Her Forever Cowboy

by Marie Ferrarella

  Had she asked that question of Finn, Brett was fairly certain that his younger brother would have thought that Forever’s new lady doc was hitting on him. But Brett had a few miles on him, not so much in age—he was just thirty-two—but in what he’d experienced during that time, and he knew the look of a woman who was coming on to a man. The lady doc was most certainly not hitting on him.

  To be quite honest with himself, he didn’t think he could accurately describe the expression he saw on her attractive face.

  From where he stood, Lady Doc was an enigma, a puzzle waiting to be solved. In a nutshell, the lady was a challenge, and it had been a while since he’d been challenged.

  His interest level went up several notches.

  “I do,” he replied, then asked, cautiously, “Are you interested in seeing it?”

  Viewing the accommodations didn’t really interest Alisha. As long as the apartment—probably nothing more than an oversize closet, she guessed, given the nature of this town—didn’t come with a roommate, that was all that really mattered to her.

  “I’m interested in renting it,” she informed him in no uncertain terms. “It is for rent, isn’t it?” Alisha asked, realizing she hadn’t been told that one crucial piece of information.

  “I thought you were staying with Dan and Tina. Did I get that wrong?”

  “No, you didn’t get that wrong,” she acknowledged. “For the moment, I am staying with Dr. Davenport and his family.” There was less than enthusiasm in her voice.

  “I take it that’s not working out for you? Living there?” he added when she didn’t answer.

  Brett couldn’t envision either Dan or his wife making the lady doc feel uncomfortable enough to get her looking for other living arrangements. Both Dan and Tina were warm, giving people.

  Maybe it was the other way around. Alisha Cordell’s looks were hot enough to melt a passing iceberg at twenty paces, but for the moment, he had to admit that the woman didn’t exactly strike him as being all that warm and toasty.

  Alisha frowned. She didn’t like being questioned or prodded. Still, if he did have an apartment, she couldn’t exactly just walk out now, the way she wanted to. So she answered his question—but let him know that she didn’t appreciate his prying into her motives.

  “Not that it’s any business of yours, but I feel like I’m in the way. It’s not that big a place,” she added when Brett continued studying her.

  Brett took a bottle from behind him on the counter and poured a glass of pinot grigio, then placed it in front of her. She looked at the glass, then at him. “I didn’t order that.”

  “I know. It’s on the house.”

  Another good-looking male who thought he was God’s gift to women, she thought, tamping down her anger. Just because the man had a killer smile—and he knew it—did he think he could ply her with alcohol and get instant results? He was about to be surprised, she silently promised the bartender.

  Taking out a five-dollar bill, she placed it on the counter. “I pay for myself.”

  Rather than offer her an argument, Brett merely took the money and put it into the till. “Suit yourself,” he told her then got back to the business at hand. “As to the apartment, if space is what you’re after, I don’t think you’re exactly going to be thrilled with it.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “To be honest, the whole thing is really just one big room,” he told her.

  His late uncle’s apartment was predominantly meant to be just a place to sleep or to get away for a few hours, nothing more. It was not intended to suit the tastes of someone who was high-maintenance, and at the moment, that was exactly the way this woman struck him. Extremely high-maintenance.

  But if that was the case, what the hell was she doing here? He sincerely doubted that a sense of altruism was what had brought her to Forever.

  She surprised him by saying, “As long as I have it to myself, that’ll be fine. I don’t care if it’s small.”

  Maybe he was misjudging her. He’d been wrong before—once or twice.

  Her answer led him to the only conclusion he could make. “So I guess that means that you’re staying in Forever?”

  “For now,” she qualified guardedly. Alisha didn’t believe in verbally committing herself to anything, especially not in front of someone who was the very definition of a stranger.

  “How long is a now in your world?” he asked.

  “Why?” she asked, looking at him quizzically.

  As far as she could see, there was no reason for Murphy to be asking her about her plans. It wasn’t as if renting the apartment to her would keep him from renting it to someone else. Obviously, the man had had no plans to rent it out to begin with. There was no sign out, advertising its availability. According to the rancher who had told her about the place, the apartment had never been rented out before to his recollection.

  “That’s easy,” he told her. “I want to know if I’m going to be charging you by the day, the week or by the month.”

  “By the month will do,” Alisha answered, her voice irritatingly high-handed.

  He couldn’t help wondering if she was that way with her patients and decided that she probably was. It looked as though this angel of mercy needed a little help getting her signals right.

  “You didn’t ask for my advice, but I’m going to give it to you anyway.” He saw her opening her mouth to respond, and he just kept on talking. “You might find it a whole lot easier adjusting to Forever if you stop being so formal and loosen up a little.”

  “You’re right,” she informed him stiffly. “I didn’t ask for it.”

  Then, because he’d stirred her curiosity and because she did have to try to get along with these people at least until she decided what she was going to do with the rest of her life and where she was going to go in order to do it, she said, “Just out of idle curiosity, exactly how, by your definition, would you suggest that I go about loosening up?”

