Dr. Colton’s High-Stakes Fiancée

by Cindy Dees

  “Without getting another lecture on my lack of concern for animals and children, why are you so attached to this beast?”

  Rachel turned, dashing the tears from her cheeks. “He came to me for help, and that makes me responsible for him. Unlike some people in this town, I don’t leave my own behind.”

  He flared up. “We did what we could for Damien. But there wasn’t enough evidence to clear him once he was convicted.”

  Rachel shrugged. An awkward silence developed between them. He spent it checking the dog’s bandages. “What are you calling this mutt, anyway?”

  “He started out as Brown Dog. Then it became Brownie Boy and now it’s just Brownie.”

  Finn frowned. “He’s a big, macho dog. That’s too girly a name for him.”

  “He chose a girl’s porch to nearly die on. He’s stuck with whatever name I give him.”

  “Were you always this bitchy?”

  She glared at him. “No, it’s your special talent to bring out this side of me.”

  “Figures. You got something to drink?”

  “I’ve got coffee or water for you. Oh, and milk.”

  He scowled. That wasn’t what he had in mind. If he was going to have to deal with this woman, he definitely needed alcohol and lots more of it. Barring that, he had to find some way to shut her up. The sound of her voice was doing weird things to his gut, and he had to make it stop. He didn’t want to feel this way. It was too damned much like old times. Like before she ripped his heart out, when things had been so sweet between them that the joy of it had been nearly unbearable.

  She took him by the elbow and steered him into her living room. The light from the kitchen was dim in there and the room was wreathed in shadows. Their silhouettes danced upon the walls, ghostlike. Maybe it was the booze, or maybe it was being up half the night last night and working hard all day today, but the years fell away from him and the two of them were sneaking into her parents’ house late from a date, he eighteen, she barely sixteen, both of them innocent and crazy in love.

  Regret for the loss of those two carefree kids stabbed him.

  “What happened to us?” he whispered.

  Rachel turned in surprise to stare at him. The line of her cheek was as pure and sweet as ever. He reached up to touch that young girl one more time before she slipped away from him into the mists of time and bitterness.

  She made a soft sound. Whether it was distress or relief, he couldn’t tell. But he stepped forward and wrapped her protectively in his arms, hushing her in a whisper.

  “Don’t leave me, Blondie. Stay with me a little longer. I’ve missed you so damned much.”

  Her head fell to his chest and all the tension left her body as she gave in to the magic of the moment. He touched her chin with one finger and raised her face to his. He kissed her closed eyelids and then her cheeks, lifting away the tears. He moved on to her jaw and finally her honeyed mouth. And it was like coming home after many long years away. His relief was too profound for words, his only thought to wonder if this was how Damien had felt when he’d walked out of that prison a free man.

  And then she kissed him back. Like always, she was shy at first. But he was patient and slowly, gently, drew her out of herself and into the moment. Before long her slender arms came around his neck and her graceful body swayed into his. And then they were really kissing, deeply, druggingly, with heat building between them that would drive back the night outside and chase away all the old hurts.

  He ran his fingers through her silky hair, still as golden and blond and full of light as it had always been. Her skin was still smooth, gliding beneath his fingertips like satin. And that little noise she made in the back of her throat—part moan and part laugh—was exactly the same. Everything about her, how he reacted to her, how he felt about her, was exactly the same.

  The realization was like the sun rising in his unguarded eyes, blinding him with its undeniable presence. He turned, spinning her with him on invisible currents of air and light and carried her down to the couch, pulling her down on top of him as he sprawled. The sofa creaked and he chuckled as he threw aside a bunched quilt. And then he kissed her until he thought his heart might burst with the joy of it. His whole world spun around him dizzily and he laughed up at her.

  “It’s not just me, is it?”

  She looked at him questioningly.

  “How good this feels. As good as it ever did. We were great together. Could be great together again.”

  She stared at him in undisguised shock. Finally, she announced, “You’re drunk.”

