But Cassie was half out the window on her side of the truck, blissfully rubbing the ears of the paint pony she'd been watching in the corral. Jim Tucker sat on the horse and watched her with a huge grin on his face.
When he spotted Becca, he tipped his hat back and nodded at Cassie. "This little gal has an uncommon way with horses, Doc. We're just starting to train Pete, here. He's been as wiggly as a snake and twice as feisty. But he's standing here for Cassie like a big old puppy dog."
Becca watched the blissful expression on the horse's face and felt another spurt of fear. But she forced her face into a bland smile. "I'm glad she likes animals," she replied, easing Cassie back into the truck. "Being the daughter of a vet, she's going to be around a lot of them."
She buckled Cassie's seat belt, then started the engine of the truck. But Tucker shook his head and answered before she could get away. "It's more than that, Doc. There's a bond between Cassie and this horse that don't make any sense. Why ain't he as skittish around her as he is around other people?" Tucker spit a stream of tobacco juice into the red dust. "Some things you just can't explain," he said as he drew the horse away from the truck.
As she drove away, Becca saw Grady standing in the doorway of the barn. He leaned against the wall in a casual pose, but she wasn't fooled. Even from a distance she felt the anger in him, felt the waves of tension that flowed from him. She looked over at Cassie, who had her face pressed against the window of the truck as she watched the paint pony getting smaller and smaller.
She didn't know how much longer she could bear this. Grady had to know the truth, had to be told. But once again she remembered his remarks about traveling light, about not being tied down. How did she reconcile his rights with Cassie's needs? It wouldn't be fair to either of them to force the situation. As she turned onto the road that led back to Cameron, she vowed to spend enough time with Grady to find out how he felt about children, to judge how he would react to hearing that he was a father. It would be painful for her, and harder than anything she'd ever had to do, but she could do it for Cassie. She could do it for Grady's daughter.
* * *
At nine o'clock that evening Becca heard the quiet knock at the door and put down her book with a sigh. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for the next ten hours, but she couldn't do that yet. Grabbing her purse and keys, she opened the door to let her teenage neighbor into the house.
"Hi, Amy," she said, forcing herself to smile. "I shouldn't be too long tonight. There are only a few animals to check at the clinic."
"Take your time, Doc," Amy Morgan answered with a smile. She nodded at the pile of books in her arms. "I have plenty of homework to keep me busy."
"Cassie's asleep," Becca said as she paused at the door. "She had a long day, so she shouldn't wake up."
"No problem." Amy flopped into a chair and opened one of her textbooks. "If she does, Cass and I both know the drill."
Becca sighed as she climbed into her truck. Going back to the clinic at night to check on her patients wasn't her favorite part of her job. But it had to be done, and she was thankful that Amy was willing to watch Cassie while she did it. As she drove the few blocks to the clinic, she pushed her weariness out of her mind and concentrated on the animals in the clinic.
Twenty minutes later she was almost finished treating her last patient, a cat with a urinary problem, when she heard a noise that made her pause. It sounded like someone had jiggled the back door.
"It's just the wind," she said out loud, the words echoing in the silent building. But she stroked the cat on the table to keep him quiet while she listened more intently.
The noise echoed through the kennel again, louder and more distinct. It sounded like someone had turned the doorknob. Becca lifted her patient off the table and put him back in his cage, then wiped her suddenly sweating hands down the sides of her jeans. She glanced at the telephone, then told herself not to be ridiculous. No one could possibly be trying to break into the clinic.
It was obvious that she was in the building. Her truck was parked in front, and lights blazed out of all the windows. Who could possibly be foolish enough to attempt a break-in while she was here? If someone wanted to burglarize the clinic, why wouldn't he wait until she'd left?
A chill rippled up her spine. Everyone in Cameron knew she checked on her patients in the evening. Maybe that's why someone was trying to get in.
