Mission: M.D.

by Linda Turner

  Chapter 8

  Damn, he didn’t want to let her go. Every time he held her, kissed her, felt her melt against him, all he could think of was sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her off to bed. But if he was crazy enough to do that, he had a feeling that he wouldn’t surface for days, and even then, he didn’t know if that would be long enough to do everything he wanted to do to the sweet, hot, willing woman in his arms.

  And that would be nothing but a mistake.

  She wasn’t the kind of woman who had wild flings, then moved on to the next man. She was Betty Crocker, for heaven’s sake! He’d watched her with her customers, with her grandmother and her friends—they all loved her. She was the kind of woman who needed a passel of kids to look after, to cook for, to love. The kind of woman who wouldn’t get all bent out of shape if one of her kids tracked mud into the house or put their feet on the couch. And if she made love anything like she kissed, the man in her life would be one lucky son of a gun.

  But he wasn’t going there, he reminded himself. Not yet. Not for years. That didn’t make it any easier to let her go. With need burning in his gut, he had to will himself to release her one finger at a time.

  “Say good-night, Rachel,” he rasped. “While you still can.”

  For a moment, he thought she was going to pull him inside with her. Dazed, her eyes dark with desire, she started to sway toward him, her hand already reaching for his. Then she blinked, and just that quickly, she came to her senses. “Good night,” she said huskily. And without another word, she disappeared inside.

  Later, Turk didn’t remember crossing her yard to his. And he sure as hell didn’t remember why he’d decided to be so damn decent and back off. As he crawled into his lonely bed and the scent of her perfume still teased his senses, all he could remember was the feel of her in his arms and the hot, hungry taste of her kiss. And he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life.

  During the night, the first cold front of the season arrived, bringing with it cooler temperatures, a wild display of thunder and lightning, and heavy rain. By the time Rachel headed for work at four-thirty, however, the norther had moved well to the south. The streets were still wet and the trees were dripping, but there was nothing she loved more than walking to work after a storm. Dawn wasn’t even a promise on the horizon, and the damp quiet of the morning called to her soul.

  Not surprisingly, the streets were deserted and she had Hunter’s Ridge all to herself. And she loved it. The display windows of the antiques stores on Main Street were lit with tiny white lights that twinkled like jewels in the predawn darkness. As she made her way to the bakery, she stopped for a second at the Moment in Time antique store to study the new display of antique kitchen bowls and old-fashioned utensils she would love to have on display at the bakery. Maybe she’d come by after work.

  Already planning where she would put the bowls as she continued toward the bakery, she never saw the car turn onto Main Street two blocks behind her. It picked up speed and was almost upon her when she suddenly realized she was no longer alone. Surprised, she glanced over her shoulder and frowned at the sight of the black SUV heading down the street toward her.

  It wasn’t often that she saw anyone other than someone from the police or sheriff’s department on the streets at that hour of the morning. And whoever was behind the wheel of the SUV was moving fast. Already fifty feet away, they were racing down the street at a reckless speed that was more than a little alarming.

  Was the driver drunk? she wondered, concerned. Suddenly aware of just how deserted the streets were, she felt her heart jump into her throat and tried to convince herself that she was perfectly safe. Then the SUV headed straight for her.

  It happened so fast, she didn’t have time to scream. Her heart slammed against her ribs, the headlights trapped her in the early-morning darkness, and her feet were suddenly nailed to the ground.

  “Move!” a voice in her head screamed. Dazed, she would have sworn she couldn’t. But suddenly, the SUV was bearing down on her like the devil himself, and with a cry of horror, she turned to run, only to slip on the wet sidewalk and turn her ankle painfully. Still, she scrambled for purchase. Sobbing, she could have sworn she felt the heat of the engine on her back, but before she could jump out of the way, her feet flew out from under her and she hit the wet sidewalk with a jarring thud.

  Pain shot up her spine. Glancing wildly over her shoulder, she could see nothing but the black monster of a truck as it jumped the curb and headed straight for her. Later, she knew she must have screamed. A split second later, the SUV swerved back onto the street and hit a puddle, dousing her to the skin. She only had time to gasp before the vehicle raced around the next corner and disappeared from view.

  Later, she couldn’t have said how long she lay there, her blood roaring in her ears, gasping for breath. Too close! she thought, shaken. Dear God, that was too damn close! All she could think of was that she would have been dead if the driver, for whatever reason, hadn’t decided to swerve around her.

  And just that quickly, she was livid. Idiot! Jackass! What kind of nutcase played chicken on Main Street when the roads were slick? Did he realize how close he’d come to killing her? Did he even care? She had to call the police, had to—

  Suddenly realizing she was soaked to the skin, she gasped. How could she go to work looking like this? She was a mess! She was dripping wet, her right ankle throbbed so painfully that she could hardly push to her feet, and she’d never been so angry in her life. Jackass! Was he drunk or just an idiot who got his kicks running down whoever happened to be on the streets when he decided to drive like a maniac? She had to call the police. Dammit, why hadn’t she thought to get his license number?