  “Well, for one thing, people here call each other by their first names—just like I’m pretty sure they do in New York City.”

  She really wished he’d stop smiling at her like that. She found it annoying—and unnerving. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

  “Okay.” Brett tried again. “For instance, you keep calling him Dr. Davenport—”

  “That’s his name,” Alisha interrupted.

  “It is,” Brett agreed. “But so is Dan. Around here, people call him Dan or Dr. Dan if they aim on being extra respectful. You keep calling him Dr. Davenport, and Dan’s liable to think that you’re mad at him.”

  That was ridiculous. “Mr. Murphy—” Alisha began in an exasperated voice, ready to put this man in his place—and that place definitely did not include giving her lectures.

  “Brett,” he corrected, cutting in.

  She didn’t come here to argue, Alisha reminded herself. She came to Murphy’s to try to get herself a little organized and ultimately secure a place to stay where she could have enough peace and quiet to hear herself think. The wounds from her sudden disillusionment and subsequent breakup were still very raw, and she needed to find a place where she could heal without hearing children squealing in the background.

  This apparently was her only option, and she’d learned how to deal with limits before. “Okay, have it your way, Brett,” she said, deliberately emphasizing his name. “Now, are you or aren’t you going to rent out that apartment to me?”

  Brett thought for a moment. The apartment was his hideaway, his home away from home. But since Olivia had informed him that Earl Robertson’s place was now his, that meant he could stay at that ranch house if he felt the need to get away for a few hours.

  Besides, if she lived upstairs, this would give him the opportunity to interact with this iceberg who needed thawing in order to
get in touch with her human side. The possibilities began to intrigue him.

  His eyes met hers. “I’ll rent it to you,” Brett replied.

  She felt an uneasy quiver in the pit of her stomach, something warning her that she was taking a step she might regret. The next moment, she locked the thought away. What was the worst thing that could happen? If she decided she’d made a mistake—again—coming here, she could just apply to another practice, pull up stakes and move on. It wasn’t as if this move couldn’t be undone.

  “Good,” she replied, refusing to look away. “Let’s talk terms, Mr. Murphy.”

  “First term is that you remember to call me Brett,” he told her patiently.

  This man just didn’t give up, did he? “And the second term?” she asked him warily.

  If there was a first term, there had to be a second one, Alisha reasoned, and she found herself definitely not trusting this man. He was far too good-looking and smooth to be someone she could trust.

  Again, Alisha noted, her would-be landlord’s grin grew unnervingly wider. “The second term is that you don’t forget the first term.”

  She waited, but nothing more came. “And that’s it?” she asked, still waiting for the other shoe to drop—hard.

  “That’s it,” Brett told her guilelessly.

  “And the monthly rent?” Alisha pressed, wondering if it was going to be prohibitive—at least by his standards, she silently amended.

  The woman really did seem anxious to live by herself, Brett thought, wondering if it was that she was antisocial, or if there was more to it that she wasn’t telling him. And just possibly, herself, he added.

  “Why don’t you come upstairs with me and take a look at the place first,” he suggested. There was the chance that she really didn’t know what she was getting into, and what he thought was small might be unacceptable to her. “If you find that you like it, then we’ll discuss the rent.”

  “I said I don’t have to see it. I’ll take it.”

  Brett was not about to back off from this point. “And I said that I’d rather that you did see it,” he countered.

  If she was going to rent the apartment, he didn’t want her turning around in a month and stiffing him for the rent because something about the place wasn’t to her liking. Having her view the place just meant there’d be one less problem down the road.

  “Okay, show me the apartment,” she said, barely managing to stifle a huge sigh.

  Brett nodded. “Knew you’d see things my way,” he told her.

  Alisha swallowed the retort that rose to her lips as she reminded herself that for the time being, while she was here, this man’s apartment was her one and only option.

  “Hey, Finn!” Brett called out to his brother from the far end of the bar.

  Finn had just poured one of their regular customers a whiskey, neat, and glanced in his older brother’s direction. Brett beckoned him over with an exaggerated hand gesture.

  Crossing to Brett’s end of the bar, Finn asked, “What?”

  “I need you to take over the bar for a few minutes,” Brett answered.

  “Where’ll you be?” Finn asked.

  Brett nodded toward the woman on the other side of the bar. “I’m going to be showing Lady Doc here the apartment upstairs.”

  “Oh? Oh,” Finn cried as the truth of the situation, at least as he perceived it, suddenly dawned on him. “Sure.” If possible, his grin was even wider than his older brother’s. “You take as long as you like,” he said, looking significantly at the new physician.

  “That is strictly up to Lady Doc,” Brett informed him.

  “Gotcha. You lucky dog,” Finn murmured to his older brother in a tone low enough for only Brett to hear. When it came to securing female companionship, both he and Liam agreed that Brett was the master.

  “Strictly business,” Brett assured him.