  “Yup. Ain’t it grand?”

  She smiled, although regret was thick in her sad gaze. She shook her head. “Mark my words. You’re going to regret this in the morning.”

  “What the hell. You only live once. Damien’s a good case in point. You never know what’s going to happen tomorrow, so you’d better enjoy today.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell your hangover that,” she commented wryly.

  “Kiss me some more.”

  “How about I go get you that cup of coffee so you can make an informed decision here?”

  “Stay.”

  But she nimbly disentangled herself from his clumsy embrace and disappeared. He kicked off his shoes and stretched out, deliciously content. Damn, life was good. He’d have to thank that dog in the morning for getting sick and forcing him to come over here…

  Rachel stood over the couch, coffee mug in hand, and looked down at Finn sleeping like a baby on her couch. And now the $64,000 question was, how much would he remember in the morning? How much did she want him to remember? Her rational self prayed he had a total blackout. But something tiny and stubborn in the back of her head wished that he would remember it all.

  His kisses had brought it all back. Everything. How desperately she’d loved him. How they’d planned their escape from Honey Creek, sure they’d be together forever. How innocently and completely she’d given him her heart.

  For a little while there, he’d kissed her like he remembered it all, too. They really had been great together. Right up until the moment he turned on her.

  She covered him with a quilt, stunned at the direction his thoughts had gone when his inhibitions were removed by the Johnny Walker Red she’d tasted on his mouth. He’d wanted her. Asked her to remember how good it had been between them. Had even suggested they’d be that good together again. For a moment there, he’d been her old Finn. The one she’d never really gotten over. Who was she kidding? No matter how mad at him she’d been for dumping her and treating her so badly, there was still something about him…something irresistible between them.

  And those kisses of his! Her toes had yet to uncurl from them. If he’d acted like a drunken lout and pawed at her and tried to shove his tongue down her throat, it would have been easy to resist him. But, no. He had to go and be all gentle and tender and caring, like she was made of fine porcelain and was the most beautiful and fragile thing he’d ever seen.

  She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to suppress a sob. Nobody had ever made her feel like that since him. And that was a big part of why she was still single and heading fast for a lonely middle age. Damn him! Why did he have to go and ruin her for anyone else? Worse, he had the gall to come back to Honey Creek and remind her why she couldn’t settle for anyone less than him.

  She turned and ran for her bed. Her lonely, cold bed. But at least it had fluffy down pillows into which she could cry out all her grief and loss and remembered pain. She’d thought that part of her life was over. She hadn’t thought there were any more tears left to shed for Finn Colton. But apparently she’d been wrong.

  When the alarm clock dragged her from sleep two hours later to check on Brownie, she stepped into the living room gingerly. Had it all been a dream? An exhaustion-induced hallucination, maybe?

  Nope. A long, muscular silhouette was stretched out under her grandmother’s quilt, one arm thrown over his head. She paused to examine his hand. A surgeon’s ha
nd with long, capable fingers. And then there was the fresh row of blisters not quite scabbed over on his palm. She tucked the quilt higher over his shoulder and tiptoed into the kitchen.

  Whether it was Harry Redfeather’s tonic or Finn’s antibiotics or the cold towels, or some combination of the three, she didn’t know. But Brownie seemed to be sleeping more comfortably and even thumped his tail a little for her. She changed the newspapers under him and tucked a blanket around him more securely. She even managed to get a little liquefied dog food down him. Miraculously, he seemed to have turned a corner for the better.

  She stood up and reached out to close the kitchen blinds. An odd light was streaming through the window, too bright for moonlight. She stared in delighted surprise. Snow was falling. Big, fat, lazy flakes, drifting down in silent beauty. The entire world was blanketed in white, fresh and shining and clean. She loved new snow better than just about anything on earth.

  How appropriate for this night. Brownie had been given a new chance at life. And her and Finn? She didn’t have a clue what had happened between them, but it was certainly new and different. Tomorrow morning would tell the tale, she supposed.