  Maybe because he was trying to kill you at the time, the voice in her head retorted. Or did you think this was just an accident?

  Still fuming, she immediately dismissed the idea that anyone would try to kill her. It was just a sick joke, a hair-raising prank. But what if it wasn’t? She needed to call the police.

  And tell them what? That someone almost ran you down? You don’t even know the make and model of the pickup, let alone the color!

  She couldn’t argue with that, but the incident still needed to be reported.

  Grabbing her cell phone, she quickly called the police station, then put in a call to the bakery to let Jenny, Sissy and Mick know that she was running late.

  He dreamed about the woman all night.

  Pulling open the front door to the bakery, Turk couldn’t wait to see her. When her eyes met his, would she remember the kiss they’d shared? Would she act as if nothing happened between them? If she did, he swore he was going to step behind the counter and lay a kiss on her that would have the entire town buzzing by lunchtime.

  Grinning at the thought—he could just see her, flashing those beautiful blue eyes of hers at him, making him laugh—he moved to the end of the line queued up in front of the counter. But when he looked past the crowd in front of him for Rachel, she was nowhere in sight.

  Surprised, he frowned. For the past month, he’d stopped at the bakery every morning for coffee and doughnuts. And every morning, Rachel had been in the same spot, standing behind the counter, talking and laughing with her customers. The place didn’t look the same without her. Where the heck was she?

  He had to wait until it was his turn to order to find out. “Oh, she had an accident on the way to work,” Jenny told him. “She should be coming in any second.”

  “Accident? Is she hurt? What happened?”

  “She didn’t give me the details, just that she got splashed by a car and had to go home to change. I thought she’d be here by now.”

  Not liking the sound of that, he frowned. “I think I’ll go check on her. Let me have two coffees and her favorite doughnuts to go.”

  When he started to pay, Jenny waved him off with a smile. “It’s for the boss. It’s on the house.”

  Loaded down with two large coffees and a hal
f-dozen still-hot doughnuts dripping in glaze, Turk made the walk to Rachel’s house in record time. He half expected to meet her along the way, but there was no sign of her, and as the morning sky began to lighten, her house was dark when he strode up onto her front porch. Concerned—where the heck was she?—he punched the doorbell, then waited impatiently for her to answer the door.

  Long minutes passed—the house was quite as a tomb. He was starting to get seriously worried when the light in the entry hall came on. Through the frosted window of the front door, he could just make out her silhouette as she slowly made her way toward him.

  “Rachel? It’s me…Turk. Are you okay?” he called through the door. “Jenny said you were splashed by a car.”

  “I’m fine,” she assured him, pulling open the door. “Well, sort of.”

  He took one look at her pale face and immediately stepped forward in concern. “You’re white as a ghost! What’s wrong? You’re hurt!” he said accusingly when she stepped back, clutching her fuzzy robe closed, and winced. Swearing, he swept her up into his arms. “What the hell have you done to yourself?”

  “I haven’t done anything,” she retorted. “Some idiot nearly ran me down on Main Street. When I jumped out of the way, I twisted my ankle. I’m fine, Turk. It’s just a sprain.”

  “I’m the doctor,” he growled. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Carrying her into the living room, he gently set her on the overstuffed couch, then dropped down on a knee in front of her to exam her left ankle. Before he even touched her, she stiffened. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he said reproachfully. “Surely you know I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “It’s not you,” she said defensively. “It just hurts.”

  “I know, honey. I’ll be gentle. I promise.”

  Easing off her slip-on house shoe, he cradled her foot against his thigh, then began to examine her ankle with a touch that was whisper-soft. Braced for a stab of pain, she released her breath in a sigh. “It’s just a sprain—”

  “Yes, Doctor, it is,” he said with a slight smile as he ran his fingers over the delicate bones of her ankle in what could only be described as a caress. “And I want you to stay off of it the rest of the day.”

  “The rest of the day? You can’t be serious!”

  “Walking on it’s only going to make it worse,” he said, sobering. He frowned. “Did you call the police?”

  “Yes, Doctor, I did, and I filed a report.”

  “And what did they say?”

  “Exactly what I thought they’d say. Without witnesses or a license plate number—which I didn’t get—there’s nothing I can do.”

  He swore, not surprised. “Just be careful, okay? And follow doctor’s orders—stay off that foot the rest of the day.”

  “But I have to work! The bakery—”

  “Is open for business right this minute and doing fine,” he assured her. “Oh, I almost forgot. I brought you breakfast.” He handed her a warm doughnut and her coffee. “As soon as you finish that, I’ll carry you to bed.”

  “Turk!”