  Finn’s grin grew wider still, all but splitting his face in half. “If you say so. When I grow up, I want to be just like you,” he told Brett with a wink.

  Brett’s response was to playfully cuff him.

  Growing up an only child with no siblings to share anything with, good or bad, this kind of a physical exchange mystified Alisha—and, in a way, made her a little envious, as well.

  “What was all that about?” Alisha asked. She’d heard only a few words of the exchange between the two brothers.

  “A misunderstanding” was all Brett seemed willing to say. His answer made no sense to her since his cheerful expression did not match his words. “C’mon. This way,” he told her, leading the way to the rear of the saloon. There was a narrow corridor there that led to the restrooms on one side and an even narrower stairway on the other.

  Alisha looked at the wooden staircase with its narrow steps in obvious dismay. Was that the only way to get to the second floor?

  “There’s no private access?” she asked.

  “The original owner didn’t think to build one,” he told her. His uncle had always liked to take the simplest path available to him.

  The din suddenly swelled, growing even louder. Alisha glanced over her shoulder at the people at the bar and sitting at the small, round tables scattered throughout the room. A thought suddenly hit her. “I have to walk through the bar in order to get to the apartment—and in order to leave in the morning?” she questioned.

  He answered, pretending that she was objecting to the distance, not the location. “It’s not that far from the front door to the back,” he told her. “You should be able to cross it making good time.”

  Alisha glared at him. He was talking down to her, she thought. “I don’t need sarcasm.”

  Brett inclined his head. “Duly noted.” With that, he began to retrace his steps, leaving her standing where she was.

  Surprised, she called out to him, “Where are you going?”

  “Back to the bar.” He nodded toward it. “Since you’re not interested in the apartment, I thought I’d get back to work.”

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t interested in the apartment,” Alisha protested.

  He made his way back to her. “You made it sound as if the lack of a private entrance killed the deal for you.”

  She hated when things were just assumed about her—the way Pierce had just assumed she would go along with his behavior in exchange for his family name. “Did I say that?”

  “No,” he allowed.

  “Well, then, let’s go and see it,” she said, pointing up the stairs toward where she assumed the apartment was located.

  Brett laughed, shaking his head as he got in front of her to lead the way up the stairs. “Lady Doc, you give out really mixed signals.”

  “Why do you keep calling me that?” Alisha asked as she climbed up the stairs behind him.

  “Calling you what?” he asked as he continued climbing.

  Almost slipping, she clutched on to the banister more tightly. “Lady Doc,” she repeated unwillingly.

  He spared her a glance, making note of the white-knuckle hold she had on the banister. Was she afraid of heights? he wondered.

  “Well, aren’t you a doctor?”

  “Yes, of course I am.” She was frazzled at this point, and it took effort not to snap.

  “Then you object to being called a lady?” he asked, doing his best to keep a straight expression on his face.

  She glared at his back. She really hoped that interaction with this man was going to be at a minimum. “No, of course not.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” he asked mildly.

  Maybe he was just dense, but she had a feeling that he wasn’t. What he was was annoying. “For one thing, it’s not my name.”

  “Not your legal name,” he emphasized. “Like I told you, we’re not uptight and formal here.” Reaching the
top of the stairs, he stepped aside on the landing to give her space. There was very little available. “Lady Doc suits you,” he told her.

  He was standing much too close to her, she thought, stepping to one side. Otherwise, if she took a breath, her chest would come in contact with his, and that was completely unacceptable.

  “Dr. Cordell suits me better. What?” she asked when she saw the expression on his face.

  “I think Lady Doc is a better fit, at least while you’re here.”

  “Fine, just show me the apartment so I can write you a check and get this over with.” She gestured toward the closed door. “Why don’t you people have a hotel here?” she asked. All this could have been avoided if she could have just rented a room at the start of this whole venture.

  He shrugged carelessly. “Haven’t gotten around to building one.”

  “I noticed that.”

  He pretended not to notice that she was being sarcastic now. “You might have also noticed that Forever isn’t exactly a tourist attraction. Most people who pass through here pass through here,” he underscored. “Those that come for a visit usually stay with the people they’re visiting. Having a hotel here wouldn’t exactly make wise business sense.”

  Turning the knob on the door that led into the apartment, he pushed it open.

  “Doesn’t that have a lock?” she asked, stunned. She was accustomed to apartments that came equipped with triple locks on their doors.

  “It has a lock,” he replied, gesturing at it.

  “With a key?” she emphasized through clenched teeth. Why did she have to spell everything out? Was he slow-witted, or did he just enjoy getting her annoyed?

  “Ah, well, that’s another story.”

  “Does it have a happy ending?” she asked.

  He laughed. “There’s a key around here somewhere. I just have to find it.”

  And most likely, make a copy of it, she thought. He’d probably think nothing of coming into the apartment—with her in it—in the middle of the night. “Better yet, once I rent this, can I get a locksmith in here?”