  She closed the blind quietly and reached down to pet Brownie. “Sleep tight, fella. Enjoy being warm and dry and safe, eh?”

  It must’ve been a trick of the moonlight because for a moment she could swear he’d smiled at her. Then he shifted and settled down, deeply asleep once more.

  Yes, indeed. The morning would tell the tale.

  Finn blinked awake into light so blinding he thought for a moment he was lying on a surgical table. “What the hell?” he mumbled.

  His feet were hanging off the end of his bed, which was barely wide enough to hold him. Something heavy and warm lay across him. Where in blue blazes was he? He squinted and sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. A living room. On someone’s sofa. Man, he must’ve really tied one on last night. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. He was the respectable Colton. The good son. He didn’t go out and get ragingly drunk.

  He did vaguely remember being severely pissed off at something. No, someone. He’d tossed back a whole lot more whiskey than he usually did. And then…he frowned. He remembered a semitruck. And getting a ride to somewhere. But where?

  He looked around and spied lace curtains at the windows. He reached up to rub his face and caught a whiff of something familiar on his shirt sleeves. Vanilla. This was Rachel’s couch!

  It all came back to him, then. The dog. She’d chapped his butt but good for failing to help her dog get over his fever. He’d tried to drink away the memory of the animal’s sad brown eyes and failed. Not to mention the dog’s new mistress. He’d ended up piling in that truck and hitching a ride over here while some trucker laughed at him the whole time about being in love. He was not in love with Rachel Grant!

  He remembered her letting him inside and the two of them working on the dog together for a long time until the fever had finally broken. He frowned, glancing down at the couch, and the rest of it came rushing back. He had pulled her down on top of him and kissed Rachel’s lights out…or maybe more accurately they’d kissed each others’ lights out.

  And he’d said he missed her. That they’d been good together. Could be good together again.

  He swore long and fluently. That was possibly the dumbest thing he’d ever done in his entire life. And he’d done some pretty stupid things over the years. He vowed then and there never to mix booze and women again as long as he lived. He should probably be grateful he’d only ended up on her couch and not in her bed. Talk about complicating things!

  But then insidious images of what she would look like and feel like, naked and silky and willing in his arms, invaded his mind. His body reacted hard and fast, pounding with lust. Damned, traitorous flesh.

  “Hi, there. I thought I heard you moving around,” Rachel said from the doorway.

  He yanked the quilt across his lap to hide his reaction to thinking about being in bed with her. “G’morning,” he grumbled. “How’s the mutt?”

  “The mutt is doing great. He went out in the backyard under his own steam to pee and hopped back inside all by himself.”

  “Could you dial down the chipper meter a bit?” he groaned.

  “Headache, pukey gut, or both?” she asked sympathetically.

  “If the guys jackhammering my eyeballs out of my skull are a headache, let’s go with that.”

  “A pile of aspirin coming right up.” She brought the pills along with a big pitcher of cool water. He drank several glasses down, and although his head still throbbed, the jackhammers went on break.

  She asked sympathetically, “Do you think you could eat? You might feel better if you got some food into your stomach.”

  “Something starchy, please.”

  “Pancakes?”

  “Perfect.”

  “If you want to take a shower while I make you a stack, that’s okay.”

  He nodded wearily and hauled himself to his feet. He glanced across the living room at the shadow he cast on the far wall. Memory of a slender, feminine shadow moving sinuously there last night came to mind. He ought to apologize. Tell her it had all been a terrible, alcohol-induced mistake. But his throat closed on the words and his tongue stayed stubbornly silent. He shook his head to clear the memory—and groaned. Big mistake. It felt like he’d just thrown his brain in a blender. Ugh.

  He made a beeline for the bathroom and the hottest shower her house could serve up.

  Rachel looked up from the table where she was just setting down two glasses of orange juice and was mortified to see Finn holding the mystery piece from her latest attempt at toilet repair.

