SAY AHHH...

by Donna Sterling

  Sensing that she couldn't win this fight—and not even sure what would constitute a win—Sarah lifted her chin and headed for her bedroom. Through her resentment and mind-numbing fatigue, she heard Connor call André aside and mutter something to him.

  "Put your money away, Connor," Lorna said. "I'll pay him."

  "Let me. Consider it my way of freeing up the rest of your evening." Connor's voice held a smile—a lazy, sexy smile, Sarah guessed. "You and I have barely had time to talk."

  Hurrying out of earshot, Sarah gripped the handrail with a vengeance as she started on the second flight of stairs to her attic bedroom. He would spend the evening with her employer. Would he gaze at her the same way he'd gazed at her, and whisper the same kind of heart-stopping nonsense?

  The idea bothered her far more than it should have.

  There was only one thing she knew for certain about Dr. Connor Wade: The man posed a definite danger to her—emotionally, socially and financially.

  With a few indiscreet words, he could have the town buzzing with suspicious questions about her. The prospect of anyone prying into her business renewed the fear she'd been trying to tame.

  And he definitely endangered her job—a job she desperately needed. With no home, car, references, social security number or savings, she'd be in terrible straits without it. Especially with Annie gone for the next few weeks.

  Regardless of how much pride she'd have to swallow, she'd make it her top priority to win back Lorna's trust … and to avoid Dr. Dark 'n' Handsome as if her life depended on it.

  In a way, she supposed it did.

  With his face shaded from the noonday sun by his old brown Stetson, Connor guided his horse down the last of the steep, rocky slopes, then urged her into a canter across a grassy field.

  The unusually warm weather for May had brought out a profusion of wildflowers, lush greenery and wildly singing birds. He savored the heady scent of mountain flora, the song of the warblers and the dense, summer-like heat, glad that he'd finished his Saturday-morning rounds early.

  Most of the families he'd visited farther up in the mountains had been out, away from their isolated, rough-hewn cabins, probably frolicking at waterfalls and swimming holes. Only the oldest and sickest had been on hand.

  As he drew closer to home, Connor wondered if his nurse Gladys had returned from the visit she'd agreed to make for him. He'd promised to bring her a loaf of homemade bread if she'd drop by Lorna's and casually check up on Sarah Flowers—just to make sure she was okay. Knowing Gladys, she might also engage Sarah in a little fact-finding chat.

  He wouldn't be averse to that.

  Lorna hadn't told him much last night. All he'd learned was that Sarah was a cousin of Annie Tompkins, and she planned to stay in Sugar Falls for the summer; through autumn, at the most. From clues Annie had dropped, Lorna guessed that Sarah had just come through a divorce.

  Connor hoped Lorna was wrong—for Sarah's sake, he told himself. A woman he'd dated in Boston had been recently divorced and spent too much time dwelling on past betrayals. She'd then allowed her ex to sleep on her couch whenever he came to town. The situation had grown too complicated for Connor, and he'd sworn to stay away from newly divorced women. Not that she'd broken his heart or upset him too greatly. He'd never been fool enough to allow anyone that much power over his state of mind.

  He had to admit, though, that his state of mind had been seriously affected lately. He'd spent another, long night wrestling with questions about Sarah Flowers.

  She certainly seemed to be hiding something—writing false phone numbers on her medical chart; telling him with her eyes and her touch that she wanted him, but with her words to stay away. "I can't get involved with you."

  Why the hell couldn't she?

  By morning, he'd come to his senses. Whatever secrets she was hiding, the woman was a living, breathing complication who had already cost him too many sleepless nights. Besides, she planned to leave town in a few months' time.

  He had to get over his crazy infatuation with her. Pursuing her could damage more promising relationships—not a smart move for a single man in a small town.

  He did, however, feel somewhat concerned about her health. She really had been on the verge of collapse last night.

  As he drew closer, he saw Gladys waiting near the stable, leaning up against her old blue Chevy with a disapproving slant to her mouth. She didn't hold with his "tending to folks too ornery to visit the office," as she described his Saturday-morning rounds.

