She winced internally once again, realized she spoke the words like they were a couple. She had to quit that. She was lucky he was toying with her at all, even now, considering her frequent faux pas. But he barely seemed to notice. “Actually, I’m going to carry Bill to bed, and then I’m going to take a shower, if you don’t mind me using your bathroom again.”
Her mouth went dry. “Sure, go ahead. I was thinking about showering, too, since Bill’s already asleep. It’ll save me a few minutes in the morning.” She kicked herself mentally. She sounded like she was asking for an invitation to join him, and that was over the top. He was going to end up going home and never coming back if she kept acting wanton and naïve, all at the same time.
“Let me know when you’re ready, if I’m not already out, and I’ll be out of the way in five minutes.” He grunted as he lifted Bill’s shriveled frame in his arms. Okay, now Tara was sure. That was a direct invitation. Or challenge. She would have to seriously consider walking into the bathroom while he was washing behind the glass door of the shower to tell him she wanted to trade him. It might just brighten up her evening. Hell, it would probably be the highlight of her year.
9
“I don’t know why we can’t just go back out to the waiting room or into the doctor’s actual office like we used to do,” Bill grumbled, still in the hospital bed. “Why are they keeping me in this infernal bed?”
Dylan scowled at him, wishing he’d just lie back and close his eyes like the nurses told him to. “Your blood pressure was up, and they want you to rest while we wait for the test results. So, I suggest you do it before they decide to admit you overnight for observation.” He was angry and concerned, and he wasn’t handling it well.
Last night, Bill had interrupted a moment of weakness, and Dylan couldn’t decide if he was grateful or royally pissed off. Then, after a subtle innuendo, he’d failed to entice Tara into the bathroom where he was showering, which told him he’d probably been mistaken in thinking she really wanted to kiss him in the first place.
But somewhere along the way, after they’d watched a movie together and then flipped to a marathon of sitcom reruns, she’d fallen asleep, using his shoulder as a pillow. He’d carefully gotten up and carried her to bed, and he’d stood there, watching her sleep after he tucked her in for several minutes. She was so peaceful, her skin so soft, her lips full. She was gorgeous in life and ethereal in sleep, and he wanted to lie down next to her and hold her, knowing he’d get comfort from her undisturbed slumber.
Instead, he’d done the gentlemanly thing, the thing that was expected of him, and withdrawn from the room, closing the door behind him and tossing himself down on the couch, where he slept fitfully through the night, waking up to his alarm instantly and heading for the kitchen to make a pot of coffee bold enough to put hair back on a bald man’s head. He wasn’t rested, and he didn’t know what to expect at the doctor’s office.
Now that the tests were done and the results were coming soon, his exhaustion was hitting him, and he wanted to shove it all off on Bill, who suddenly seemed to be more alive than he’d been so far today. It was like the intrigue and drama of waiting invigorated him, and all he wanted was for Bill to fall asleep so he could take a few minutes to talk to Tara and tell her he was sorry about his actions last night. He wanted to be her friend, and so far, things had felt a little awkward between them today.
Maybe it was his imagination because he was still thinking about what didn’t happen. After all, she’d been cheerful and patient, and she could have forgotten all about it by now. Dredging it up again might be the worst decision ever. But it was weighing on him almost as much as the dread of what Bill’s tests would reveal.
“You don’t have to be so short with me. What crawled up your ass this morning? I thought you wanted to come,” Bill accused, his sparse brows knitting together with a deep line between them.
“I just think you should take better care of yourself. Why is it that you do what Tara tells you but refuse to listen to anyone else, no matter how much they know?” Dylan instantly regretted yelling and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Bill. I didn’t sleep as good as I usually do because I’ve been worried about these tests for days.”
“Let’s all just calm down,” Tara said in a soothing voice. “I know it’s hard, but getting worked up doesn’t help anything. In fact, Bill, you saw what it does to your blood pressure, which we’ve had under control for a couple of weeks now. And Dylan, it’s not going to help you, either. It’ll just make your hair turn gray early and damage your heart from the stress.”
