Though knowing this was exactly the opposite of what he should be doing if he didn’t want to be a cliché, he deepened their kiss. She obliged, opening her lips enough for him to touch the tip of her tongue and then to discover the velvety-smooth inner side of her mouth. He tasted hints of peppermint even as he inhaled that vanilla gloss.
Being a man, he knew exactly two gears, On and Off, and right now On took control. His hands wandered down her surprisingly fragile back and then lower to her hips, enjoying all that he grabbed on to. He was vaguely aware of her arms tightening around his neck when he did. She’d heated up the kiss, canting her head, probing and delving deeper with her tongue, and the entire front of his body tensed in anticipation of what might come next.
With blood rushing through his veins from her being so close, he didn’t stand a chance she wouldn’t notice his natural reaction. But he didn’t care. She’d started it. She was a doctor, knew all about physiology. He just wanted to keep kissing her and feeling her. And she seemed to want the same, kissing harder as her hands kneaded and rubbed his neck and shoulders.
Minutes passed as their kisses danced and whirled into a passionate knot. He tasted and breathed her, and made it very clear that she’d turned him on. The problem was, there was nowhere to go from here. Sure, some heady kisses were great, but, really, he knew this had to end. She’d been brought on board to help at the clinic, and he hoped to help her, too. She wasn’t meant to be a playmate.
She was a new mother, for crying out loud—what was he doing working her all up when reality screamed that this wasn’t supposed to happen? He was a cliché.
Then he felt it. His guy switch turned to Off.
Yeah, they couldn’t keep this up. Not now.
Not ever?
His hands lightened their grip on her hips. He removed his lips from hers as he drew back. With regret he looked into her eyes and saw the hesitant disappointment there, and for that he was glad, because he was definitely disappointed, and didn’t want to be the only one. At least he hadn’t thrown himself at her; every part of this make-out session had been mutual. Beyond a doubt.
But what the hell had they just done except complicate things?
“Must be all that fresh air, huh?” She broke the stretching silence, answering his unvoiced question.
Sure, they could always blame it on the weather.
He glanced sheepishly at her. “Yeah. I hope I—”
“Please don’t apologize, because then I’ll have to, too, and, to be honest, I really liked kissing you.”
Since she put it that way… “Me, too, but we have no business dragging sex in to this situation.”
Her eyes shifted downward beneath her full, arched brows. “Then we should probably ride back now.”
Damn, he’d hit a nerve or something and now she wanted nothing more to do with him. He didn’t want to force the subject of sex or no sex, so he agreed. He ran one feather-light knuckle over her smooth cheek regretfully. “Okay, let’s go, then.”
Cole barely needed to help Lizzie mount her horse this time around, and before he got on O’Reilly she’d already turned Zebulon around, heading back toward the trail.
He’d let his most honest feelings loose just now, and all it had done was confuse things. That couldn’t and wouldn’t happen again. Because he was damned if he would be a cliché.
*
Lizzie rode down the trail in silence. She’d let down her defenses and kissed Cole. What a stupid idea. Cole had reprimanded her about dragging sex in to their situation, and she really should have known better. Men these days got called out for inappropriate behavior with employees and slapped with lawsuits all the time. For all he knew she might have been setting him up. Wasn’t that how Dave had felt after going out with her for six months, then finding out she’d gotten pregnant? The last thing she’d needed was a baby while going through medical school—how could Dave possibly think she’d gotten pregnant on purpose? Yet he did. The fact that her schedule had been crazy and she’d messed up on the birth-control pills had never entered his mind. Nope, he’d flipped out and roughed her up to make his point, too.
A powerful man like Cole couldn’t be cautious enough, and she’d just allowed something as simple as a horseback ride on the ranch let her make a bad choice. Of course Dr. Cole Montgomery was off-limits, and the fact she’d thrown her arms around him and kissed him as if they were on a date proved she was suffering from new-mom brain.
Seriously, what had she been thinking?
That he was the sexiest man she’d ever met. That there was something special about him and his family. That she’d give anything in the world to belong to someone like that, to be a part of it and for Flora to have a man in her life like Cole.
When they got back to the stables, she dismounted without his help, didn’t want him to have to touch her again since he’d backed off pretty quickly after they’d kissed. Was it something she’d done? When their gazes slipped over each other’s, she sent him a secret message—Don’t worry, Doc, it won’t ever happen again—then headed back to the house, pretending she needed to rush back to her baby.
*
Sunday dinner was mandatory. Dad was home, cranky and restless. Gretchen had cooked his favorite meal of prime Montgomery beef stew with root vegetables even though it was summer, had baked corn bread and made cold cucumber salad. Cole wanted to avoid Lizzie, but wouldn’t dare stand up his father for dinner—especially since he’d made such a big deal out of it to Lizzie—and definitely not on his father’s first night home.
They gathered at the huge heirloom table, big enough to seat twenty people, seeming sadly lacking as a party of four and a half—that was if Lizzie and Flora showed up. Maybe it was time to start eating in the kitchen. Ah, what was he thinking? That would never fly with his traditionalist father, especially not on Sunday nights.