  She didn't understand the life-style these avid nature-lovers had chosen, living "off the grid"—without power or running water. Most were aging hippies, artists and musicians who had settled in these Colorado Rockies during the sixties, raising their kids with a reverence for nature, art and rock 'n' roll, along with a disdain for society. Not only would they not visit his office, but they wouldn't have accepted his much-needed help if they hadn't considered him one of their own.

  He understood these proud, visionary-artist types. His parents had been among the most visionary.

  "What did you bring home today, Medicine Man?" his spry, gray-haired nurse teased, dressed in an oversize University of Colorado shirt and shorts. "Since I don't hear any squawking, I'm assuming no one paid you with live chickens this time."

  Connor smiled and tipped his hat back as he brought his horse to a dancing halt. "No live chickens, but a hand-carved flute and brace of fresh trout. And for you—" he dug into his saddlebag and came up with a redolent loaf of brick-oven bread "—I think they called it 'zucchini 'n' sunflower seed.'" He tossed the loaf to Gladys and dismounted. "You did check up on Sarah Flowers for me, didn't you?"

  "I dropped by Lorna's, but Sarah wasn't in bed. She was working."

  He scowled. He'd warned both her and Lorna that she needed a couple days of bed rest. "Working at what?"

  "When I first got there, she was cooking breakfast. Then the two dogs started fighting. When I left, Lorna was threatening to get rid of one of the dogs, the kids were pitching a fit about it, and Sarah was holding the Shih Tzu while trying to coax the poodle out from under the side porch."

  Connor was distracted from his annoyance by the picture those words had drawn. Sarah apparently felt comfortable with animals. He'd been hoping to find out she hated them, or hated kids … anything that might tarnish her appeal. He supposed the anti-children sentiment was still possible. Maybe having to deal with Lorna's two rambunctious boys accounted for her stress. It wouldn't be hard to imagine; veteran dads and baseball coaches had a hard time managing the Hampton boys.

  "That gal does look pale as a ghost," Gladys went on. "I thought she was going to pass out over the hot stove. She told me she was fine, though, and that you should mind your own business." She paused, and a watchful glint entered her blue eyes. "Good thing she's not our concern."

  Connor's fist tightened around the lead shank as he led his horse toward the stable. She really wasn't their concern. Why couldn't he get that through his head?

  "She volunteered to take the kids to their golf lesson at the club," Gladys chatted, "then to watch them at the pool."

  Anger rose in him—at both Sarah for her stubborn refusal to stay in bed and at Lorna for not insisting on it.

  "She'll probably watch the kids tonight, too, while you take Lorna to the dance." Gladys walked to the driver's side of her car with the freshly baked bread cradled to her chest. "Guess I'll get going. Told my grandkids I'd take them to the lake for a swim. How about you, Doc? I'll pack an extra towel. The kids love to gang up on you in the water."

  "Sounds like fun," he replied, preoccupied, "but I've got something else in mind for this afternoon."

  She paused beside her driver's door. "Oh?"

  He glanced away, not really wanting to tell her. When she continued to wait in expectant silence, he muttered, "Thought I'd stop by the club for a round of golf, or a game of tennis."

  "Or … a swim in the pool?"

  "Now that you mention it—
" he met her probing gaze with a wry half smile "—a swim does sound rather refreshing."

  * * *

  4

  « ^ »

  After making her way through an obstacle course of exuberant kids and sunbathing mothers, Sarah hailed the lounge chair as a blessed refuge—a place where she could lie down, if only for a little while, and watch her two charges swim.

  She hoped they'd do so without fighting. During their golf lesson, ten-year-old Jeffrey had "accidentally" swatted his little brother in the rump with a club. Timmy had charged him like a raging bull. They'd poked and tripped each other throughout their practice swings, then raced to the locker room where Timmy hid Jeffrey's swim trunks.

  If only she'd gotten a little more sleep last night, Sarah felt sure she could have controlled the boys better. At least here at the pool, a stern-looking female lifeguard with a piercing whistle was helping to keep all the children in line.

  Straining to keep her eyes open despite the powerful afternoon sun, Sarah wished she wasn't so tired. She hoped the megadose of caffeine in her soda would kick in soon.