Coming from anyone else, Dylan would have probably railed at whomever it was for butting into his business. But he couldn’t do that to Tara. She sincerely wanted the best for him, if nothing else, and her reminder was gentle, which made it less unwelcome. In fact, he suddenly understood why Bill followed her orders so easily. Something about them made him want to follow them. She made him want to please her by doing the right thing, and even now, he tried taking some deep breaths to calm his nerves.
And it worked. Or at least, it started to. But then the doctor opened the door and came in. His expression was stoic, carved in marble, and even when he gave his bedside smile, it didn’t curl his lips much. And it certainly didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, Mr. Campbell, I have to say, you don’t look much worse for the wear. I see you’ve only lost a pound in the last two months.”
Bill glanced over at Tara and told the doctor, “My nurse here is a good cook. And she makes sure I eat.”
“Dylan was a good cook, too,” she added, giving him a sidelong glance. “But I’m a little more careful with what I feed him. Granted, I’m not exactly going the holistic route, but I’ve cut back on the things that make him sick to his stomach, mostly grease. There’s a lot more baking and a lot less fatty red meat in his diet. It’s helping him keep things down.”
“Well, that’s good to know.” The doctor frowned down at the papers in his hands, taking a long pause, and then he sighed heavily. “Okay, we have good news and bad news. Which one would you like first, Mr. Campbell?”
“Aw, hell, I’ll always take the bad news first. That way, I can hope that the good news is good enough to pull me out of that depression you cause with the bad stuff.” Dylan wanted to smack him in the head for the negativity, but he wore a smirk, which meant he was only halfway serious.
“Then, I should tell you that we haven’t made any progress in clearing the cancer. It’s all still there. But I guess that was expected, right?” He didn’t sound upset, just a bit resigned, and Dylan looked away, furious that there was nothing they could do to fix his old friend.
“So, are you telling me that all this puking and pain and whatnot hasn’t done me any good?” Bill asked. “If that’s the case, why don’t I just stop taking the damn meds and live the rest of my days out in relative peace?”
Now, the corners of the doctor’s mouth twitched, and Dylan hoped the good news was coming. “I think the good news might change your mind. See, the cancer also hasn’t progressed. At all. Not just that it hasn’t made any significant progress, but it hasn’t spread or grown. Not a miniscule bit. So, the drugs are helping.”
Dylan stared at him, hoping this wasn’t a joke. It was Tara who spoke, as Bill was also flabbergasted and left speechless, which was rare. “What does that mean for prognosis, Doc?”
She probably already had a good idea herself, but Dylan appreciated that she voiced the question he and Bill were too shocked to ask. The doctor took a deep breath. “Well, we can’t be certain, so don’t take this as the gospel or anything. But based on what I’m seeing, we’re probably looking at a year, maybe more. And I’m going to recommend that we add another pill to the mix. It’s a different sort of chemo that could significantly stunt the growth of the cancer and, considering that there hasn’t been any advancement as it is, might actually reduce the size of what you already have. No guarantees, but you’d likely feel better and be able to eat m
ore comfortably. And it could buy you a few extra months beyond what you’ve got now.”
That was amazing news, and Dylan wanted to urge Bill to take him up on it. “How much does it cost?” Bill asked.
“It’s not cheap, but disability insurance should be a pretty big help.”
“I don’t know. I’ve got people holding up their own lives to take care of me, and the longer I draw this out, the longer they’ll feel obligated to be with me. I don’t want to keep them from moving on any longer than they have to.”
Dylan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re joking, right? Because I would rather be at your side, carrying you to the damn bathroom every twenty minutes, than without you for the rest of my life. I want you around as long as you can live.”