Closing her eyes, Becca told herself she was being stupid and forced the fear out of her mind. If someone was trying to get in, it was because he had an animal that needed help. That's all there was to it.
Hurrying toward the reception area, she glanced out into the parking lot. The only vehicle there was her truck. She turned and started toward the rear of the clinic and the back door, but as she walked into the darkened kennel, she heard the doorknob jiggling again. The hair rose on the back of her neck, and she slowly backed up.
Why would someone with an injured or sick animal go to the back door? And why not just knock? Maybe she was overreacting, but she reached for the telephone on the reception desk. She'd feel a lot better if Sheriff McAllister came over to take a look.
As her hand closed around the telephone, someone began pounding on the front door. Her heart leaped in her chest as she tried to punch in the numbers for the sheriffs office. When her fingers slipped and she hit the wrong button, she quickly depressed the button and began dialing again.
"Becca, are you in there? It's me, Grady," a voice called from the other side of the door.
Becca froze at the sound of his voice. Had it been Grady at the back door? No. She knew immediately that it hadn't been him. Grady didn't sneak around, didn't try to break into buildings. That wasn't his way. If he had something to say, he'd say it to her face. At least he always had in the past. And she knew instinctively that hadn't changed.
Dropping the telephone back into its cradle, she walked to the door. "Grady?" she said, hating the way her voice wobbled. "Are you still there?"
"I'm here. What the hell is going on, Becca?"
* * *
Chapter 5
«^»
Grady waited impatiently as Becca opened the locks on the front door. As soon as she pulled the door open, he stepped inside.
"What the hell is going on here?"
A look of confusion passed over her face. "What do you mean?"
"What are you doing here at almost ten o' clock at night? I thought you didn't do emergencies."
Becca's face relaxed, but only a little. She was sheet white. "There isn't an emergency. I always come over here around this time to check on any animals that are in the clinic."
Grady felt some of the anger he had felt draining away. When he'd seen her truck outside the clinic, a confusing combination of anger and concern had swirled up in him. She'd told him she didn't do emergencies. Had she lied to him? And if she hadn't, what had induced her to come to the clinic so late?
He said the first thing that came to mind. "Where's your daughter? Is she here with you this late?"
He thought her face became even whiter. "She's at home, with a baby-sitter."
For the first time he noticed that her hands were shaking, and his anger disappeared completely. "What's wrong?"
She stared at him for a moment "Were you trying to get in the back door just a few minutes ago?"
"Of course not. I saw your truck, stopped and knocked on the door. Why would I go to the back of the building?"
"I don't know. But I heard something or someone at the back door, then you were pounding at the front door a few moments later."
Fear curled in his belly, and he took a step closer to her. His first instinct was to grab her, to make sure she was all right. He stuck his hands in his pockets instead. "I wasn't at the back door. Show me where it is."
Her eyes huge in her pale face, Becca watched him for a moment, then nodded. "Back here."
He noticed that she threw on all the lights in every room they walked through. Nothin
g like letting a prowler know they were coming, he thought, but he didn't say anything. If there had been someone at the door, he would be long gone by now.
Finally she pointed at a door that stood in the back wall. "It goes to a kennel area, but the fence would be easy enough to climb," she said. As she stared at the door her face tightened again, and a wave of anger swept over Grady once more.
"Go call the sheriff," he said gruffly. "I'll take a look outside."
"Maybe you should wait, Grady," she said in a small voice.
Had she noticed the stiffness in his walk? "I can handle the kind of coward who tries to sneak into a back door." His voice was ice cold.
"I know you can, but we don't know who's out there. I don't want you to get hurt."
She was worried about him. He couldn't stop the treacherous pleasure that seeped through him, although he tried to ignore it. "I won't get hurt, Becca."
She watched as be unlocked the door. Even though she was behind him, he was too aware of her presence. "Go call the sheriff," he repeated. As she turned and headed toward the front of the clinic, the back kennel room suddenly felt lonely and empty.