  He said casually, “You didn’t need this, so I took it out and hooked up the handle properly. You’re flushing like a champ, now.”

  Her face heated up. “Surgery on my dog and now surgery on my toilet. How will I ever repay you?”

  He grinned, a self-conscious little thing that looked strange on him. Was he actually embarrassed? About what? She was the one who couldn’t fix a toilet. He slid into the chair across from hers, and suddenly her kitchen shrank from cozy to itty-bitty.

  He bit into the pancakes cautiously. She hoped it was because he was being respectful of his stomach’s propensity to revolt and not because he thought her cooking was that bad. In fact, she was a pretty decent cook when she bothered to do it. It was just that she lived alone and most of the time it was easier to toss something into the microwave.

  “Mmm. Good,” he murmured.

  Relieved, she dug into her own breakfast.

  “Don’t you have to be going to work?” he asked.

  “I have an appointment this morning,” she replied. With his brother. To turn over the copies of the financial records Wes had asked for. The same records he’d asked her not to talk to anyone about. So of course, Finn asked the obvious question.

  “Who’s the appointment with?”

  “Nobody,” she answered evasively.

  “Nobody who? Must’ve moved into town after I left.”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny.”

  “Who’s it with?” he pressed.

  She sighed. “You’re not making it easy to tell you tactfully that it’s none of your business.”

  The open expression on his face snapped into something tight and unpleasant in the blink of any eye. Dang it! And they’d been getting along so well.

  She frowned. And she was desperate to get along with him well, why? She was the ex. The very-ex ex. There was no way he’d ever contemplate getting back together with her. At least not sober. He’d had going on fifteen years to get around to it and never had. Last night had been a whiskey-induced anomaly. Nothing more. She could only pray that the fact he hadn’t mentioned their kiss this morning meant he didn’t remember it.

  He pushed his plate back. “Thanks for breakfast. I seem to have left my cell phone in my coat pocket, and I have no idea where my coat is at the moment. Could I use your pho
ne to call a cab?”

  “I’ve got some time before my appointment. I can drive you wherever you need to go.”

  “I’ve put you out too much already.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You saved my dog’s life. I definitely owe you a ride. Is your truck over at the Timber Bar?”

  “Not anymore. Damien and Duke picked it up last night so I wouldn’t try to drive it drunk.”

  “So you need a ride to the ranch?” Internally, she gulped. It was bad enough having to face him again. But the whole Colton clan? Yikes!

  He sighed. “I can see from your face you’re not thrilled at that prospect. Really. I’ll call a cab.”

  “Really. I’ll drive you home.” He glared, and she glared back. The same fire that had zinged back and forth between them last night flared up again, and her kitchen went from itty-bitty to minuscule. Even Brownie lifted his head in the corner to study them.

  “I’m calling—”

  She cut him off. “I’m not some impressionable fifteen-year-old sophomore that a big, bad senior can push around anymore. I’m taking you home and that’s that. Now hand me your plate.”

  A grin hovered at the corners of his mouth as he passed her his plate in silence. She rinsed off the syrup quickly and popped the dishes and utensils into the dishwasher. Maybe later she’d take them back out and put her lips where his had been. Goodness knew, she was all but drooling over him already.

  Finn surprised her by going over to Brownie and squatting down beside him. He held his hand out and let the dog sniff it, then scratched him gently under the chin.

  Whoever said men weren’t capable of being as tender as women was dead wrong. And furthermore, it was as sexy as hell when a man was gentle and sweet. Her racing pulse was proof enough of that.

  Finn murmured to the dog, “How’re you feeling this morning, buddy?”

  Brownie whimpered as if in response.

  Finn glanced up at her. “Sounds like he’s conscious enough to be in pain, now. We’ve got some tramadol out at the ranch I can give you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A painkiller. Wouldn’t want the big guy to be uncomfortable now, would we?”