning live cats from the sound of it.”
“I hate you, Mommy!” Molly screamed and slammed her door.
Nicole ignored the outburst and tucked her hair into place. “I’m so glad you got to see my parenting skills in action.”
The door down the hall opened again. “I mean I really, really hate you!” Bang! The door slammed shut.
“Excuse me.” Nicole’s smile was forced. “I have to go deal with my daughter.”