When he heard her voice murmuring into the telephone, he cased the door open and looked into the kennel area. The runs looked ghostly in the dim light, the wire of the fencing leaving distorted shadows on the concrete floor. Nothing moved.
He stepped into the shadows, cursing once again the injury that had left his leg stiff and less than completely mobile. Moving slowly down the walk in front of the dog runs, he waited for a flash of movement, for some sign that the intruder was still on the clinic grounds.
But nothing stirred in the silence. When he reached the last nm and peered into the shadows, he turned and headed toward the back door. Whoever had been trying to get into the clinic was long gone.
Becca was waiting for him just inside the door. "Sheriff McAllister is on his way," she said, searching his face. "Did you see anything?"
"He's gone."
Her shoulders slumped, and for the first time he noticed the weariness etched on her face. "There was someone at the door." Her voice sounded almost defensive.
"I believe you, Becca. I just didn't see any sign of him." He wanted to reach out and smooth away the worry lines on her forehead. Hell, he wanted to do a whole lot more than that.
Cursing the need surging through his blood, he stepped through the open door and carefully moved away from her. As she swung the door shut, he noticed odd marks on the paint of the door and reached out to stop her. He was aiming for the doorknob, but instead his hand touched her arm.
Becca froze, staring at his fingers as they curled around her arm. He couldn't stop himself. He needed to touch her, to feel the warm smoothness of her skin. Her pulse bounded beneath his fingers, and his hand tightened on her.
He was angry with her, he reminded himself. She had betrayed him, and he wasn't interested in Becca Johnson anymore. He hated her, in fact. But his body called him a liar as her subtle, clean scent surrounded him.
He leaned toward her, his treacherous hormones remembering how she'd tasted and felt that morning. Remembering that no one else had ever had the power to move him the way Becca did.
Closing his eyes, he skimmed his hand up her arm, feeling her shiver in response. His fingers glided over her skin, every touch evoking a memory of another time, long ago, when Becca welcomed his touch and he craved hers. He lingered on her neck, her short curls feathering against his fingers. The touch of her hair brought back another wave of memories, of her long hair tangled around both of them. Nothing on earth could have stopped him from sliding his fingers into her mass of curls. Her hair was as soft, as silky as it had been nine years ago. Lost in the sensation, helpless against the memories that crashed through him, he leaned closer and glided his mouth over hers.
Becca trembled in his arms, her hands against his chest. He thought she was pushing him away, but when he moved, he realized that her hands were clenched in his shirt. Groaning, he pulled her closer and gave himself up to the sensations crashing through him.
Her body was firm and supple against him. The swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips burned into him, stirring old memories and creating new ones. Becca fit him perfectly, the way she did in his dreams. Slowly her arms crept around him, until she was holding him as tightly as he held her.
Her mouth shifted under his lips, then she was kissing him with a desperation that mirrored his. All thought, all restraint disappeared as he tasted her again, and his control slipped away from him. The past and the present fused together, and suddenly it was as if the past nine years didn't exist.
She made a small sound in the back of her throat, and Grady opened his eyes to realize that he'd pushed her against the wall of the clinic. He'd lifted her into the notch between his thighs, and her soft core was snug against his swollen erection. Becca's eyes were closed, and her face was flushed with passion. Her swollen lips were parted and moist, and as he stared at her, her eyes fluttered open.
They were filled with desire and longing, and a spear of almost unbearable need lanced through him. Lowering his mouth to hers, he kissed her again, his mouth and tongue moving to the throbbing rhythm that his body demanded.
He felt the instant that she tensed. The distance between them was suddenly far more than the few inches that separated them.
"What's wrong?" he said, pulling her back toward him.
She looked up at him, her eyes still full of desire and the flush of passion staining her cheeks. "Sheriff McAllister is here. Didn't you hear his car pull up?" she whispered.
