Always

by Deb Stover

  Always

  By Deb Stover

  A Contemporary Romance Novel

  Originally published as A Matter of Trust in 2000 by Kensington Publishing.

  © 2000, 2013 by Debra S. Stover AKA Deb Stover.

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover design by Deb Stover.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

  The scanning, uploading, and distributing of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Thank You.

  "Erotically charged and emotionally heartwarming..."

  ~ RT Book Reviews

  Dr. Dolittle Meets Northern Exposure

  Gordon closed the door behind her and walked woodenly to the bed.

  He wanted to forgive Taylor. Desperately. But he couldn't trust

  her. If he allowed himself to trust her, she'd have the power to

  hurt him. No matter what, he couldn't give her that power ever

  again.

  The floor creaked just beyond Gordon's door, and he held his

  breath as the doorknob turned. His heart thundered and he wanted desperately to call out to her.

  Slowly, the door opened, and Taylor stood framed by firelight.

  "Dear God." His gaze drifted down the length of her, savoring

  every inch of bare leg. His body sprang to life even as his mouth

  formed the words, "Taylor, don't..."

  "I've been lying awake, and I can't stop remembering." She padded barefoot to his bed. "Look at me, Gordon."

  He raised his lashes and met her gaze. Something bright and hot

  and dangerous burned in her eyes. "Do you know...?"

  She put her knee on his bed and cupped his cheek with one hand, then brought her other knee onto his bed and framed his face with both hands. "I only know this," she whispered, leaning closer to cover his mouth with hers.

  Novels by Deb Stover

  Shades of Rose

  A Willing Spirit

  Some Like It Hotter

  Almost an Angel

  Another Dawn

  Stolen Wishes

  Always (A Matter of Trust)

  A Moment in Time

  No Place For A Lady

  Mulligan Stew

  Mulligan Magic

  The Gift

  Novellas

  "The Enchanted Garden" in A Dangerous Magic; DAW

  "Keeper Of The Well" in Murder Most Romantic; Gramercy

  "Punkinella" in Vengeance Fantastic; DAW

  " Citizen Daisy" in Some Enchanted Evening; Zebra

  "Skin Deep" in Irresistible Forces; NAL

  "Witch Stitchery" in Enchantment Place; DAW

  "When It’s Wright" in Cast Of Characters; Fiction Studio

  Dedication

  For my beautiful granddaughters, Annabella Debra and Eliza Judith who remind me….

  Chapter 1

  Gordon Lane climbed from the frigid mountain stream and looked for his towel.

  It was gone. Again.

  "You worthless, fur-covered sack of manure," he grumbled, clambering up the bank to the trail, noticing the dumb grin on his aging Irish setter's mug. "Why don't you ever bark at him, Max?" Of course, Gordon knew the answer–the dog was half blind and deaf at age thirteen.

  The dog didn't answer, so Gordon turned his attention uphill again at his invisible nemesis. "Well, at least you left my boxers. Real decent of you."

  To say he was angry would be the understatement of the century. Unfortunately, to say he was freezing his family jewels off would be the gospel truth.

  He glanced down, half-expecting to find icicles affixed to his anatomy. So far, so good. Scowling toward the trees above the stream, he shook his fist. "I swear there's going to be bear stew for dinner, then I'm going to turn what's left of you into a rug for Max."

  The bear–AKA practical-joker in residence–didn't belong to anyone. He came with the property. Though Gordon had never actually seen him, the evidence the klutzy animal always left in his wake was proof enough. The realtor should have listed the beast as a permanent fixture.

  Cocking his head at an angle, Gordon listened to an unexpected–and unwelcome–sound. A car. And instead of turning around at the dead-end, the intruder stopped in front of his cabin. Great. Perfect.

  Putting dry clothes on his wet body wasn't Gordon's favorite way to start the day, but neither was streaking. He hesitated for a moment, mischievous thoughts skipping through his mind. Why not? After all, he hadn't invited anyone.

  "Whatcha think, Max?"

  The dog's tongue lolled out the side of his grinning face. "Okay, nah." Gordon tugged on his boxer shorts and decided he'd better get up there before the bear paid a visit. Gordon's breath came out in bursts of white vapor in the morning air as he picked his way barefoot through the trees.

  Then something bit him. Up close and really personal.

  He held his breath and looked down. Dozens of red ants were crawling out of his shorts and all over him, biting again and again.

  Howling in pain, he tugged frantically at his waistband. To hell with his company and that damned bear. Right now, all he could think about was getting rid of the attack-shorts and cooling the sting.

  Which was worse–frozen anatomy or burning?

  "Yeow!" An ant bit him in a particularly tender spot.

  No contest. Burning.

  * * *

  Taylor Bowen stared in disbelief at the rustic cabin. She must've taken a wrong turn, thanks to a brand new overpass. One thing was for sure–this wasn't Digby.

  She opened her car door and climbed out into the coldest air she'd encountered in ten years. "Brrr. How soon we forget."

  The crisp temperature enhanced the fragrance of the pine needles cushioning the ground. She'd missed that fragrance, though she hadn't realized it until now. Awesome beauty mated with the incredible silence and closed in around her, making her feel totally alone.