The moment Lizzie walked in to the room, things brightened. A little buzz zipped through Cole, reminding him of earlier, making him wonder if she’d replayed those moments as many times as he had in the few short hours since they’d shared those kisses. Or had she thought of it at all?
Their eyes met and held briefly, and something told him she’d already taken his words to heart—we have no business dragging sex in to this situation. It didn’t matter if they liked kissing each other or not, they’d messed with their work dynamics and it would take a while to get over that. At least for him, because, as he’d already established, he was a sad cliché.
Yet he still had to sit across from her at the table and couldn’t very well avoid looking at her.
She’d pulled her hair back and put it in a loose roll on the top of her head, wore bright pink lip gloss and a dark blue short-sleeved blouse. Her eyes stood out as always, and her gentle smile of greeting made them turn upward at the edges. It suited her.
In such a short time he’d already gotten accustomed to her face, to seeing her every day, which was a very bad thing. He frowned and she must have taken it personally by the flash of confusion in her gaze as she pulled it away and settled on his dad, instead.
“Mr. Montgomery, you’re looking dashing tonight,” she said, even though his father wore a faded plaid shirt, with an obvious stain on the yellowing crew-necked undershirt.
“Call me Monty, like all of my friends, and cut the crap.” He shook out his napkin, signaling it was time to eat.
Lizzie laughed good-naturedly, something else he liked about her, adjusting Flora in the wraparound sling she wore across her torso. “Okay, Monty, I feel honored to be considered a friend.”
Monty fretted, as if he’d already regretted opening the door to friendship with her. “Pass the stew, would you?” he barked gruffly.
Cole stood and carried the large ceramic tureen to his father, lifted the lid and let him serve himself even though it took more effort than usual, then walked around the table and held it for Lizzie to dish out hers. Just because he’d kissed her like a randy teenager earlier didn’t mean he’d
forgotten how to be a gentleman. He figured things were awkward because he was sending mixed-up messages, and she focused on the food rather than look at him. He wanted to kick himself for kissing her—uh, no, honestly, he didn’t, but right now he hated the repercussions—because it fouled up their working relationship. She had so much to learn and he wanted to help her.
“Gretchen, this smells fantastic,” Lizzie said.
Gretchen dutifully brushed away the compliment. “Oh, I’ve been making this for the Montgomerys for years.”
“Best food I ever had since coming here. You’re a great cook.”
“Oh, not really.” Cole had made it over to Gretchen and let her serve herself. “Thank you, Cole.”
“She’s right,” he said. “I’ve been away so long I’d almost forgotten.” She patted his hand in appreciation once she’d filled her bowl.
Cole sat to the right of his father and served himself. The corn bread got passed around and after his father’s terse grace they all dug in.
“I’m not really used to eating family-style.” Lizzie wasn’t afraid to break the silence, and Cole was glad about that.
“Families don’t eat together in Boston?” Monty plunged ahead without a second thought.
“Didn’t have a family. I was mostly in foster care.” She spread butter on her corn bread. “I never really felt part of those families.”
That stopped Monty cold. He quit chewing and stared at Lizzie, obviously trying to decide how to put his other foot in his mouth, too. “Now, that’s a cryin’ shame.” He shoved another bite into his mouth, deep in thought.
“I had my grandmother until I was ten. Loved her to bits. But she died and it wasn’t until I was fifteen when I met Janie Tuttle.”
Cole didn’t want his father to make any more lame comments so he spoke up. “Was she a foster parent, too?”
Lizzie glanced appreciatively at him, knowing she’d already shared a part of her history with him. “Yes. She’s the reason I got scholarships to college and she put the notion in my head that I could be a doctor if I wanted to be.”
Achy warmth clung to his chest, making him wish everyone could have a solid home as he and his brother had growing up. “She must have been a great lady.”
“She was an old spinster school teacher, didn’t have a clue how to handle a teenager, but she took a chance on me. I guess I had the good sense—well, after being in a whole lot of not-so-great foster homes—to appreciate her interest in my education. She died my second year in medical school, but at least she knew I’d made it there.” She blinked away the moisture that had gathered and made her eyes look large and dewy.
The achy warmth increased and clinched like a vise. He forced his gaze to his food to give her space to recover, if that was what she wanted to do. Lizzie had lost everyone who ever cared about her; now all she had was Flora. The last thing she needed to feel was that she had been taken advantage of by him. Sometimes life really didn’t seem fair.
“You’re an inspiration,” Gretchen said. “You’ve made yourself a success.”
Lizzie laughed lightly. “Hardly. After I’m through here I don’t have a job.”
He didn’t think for half a second before the words popped out of his mouth. “I’m going to do something about that.”
Her full, arched brows lifted a good inch. “How are you going to do that?”
“I’m going to get you an interview with the head of the internal-medicine resident program of your choice.” He was? “I’m going to coach you and help you present yourself in the best light and I will guarantee you make a great impression.”
“My choice? You have that much clout?”
Probably not, but he’d work out the details later. “The key is you can’t pick the same hospitals you just tried to get into. Come up with your secondary list. Give me five choices, and I’ll get you in.”