A car door slammed outside the building, and Grady stepped away from Becca, swearing beneath his breath. All the ugly words he knew came spilling out, fueled by frustrated desire. Becca stared back at him, her hair disheveled and her lips swollen and still wet from his kisses, and he swore again. The sheriff would take one look at them and know exactly what they'd been doing.
"Go get yourself together. I can talk to the sheriff."
She stood straighter. "Thanks, but this is my clinic. I'll talk to him."
"Becca," he began, but he was interrupted by knocking on the front door of the clinic.
She hesitated for a moment before turning to go. No longer was she the vulnerable woman he'd held in his arms just moments before. Now she looked cool and professional. But she wasn't completely composed. The bloom of passion was fading from her face, and her gaze was once more focused and clear. But her hands weren't quite steady as she straightened her shirt and finger-combed her hair. And deep in her eyes he saw the desire she was trying so hard to hide.
"I'm sorry, Grady," she said quietly. "It was wrong of me to let that go so far. I was scared and—" her eyes dropped "—it was reaction, I guess. I wasn't thinking. It won't happen again."
The pain that was never far away found him again, reminding him of all that Becca stood for. Betrayal, anger and hurt swirled through him, replacing the need he'd felt just minutes ago.
"No, it won't." His voice was harsh. She flinched, then turned and hurried toward the front door. He watched as she walked away. When he realized that his gaze lingered on the sway of her hips as she vanished through the door, he turned away with a muttered oath and slammed the back door to the clinic shut.
The sound echoed through the building in a satisfying way, but he sighed and leaned against the wall. His leg ached with a familiar throbbing, reminding him he needed to sit down. Instead, Grady walked slowly through the back kennel room, looking at the windows and noticing how easy it would be to break into the building.
He was scowling a few minutes later when Becca walked back into the room with a tall, golden-haired man wearing jeans and a khaki shirt with a badge pinned above the pocket.
"I didn't see anything, and I didn't hear anything once we came back here," she was saying. The tall man listened carefully as he leaned over her. In Grady's opinion he was standing much too close. When the sheriff touched her arm, Grady pushed himself
away from the wall and moved to stand in front of Becca.
She looked up at him, startled, but he only saw her out of the corner of his eye. He was staring at the other man.
The sheriff let his gaze wander over Grady, but he didn't back up. Instead, he pocketed the small pad of paper he was using to take notes and hooked his fingers in his gun belt. "And you would be…?"
Grady hesitated for an instant, then he stuck out his hand. "Grady Farrell. I'm the new owner of the Flying W."
"Devlin McAllister." The sheriff shook his hand with a firm, no-nonsense grip. "What are you doing here, Mr. Farrell?"
"I saw Becca's car parked out front and stopped. I wanted to make sure she was all right. When she let me in, she told me she had heard someone knocking at the back door."
The sheriff watched him carefully, his gray eyes giving nothing away. "That wouldn't have been you, would it?"
Grady looked at the sheriff standing next to Becca and felt the wall between them. Becca and McAllister were on one side; he was on the other. He wanted to grab Becca and pull her over to his side, to break down that wall. But instead, he took a step backward.
"No, Sheriff, it wasn't me. I don't think Becca believes it was me, either."
McAllister glanced over at Becca. "Doc?"
She shook her head. "It wasn't Grady, Sheriff. That's not his style."
The sheriff rocked back on his heels, never taking his eyes off Grady. "I thought you said you were the new owner of the Flying W, Farrell. How well can Doc Johnson know you?"
"I know Grady from a long time ago, Sheriff. We grew up together." Becca's voice was low-pitched but firm. "He said he wasn't at the back door, and I believe him."
Becca's words warmed him, and for a moment he wanted to step through that wall and pull her to him. But he dodged the temptation, forcing himself to remember all that stood between him and Becca. A few stolen moments of passion were one thing. He and Becca had always fit together perfectly in that department, but life wasn't made up of moments of passion. It was made up of what went on outside of the bedroom, and in that department he and Becca were miserable failures.
RODEO MAN Page 6