  And vulnerable.

  Shifting her gaze from one side of the cabin to the other, Taylor half-expected some wild beast to leap out in front of her and make her its breakfast. Hard to believe she'd grown up in these mountains. She slid her sunglasses farther up on her nose and pushed back a strand of dark hair that had escaped from her braid.

  Her sweater was blue, so she wasn't in costume for Little Red Riding Hood. No big bad wolf lurked behind the next tree. Of course, that meant there was no grandmother's house at the end of the trail either.

  Pulling the front of her sweater closed against the morning chill, she stepped onto the front porch. Just as she lifted her hand to knock, a bloodcurdling howl shattered the silence.

  "What in the world?" She ran down the steps and froze beside her Volkswagen. "A cougar?" A dangerous, wounded animal? She shuddered as the unwelcome memory attacked from all fronts.

  "Yeow," came another howl.

  "That's no animal." She opened her car door and pulled her leather medical bag from the passenger seat, then ran in the general direction of the sound.

  Through the trees, a sparkle of water caught her attention and she hurried, half-sliding the last few yards until the trail took a sharp downward turn. She scanned the area for any sign of life–human or otherwise–then eased herself onto a boulder and looked down.

  A man danced down the sloping bank, slapping at h
is shorts and swearing while an Irish setter pranced excitedly around him. The man twisted and turned, clearly unaware of his human audience.

  He didn't seem hurt. Maybe she should leave before he saw her, saving them both the embarrassment. But as she turned, he howled again, then everything seemed to slip into slow motion. His arms windmilled as he tumbled down the bank and into the water.

  Shading her eyes, Taylor ran to the stream just as he dragged himself toward the bank, shaking water from his hair. Her relief that he didn't require rescue barely had time to register before he slumped back against a large flat rock, his lower half still submerged. The Irish setter took position at the man's head, on a flat–and very dry–boulder.

  Regardless of the man's bizarre behavior before the fall, Taylor couldn't leave him there. She had to make sure he was all right. Even if he wasn't severely injured, hypothermia could kill him just as thoroughly as drowning. Not taking time to kick off her sandals, she splashed into the pebble-strewn creek.

  A quick glance revealed his eyes were closed as he moaned quietly. Breathing–okay. At least that was encouraging, though he obviously hadn't heard her approach over the rushing stream.

  A nagging voice in the back of her mind insisted she look at his face again. Recognition waged a major assault...and won.

  Gordon. Her throat convulsed and her pulse hit the critical level. Suddenly, her need to determine the severity of his injuries became way too personal. He was going to be all right–he had to be.

  Because of his silver hair, she'd thought him a much older man from a distance. But of course, they were exactly the same age.

  With shaking hands, she placed her bag on the rock and opened it, wondering how serious his injuries were. After jerking her stethoscope from her medical bag, she moved closer. Airway, breathing, circulation, she reminded herself. Her gaze dipped lower to check for bleeding, and she noticed the swirling silver hair covering his torso.

  He moaned again and shifted slightly, though his eyes remained closed. "Those bloodthirsty little monsters better be dead, because I'm freezing," he mumbled.

  The setter–could it be Max?–barked in agreement.

  "D-dead?" she repeated.

  Gordon opened one eye to stare at her. "What the–"

  Taylor straightened so quickly she stumbled, barely catching herself before pitching forward. Now that would be a great way to start her career. She could already see the headlines.

  Klutzy Quack Kills High School Sweetheart.

  With a groan, he pushed himself to a sitting position. "Between the ants and good samaritans, a man can't–"

  His gaze collided with hers and he blinked several times. "Taylor?"

  The dog said, "Woof."

  Taylor shook herself from her daze and took a step toward him. "I...I thought you were hurt."

  "Taylor," he repeated.

  His gravelly voice rumbled around in her belly and spiked straight to her bone marrow. Easy. She swallowed hard and tried to look away, failing miserably. "Are you hurt? Where are you hurt?"

  "You're home." Disbelief filled his voice, reminding her where she was...and who he was. He rubbed his temples and flashed her a crooked grin. "I'm going to stand up now. You finished playing doctor?"

  Taylor tried to ignore the implication of his words and his smile, but she couldn't. They had played doctor...once upon a time. "I'm not finished checking you yet."

  She lifted her chin a notch. This was the first time she'd laid eyes on him since leaving Digby. The relentless pain bypassed her brain and zoomed in on her heart.

  With perfect aim.

  She didn't need this–not now. Sure, she'd known she would have to face him, but not so soon. Drawing a deep breath, she forced herself to meet his gaze without faltering.

  In spite of the bittersweet memories bombarding her, she saw the devil in his turquoise eyes. Gordon's sense of humor hadn't changed a bit, though she suspected it was more of a defense mechanism for him right now. Well, two could play at this game, and it might keep her from turning into a blubbering fool in front of him. She wasn't about to give an inch.

  "I'm not finished examining you," she repeated.