“You’d do that for me?”
He wanted to. “Yes.” Maybe partly to get her out of his life, or partly to impress her? Oh, hell, he wasn’t sure why he wanted to do this, but he did. That was the important thing. He wanted to help Lizzie and Flora. He liked them, cared about them. In order for them to have a good life, she needed a resident placement. Hmm, he’d make some calls this week to see if any spots were left open in any of the east-coast programs. “Are you willing to consider a list of programs I compile for you, too?”
“How can I say no to that?” She offered a somewhat disbelieving grin, and Cole knew he’d have to prove to her that he was a man of his word. That he could be trusted. And their kissing had nothing to do with this.
He took a bite of beef, wondering one thing. Was he the kind of man who could be trusted?
Soon after Lizzie had finished eating, Flora got squirmy and fussy. “I’m so sorry but I’m going to have to take care of her.” She looked earnestly at Gretchen. “I really wanted to help with the dishes, too.”
“Don’t bat one eyelash over that. Go take care of our sweet baby.”
Looking relieved, she glanced over at Tiberius. “It’s great having you home again. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”
Cole could tell his father, slowed by the latest TIA, was searching for some witty comeback. “Thank you, I’ve got all the help I need,” he finally said. “Take care of the little one.” Or maybe finding out about Lizzie’s childhood helped him bite his usual acerbic tongue.
Cole didn’t have a clue what age babies sat up, but it seemed that sling thing wouldn’t be the best way to hold Flora much longer. All anyone could see was the top of her head at the dining table and that shock of dark flyaway hair. It made him smile. But he kind of liked seeing her face and those inquisitive baby eyes, so awed by everything. So intelligent in a totally innocent way. Since he had some free time that night, he got it into his head to do some extra research. Truth was, Lizzie wasn’t the only one to have gotten under his skin.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MONDAY MORNING, COLE and Lizzie agreed to travel to work in separate cars, since she had to deliver Flora to the new child care. He’d gotten the okay and loaned her his father’s car, and was grateful not to be stuck in the same car since things had gotten awkward between them the rest of Sunday after their kiss. He lingered on at home and enjoyed an extra cup of coffee while making a quick online order before leaving, then listened to the weekend sports wrap-up on the radio for the ride in to work.
He’d no sooner walked in to the clinic when Lotte rushed him with laser-like tension in her eyes, and with Lizzie right behind her. His first worry was that they’d had another argument and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to be diplomatic yet or not. Work it out yourselves, ladies.
“Been a horrible accident out at the Waltons’ ranch,” Lotte said. “One of the cowhands got butted and gored. You’d better get out there.”
Cole glanced at Lizzie with alarm. When was the last time he’d worked the ER? “Ever see that in your big-city ER?”
“No, but I certainly saw my share of stab wounds. A deep puncture is a deep puncture, right?”
“You’re probably right.” Trauma medicine was far from his specialty, but he’d been raised on the ranch, had seen all kinds of injuries related to spooked cattle. He could at least help until the ambulance arrived. If he recalled right, his father had told them the Waltons were raising buffalo now.
“Where’s the trauma kit?” she said.
“Good question.”
“This way,” Lotte said.
They set off for the procedure room where the trauma and delivery bags were kept, right on Lotte’s heels.
“Everything you should need is in there.”
Lizzie grabbed and opened it, and did a quick inventory.
“I’ll call an ambulance and have Rita cancel the morning appointments,” Lotte said. “If anyone shows up, if they want to stick around, we can try to squeeze them in the afternoon.”
“Sounds good.” He gathered extra gloves and gowns, since there might be a lot o
f blood involved, even though his biggest fear was internal injury from the patient getting rammed by a bison. “Let’s go.”
“This should be all we’ll need until the paramedics get there,” Lizzie said, closing the bag and looking calmer than Cole felt.
On the drive over, to keep his mind occupied, he quizzed her on deep-puncture-wound care and signs and symptoms of internal bleeding. As always, she aced it.
Fifteen minutes later while they were still in the car, a young cowboy on horseback led them to the corral where the man was down. They parked and rushed to the scene. Hell, it was Mike Walton; they’d gone to school together. The guy had been working the ranch all his life, which proved you never knew what might set off a steer, or, in this case, a bison.
The cowhand chattered every step of the way, filling them in on the particulars. “We was moving them through the chute, this guy was the last one. Something must have spooked him and set him off.”
Cole found Mike in the corner of the corral on his side, moaning.
“The damn thing hooked him with his horn after he rammed him into the post. Just picked him up and threw him back down like he was tumbleweed or somethin’.”
Cole knew that big animals found comfort in groups and got nervous when they were alone. Any number of things could have set off that bison. He figured they’d spent their time and manpower energy getting the bison out of the corral after that, and probably hadn’t looked after Mike at all. He dropped to his knees.
“Mike, you with me?”
Mike moaned and opened his eyes. “Hurts like hell. He gored my ass.” He lifted his head a little while he talked, which was a good sign his upper spine was okay.
Father for Her Newborn Baby (Cowboys, Doctors...Daddies) Page 8