But Bill glared at him. “And what about Tara? You think she wants to be stuck on a ranch, away from everything she knows with a sour old man? Sure, she’s kind and caring, and I don’t know why but she seems to actually like me. But that doesn’t mean she wants to spend any extra time here, cooped up in my house that’s not even in town. She’s a city girl. Do you realize she can’t even see a movie at the theater if she wants to without driving for half an hour?”
“Bill, this is my job, and part of doing my job is giving you quality and length of life. I wouldn’t want you to refuse something that gives you a better prognosis,” she told him, and Dylan saw the liquid of her cobalt-blue eyes that showed she was trying to conceal tears. “I like you, Bill, and I like being on the ranch.”
“Mr. Campbell,” the doctor began, “I know you worry about the people around you, but I think you’d benefit greatly from this advanced medicine. It’s stronger, with typically milder side effects, and it could be a good track for you. It seems you have a lot of support in taking it. But it’s your choice.”
“I don’t know, Doc. These guys are crazy.” Bill looked torn, and Dylan couldn’t figure it out for the life of him. But thankfully, he finally shrugged and said, “I guess I can try it. I can always change my mind and not take it if it screws me up.”
“That’s true,” the doctor said, looking exasperated. “I’ll write up the script and get it filled downstairs in the pharmacy. Keep your blood pressure down, Mr. Campbell. I’d prescribe you something based on what I saw today, but Miss Shores here brought in your chart from the last couple of weeks, and I see it on a downward trend. Keep working at it.”
He stood to leave, shaking everyone’s hands, and as he left, he threw back over his shoulder, “I’m glad you came in today, Mr. Campbell. I enjoy giving good news, and I don’t get to do it often enough. Take your scripts and come back again next month so I can do it again.” That made Dylan smile, and Tara laughed as Bill shook his head, obviously still amazed.
The next two hours seemed to last forever as they wheeled him out of the room and downstairs, waited for the prescription, and loaded him into the car to drive him back home. Dylan had driven, and that meant Tara had been pressed against him in the cab of Bill’s single cab pickup on the way to the appointment. She was squeezed next to him again on the way back, and he liked the smoothness of her skin against his arm, the heat of her body rubbing against his leg from his hip to his knee.
He almost felt cold as they got out and moved Bill into his bedroom. He finally admitted to his exhaustion and was ready for a nap. As he closed the door behind himself and Tara, Dylan rolled his eyes. “Too much pride. I guess it’s unacceptable to be tired in public, even when you have a terminal illness.”
She giggled. “I guess so. It’s pretty common, too. Bill is no different than any of my patients in that aspect.” She frowned and pointed toward the kitchen. “Are you hungry? I’m starving. I could whip us up some lunch, maybe something a little less healthy than usual.” She winked. “I’ll cook something up for the patient later.”
But Dylan had something more pressing than food on his mind. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you.” She looked concerned, and he blurted out, “I owe you an apology for the way I acted last night.” There. Now, he could move on.
10
Tara blinked, confused. Last night, she’d gotten caught up in the moment and practically begged for a kiss. Then … then, there was nothing. Nothing happened, and she couldn’t figure out what on earth he thought he needed to apologize for. “Your behavior last night was fine. I don’t know what you think you did, but I can’t think of anything you should be apologizing for.”
He played with his hat, tipping it up and pulling the brim back down two or three times, and she realized it was a nervous habit. She’d seen him do it before, but she’d never known why until now. “I wasn’t particularly respectful of your position here and nearly crossed a line. I don’t want you to feel like I was getting ready to take advantage of you.”
Incredulous, she couldn’t help but laugh, and she covered her mouth so she wouldn’t disturb Bill in the room. From the look on Dylan’s face, she’d offended him, and she had to rein it in a bit, taking him by the arm and gently tugging him toward the kitchen, where they could talk without having to whisper.
Then, she put her hands on her hips and gazed up at him in disbelief. “I’m the one who took a simple ‘thank you for your service’ moment and practically begged for a kiss. I misread the situation, I’m sure, and I should be the one apologizing for creating any awkwardness for you.”