  "Exa–" He closed his eyes for a moment and released a long, slow breath. "I guess you're a real doctor by now." He gave a nervous chuckle and shook his head. "You know, I didn't recognize you...at first." His voice fell to a whisper.

  Good thing his injuries weren't serious, because she was doing a pitiful job of maintaining any semblance of professionalism. Not to mention what seeing him again after all this time was doing to the rest of her, especially her heart.

  A delicious memory streaked to the forefront of her addled brain, igniting a slow burn through her veins. She saw Gordon as he'd looked more than ten years ago, kissing her, wanting her, baring her virginal flesh to his equally innocent touch....

  How she'd wanted him.

  A series of images from that long hot summer between their junior and senior years in high school flashed through her mind–picnics, fishing, hiking, swimming, making out behind the waterfall farther up the mountain, and the back seat of his Jeep....

  They'd lost their innocence together. He'd been so tender, so passionate, so...Gordon.

  The sudden tightening low in her middle jerked her back to the present. She couldn't want him now–not after what he'd done to her. To them.

  She wouldn't want him now. Their relationship was history–a closed chapter in her life. Memories were sweet but dangerous. They made her vulnerable to the pain–a luxury she couldn't afford. Moistening her lips, she searched his face, wondering if he remembered, too.

  He winced as he pushed himself forward.

  "You are hurt." She took another step toward him. "Is it your back? That was a nasty fall."

  "Oh, yeah, I fell. Trust me, you don't want to know about my injuries."

  "I think an x–"

  "Not necessary." Chuckling, he stood in one smooth movement and wavered only slightly before collecting himself. "See? I'm fine."

  Max woofed again. "Is that Max?" she asked in disbelief. "He must be at least twelve by now."

  "Thirteen."

  Gordon stood so close she could feel him, though she didn't dare lower her gaze. But an insistent voice from some twisted part of her psyche wanted to.

  Badly.

  Instead, she bit the inside of her cheek and tilted her head back slightly to meet his gaze. Gorgeous eyes, nice tan, long silver hair, and a tall muscular build–the kind of man women fantasized about.

  She ought to know.

  He was a grinning, bronze god, no longer the acne-prone teenager she'd once loved with all the youthful exuberance she could muster. Or the boy who'd promised his undying love, then broken her fragile young heart.

  "Look, Ma, no hands," he said quietly, continuing to hold her gaze.

  Something flickered in the depths of his eyes that momentarily stole her breath. His stare was penetrating, questioning, all-encompassing.

  He remembers, too. Jerking herself back to reality, she watched him for any hint of instability. "You did fall, didn't you?"

  "Yeah, sorta, but I definitely had motivation." He looked down at himself. "The water seems to have helped, though."

  Without thinking, Taylor followed the direction of his gaze. Wet, clinging boxer shorts–white, of course–left little to the imagination. In addition to his rather impressive physique, angry red welts covered his lower abdomen, inner thighs, and, she suspected, other more intimate areas. "You're..."

  "Stung," he finished, flashing her another crooked grin when she looked up at his face again.

  "Stung," she repeated stupidly, ignoring the voice of feminist reason that told her she should be offended by her own inability to put two coherent words together. Actually, magnificent had been the word floating around in her stunned gray matter.

  Little Gordon Lane had matured nicely.

  Volcanic activity was a mild description of the inferno that suddenly crept over
her. Still, curiosity battled embarrassment and won. "What happened?"

  He shrugged. "Ants in my pants." He gestured toward the bank. "Like a fool, I left them on the ground while I went swimming, and wonder dog here never even growled while they invaded."

  "I see." She saw all right–and remembered. Skinny-dipping had been one of their favorite pastimes. Swimming in the buff had been incredibly erotic foreplay. Her memory was too good. Excellent, as a matter of fact.

  Forcing her thoughts back into focus, Taylor roused herself and reached behind him for her medical bag. The icy water had numbed her feet and her sandals were ruined. "Well, since you don't want to take my advice and–"

  "Nope."

  He might as well have said, "Case closed–end of discussion."

  He stepped around her, brushing against her arm. The feel of his water-chilled skin seeped through her sweater and straight to her libido. Good morning, hormones. Knowing he wore almost nothing didn't help matters any.

  A splashing sound prompted Taylor to look over her shoulder. He was bent over, splashing water onto his abdomen and thighs, oblivious–or indifferent–to the imposing spectacle he presented.

  Men's backsides had never commanded her attention before, but now she had to wonder why. Lowering her sunglasses, she peered over the rims, then pushed them back into place. Through the thin wet cotton, well-defined muscles rippled along the backs of his thighs and into his buttocks. He was fine. Better than fine, in fact.

  Despite her earlier embarrassment, Taylor couldn't prevent the hungry rush that surged through her again. She was a healthy, twenty-eight-year-old woman, after all, and it had been a long, long time. Through medical school and residency, her love life had been practically non-existent. Except for Jeremy.

  Gordon looked well-equipped to satisfy her hunger, but she had other more pressing matters to consider. Perhaps less appealing, but infinitely more important. Besides, he'd hurt her in the worst possible way. That knowledge stood between her and anything her libido might have in mind.