  Punch Cola … ten times stronger than coffee, or so the golf pro had told her. He'd noticed her sleepiness during the boys' lesson and tossed her an icy bottle that she hadn't been able to refuse.

  She tipped the bottle back and drank the last few swallows. She had to wake herself up.

  She hadn't slept much last night. The nightmare had woken her again. She'd sat up in the dark, trembling and sweating from the horror of the chase. A faceless phantom had been tracking her through crowds of strangers, drawing closer with every step.

  She hadn't been able to get back to sleep. Timmy and Jeffrey had leaped onto her bed at the first light of dawn, demanding eggs and pancakes. As she'd cooked, Lorna had purred, "Sarah, dear, are you sure you won't exhaust yourself, scrambling all those eggs? Maybe you need an extended vacation."

  Her sarcasm had spelled out a clear message: She'd have to work doubly hard to make up for last night. That prospect didn't bother her, but she felt her energy seriously lagging from her many sleepless nights.

  The dogs, meanwhile, had started a fight over territorial rights. Sometime in the middle of the ruckus, Dr. Wade's nurse had dropped by for a "casual visit." Lorna had seemed surprised at the visit—Gladys obviously didn't drop by very often—and Gladys had made a point of asking Sarah how she felt.

  The idea of Connor Wade sending his nurse to check up on her made Sarah's blood boil. He'd already endangered her job!

  She shut her eyes against the bright, hot sun and tried not to think about him, or his evening with Lorna last night, or their date for the dance tonight.

  His relationship with Lorna didn't matter to her in the least.

  So why had she been dwelling on it all morning?

  She heard the scraping of a chair being dragged to a spot close beside her and heard feminine voices calling out greetings like, "What a surprise to see you here," and, "Why aren't you out on the lake fishing, Doc?"

  Sarah stiffened. Had they really said "Doc," or was she fixating on her resentment against the infuriating local doctor?

  A deep, good-natured rumble of a reply brought her eyes open. Turning her head, she came face-to-face with the man himself. Dr. Connor Wade, in the flesh. Smooth, tightly muscled flesh, at that … with a gleaming tan and rolling biceps.

  "Afternoon, Ms. Flowers." He'd settled into a poolside armchair and spread his muscle-corded legs out in front of him. He wore blue swim trunks and sandals—nothing else—which left his broad, well-honed chest bare. Elegant swirls of maple-golden curls encircled masculine nipples, then tapered down to a flat, lean stomach. Sunlight touched off highlights in his tawny hair and vivid hazel eyes.

  He met her gaze and smiled.

  She shut her eyes and groaned.

  "I wanted to apologize for last night." His low, gruff voice was meant only for her. "I know you were upset by my, uh, interference. I meant it for the best."

  She didn't want to talk to him. His nearness caused a tightening below her stomach and a warming in her blood. Her beige, one-piece suit—more modest than most—suddenly felt too revealing, the way it clung to her body and cut away high at her hips. Her prickly awareness of Connor's gaze made her head swim.

  "I asked you to stay away from me," she admonished in a tense whisper.

  "That's another thing I wanted to tell you. I've thought about what you said, and realize you were right." Hesitating briefly, he glanced at her eyes, then at her mouth. "We can't get involved."

  She tried not to show her surprise. After his interference last night and his deployment of Gladys this morning, she hadn't expected such an easy victory.

  And she hadn't expected the hurt that lanced through her. What had changed his mind? The evening he'd spent with Lorna?

  "So, you see, you don't have to avoid me," he pointed out, "or run away every time you see my face. As you suggested to Gladys this morning, I'll, uh, mind my own business."

  Her throat felt curiously tight. "Thank you."

  He lapsed into silence and she turned her face away from him, looking for the kids. They were splashing around in the shallow end of the pool. All she had to do was watch them, she told herself. She didn't have to think about how alone she suddenly felt in the world.

  "If you'd like, I can move my chair elsewhere," he offered.

  "Sit wherever you want, Dr. Wade."

  Their sideways gazes locked, and she thought he was about to tell her to call him Connor. He didn't.