“Please, you didn’t do anything,” he said, his tone dismissive of her actions and practically begging her forgiveness still. “Can we just pretend nothing happened?”
She quirked a brow at him, not willing to let things go that easily. “Actually, nothing did happen. If we’re going to pretend, we might as well pretend that something happened so maybe we can skip over the awkward first kiss and dive right in.”
His green eyes sparked with a yellow flame, and it sent heat coursing through her from her center out to the furthest reaches of every appendage. “Are you telling me you want me to kiss you?”
She wasn’t good at being coy, but she tried, shrugging and trying to look like she could take it or leave it. But she figured from the look on his face she’d achieved something closer to seduction. “Are you implying you don’t want to kiss me?”
She barely had the words out of her mouth before he grabbed her around the waist, jerking her toward him and slamming their bodies together. Tara gasped, excited and amused, and he leaned down so their noses almost touched. She could feel his heat radiating into her, and he surprised her with a cocky smile, the likes of which she’d never seen on him. “Don’t answer a question with a question,” he growled.
She didn’t know what exactly had come over him, but she liked this Dylan more than ever. “Don’t ask a stupid question—” And if those were the last words she ever spoke, that was just fine. His lips came down on hers with brute force, taking her breath away, and then he eased up, gently plying her lips with his. She opened her mouth, inviting him in, and he responded, his tongue tasting like coffee and minty gum and something distinct that was all his own.
She pressed tighter against him, throwing her arms up around his neck and accidentally knocking his hat to the ground. She would have wrapped her whole body around him but didn’t want to seem truly desperate. And as his tongue danced in her mouth, she sighed, all reasonable thought disappearing so she didn’t even know what she wanted anymore.
They were moving, and she didn’t fight him as he backed her against the fridge, pressing his hard length against her hip and letting her know that he wanted far more than a kiss. She was more than willing to give it to him, all the attraction and sexual tension that had built up since the night she’d arrived swirling through her with the force of a category-five tornado.
Dylan groaned, threading his fingers through her hair and tilting her head back even more. Tara sighed into his mouth, her body ignited, and she ran her fingertips down his back, making him shiver. Her excitement grew, and she had a feeling things were going to move quickly. She wanted to get him in th
e bedroom, where they had the privacy to take things to the next level. It wasn’t like Bill was going to come out and catch them in the act, but it didn’t feel right to start stripping in here.
And yet, just as that thought crossed her mind, he broke the kiss and stepped back. It wasn’t abrupt; he lingered a moment before moving back out of physical contact, but it still left her cold, her system shocked. She shivered and hugged herself against the sudden lonely, rejected sensation and stared at him, wondering why he’d stopped. His face was strained, and a glance below the belt told her he was still aroused.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, a sheepish grin on his lips as he closed his eyes. “I think we need to cool it down a little.”
“Why?” she asked before she could censor herself. His eyes met hers, his gaze sharp. But she’d said it, and now she stood her ground. “I don’t see any reason to stop here. We’re grownups, and you clearly want more, just like I do. How often do you think the opportunity is going to fall into our laps without some sort of interruption?”
“I’m not trying to be an opportunist,” he told her, sounding hurt.
She scoffed, straightening as she realized the mood was dying quickly. There would be no recovering it, and she was irritated. “Maybe you should be,” she challenged. “You and I are busy people, and our schedules are so far off from each other we barely get five minutes in passing to say hello to each other. You know, I don’t date, and I don’t have time for men. I haven’t even been attracted to anyone in a very long time, so the fact that I can’t get over how sexy you are is a big deal. If I act on it, I want to follow through before I lose the chance. Like I just did because you seem to think you’re offending my delicate sensibilities. Let me reassure you, I don’t have any delicate sensibilities.”
Cowboy Casanova (Wild At Heart Cowboys Book 3) Page 6