  His jaw shifted; he glanced toward the far side of the pool. She felt an irrational loss.

  He leaned down, opened a small cooler beside him and brought out an icy bottle of spring water. "Want one?"

  "No, thanks." The refusal had been automatic. She'd trained herself to rebuff any overture that could possibly lead to familiarity.

  But as she watched him open the bottle and take a swallow, she realized how dry her mouth had become since she'd finished the syrupy Punch Cola. She knew she had to drink plenty of water. Since her visit to his office, she'd taken extra care to drink more fluids and had noticed a definite improvement. The dizziness came less frequently.

  In the chair beside her, Dr. Connor Wade laid back his head and shut his eyes. His silky hair and deeply tanned skin glistened in the afternoon sun, emitting a natural male scent that mingled appealingly with suntan lotion.

  She closed her eyes to better savor his scent, and then found it difficult to reopen them. If she didn't do something to rouse herself, she'd be nodding off to sleep.

  Forcing herself to act, she rose from the lounge chair and walked to the pool. The sudden rise brought on a wave of dizziness, and heat rushed up at her from the hot concrete. She grabbed hold of the pool's chrome ladder to steady herself. Below her, children squealed, splashed and kicked in a churning mass. She hadn't the strength to venture into the merry fray.

  Instead she held on to the ladder railing, knelt at the side of the pool and dipped up the sparkling, cold water in her cupped hand. Closing her eyes, she tilted back her head and poured the water over herself, drenching her face, neck and shoulders in a magnificent rush of coolness.

  She indulged again in the refreshing bite of the cold against her heated skin, this time ladling the water onto her throat and chest. The coldness sluiced down her breasts and arms, raising chill bumps and tightening her nipples to a sensitive hardness.

  The sensuality of it brought to mind Connor Wade, and without further thought, she peered at him.

  His eyes were no longer closed.

  He was watching her. Intensely so. His powerful upper body was now angled forward, his muscled forearms resting across his knees. His stare followed the trickle of water down her face, throat and arms … then lingered on her peaking breasts.

  The hunger in his gaze took her breath away.

  She averted her eyes and stood on legs that trembled. Her swimsuit concealed more than did many of the others here today, but the film
y beige fabric molded to her curves like shrink-wrap, especially when wet. She felt wickedly exposed.

  Because he watched her.

  And in the most intimate parts of her body, she thrilled to the titillating knowledge.

  Flushed with inner heat, she concentrated on returning to her chair. She avoided looking at him as she approached, though she couldn't have been more conscious of him if he'd reached out and grazed her nipples with his hands.

  She settled into the lounge chair and closed her eyes, but each beat of her heart jostled her back to awareness of Connor. Was he still watching?

  She had to know. She stole a peek from beneath her lashes.

  He wasn't. He stared off in an unfocused way, his lips a tight, thin line, a muscle flexing in his jaw. "That ought to be illegal," he rasped.

  Heat flared in her stomach. The chemistry that had always simmered between them suddenly felt explosive.

  And dangerous.

  Get away from him, an inner voice cried. But she couldn't leave. She had to watch Jeffrey and Timmy!

  "Hi, Dr. Wade."

  Out of nowhere, two lanky teenage girls appeared in ruffled bikinis and dropped down onto towels near Connor. "You were right about my brother's flu," remarked one of them, her braces gleaming as she grinned. "It went away the next day."

  Sarah whispered a prayer of gratitude for the girls' friendly intrusion. Although the pool area was teeming with people, she'd felt virtually alone with the man beside her.

  "Oooh, gross!" the other girl squealed. "Don't talk about the flu." She swatted her friend with a glossy magazine, and they both giggled. With a fetching smile for Connor, she asked, "Don't you get sick of seeing all those sick people?"

  Amused to see him cornered, Sarah wilted against the chair, glad for the chance to compose herself. Why did her body hum with such tense sexuality whenever he was near?

  The girls asked him how fast his boat could go and what he'd named his horses. He uttered brief but amiable replies.

  Sarah listened to his voice rather than his words. That alone stimulated her in a disturbing way. She tried to tune out the sound and found herself giving way to the drowsiness.