  “Quit worrying. Jenny, Mick and Sissy had everything under control. I’m sure they can handle things. What would they do if you were in the hospital or had the flu or something?”

  “They’d make do, of course. But I’m not in the hospital—”

  When he just looked at her, she didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry. This wasn’t fair! “Can’t you just wrap it or something?”

  “I’m going to,” he assured her. “I just have to go next door to get my bag. Then I’ll carry you to bed.”

  “Carry me? But—”

  A crooked grin curled his mouth. “How else are you going to get to bed, sweetcakes? You’re supposed to stay off the ankle.”

  Leaving her with that to think about, he left her on the couch and returned five minutes later with his medical bag. Seconds later, he neatly wrapped her ankle, gave her two ibuprofen, then gently lifted her into his arms.

  Her heart pounding, fighting the need to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him senseless, she said huskily, “What are you going to do? Stand guard over me all day to make sure I follow doctor’s orders?”

  “Something like that,” he chuckled.

  “But don’t have you to be at the clinic?”

  “Yes. But that doesn’t mean I can’t check in on you during the day. I’ll bring you lunch,” he promised.

  If she’d had any sense, she would have told him that wasn’t necessary—her grandmother would be happy to bring her something to eat later. But she couldn’t find the words when she was held so close in his arms. With his mouth just inches from hers, all she could think about was last night…and kissing him. He’d walked in and out of her dreams all night, teasing her, seducing her, showing her just how wonderful it could be between them if she’d only drop her guard, and it was driving her crazy.

  For no other reason than that, she should have thanked him for the offer and sent him packing. She wasn’t sick; she didn’t need a babysitter. But she was already in trouble. She was in his arms and she couldn’t resist the chance to spend more time with him. He wanted to take care of her. What would it hurt just this once?

  “Well,” she said huskily. “If that’s what you want to do.”

  “Good,” he growled. “Then it’s settled.”

  Starting down the hall, he carried her to her bedroom and eased her onto the mattress with a gentleness that threatened to bring tears to her eyes. “Sleep,” he ordered gruffly as he pulled the covers over her, then dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be back later to check on you.”

  “Take my keys,” she told him as she laid back with a sigh, “then you can lock the front door. They’re on the table in the entry hall.”

  “Keep that ankle elevated,” he cautioned. “And call me if you need me.”

  He was gone before she could do anything but nod, and as she heard him lock the front door, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to sleep. Not when her head was in a whirl and she could still feel his arms around her. But when she relaxed into her pillow and closed her eyes, the trauma of the morning caught up with her. She was asleep almost immediately.

  The sound of the key in the front door woke her hours later. Startled, she tried to remember why she was in bed at twelve o’clock on a workday, and suddenly, the image of the black SUV bearing down on her flashed through her mind. In the span of a heartbeat, she was suddenly terrified.

  “Who’s there?” she called sharply.

  “It’s me…Turk.”

  Relieved, she sighed, “Thank God! I just had the most horrible dream about this morning.”

  The words were hardly out of her mouth when he appeared at the threshold to her bedroom and studied her with a frown. “How’s the ankle?” he asked.

  “Much better,” she replied, and pulled the covers aside so he could see her bare foot. “See…no swelling. In fact,” she added with a grin as she rotated her foot, “it feels like its old self. I should go back to work.”

  “Oh, no you don’t,” he warned, striding across the room to sit on the end of the bed and gently capture the foot she waved at him. “You’re staying right where you are until I check you out and make sure you’re really all right.”

  “I’m fine—”

  “Then this shouldn’t bother you a bit,” he countered easily, grinning, and captured her foot in both hands.

  She expected him to carefully rotate her foot to test for pain, and instinctively, she braced herself. His fingers slid over her instep, tracing the arch with fingers that seemed to drag liquid fire in their wake.

  Her breath catching in her throat, she couldn’t take her eyes off his hands. “What are you doing?” she asked huskily.

  He smiled slightly, his eyes warm with an emotion that heated her stomach. “Playing footsie. Wanna play?”

  “Turk—”

  “Just keep saying my name like that, sweetheart.”

  “We can’t do this.”r />
  His hand slid slowly up her calf. “Why not?”

  She couldn’t, for the life of her, think of a single reason. Not when he was melting her bones one by one and he hadn’t done anything but trail his fingers from the arch of her foot to the curve of her calf to the inside of her knee. Who knew that spot behind her knee could be so incredibly sensitive?

  Desperately wishing he would kiss her, she moaned, “You don’t play fair.”

  “I’ll stop…if you really want me to.”

  He wouldn’t, she thought, aching. But then he started to pull his hand away from her knee. “No!” Lightning quick, she caught his hand…and pulled him onto the bed with her…and into her arms. “Nobody said anything about stopping,” she told him when he grinned. “So don’t even think about going there.”

  “I thought you said we couldn’t do this?” he teased.

  “What?” she asked innocently, rubbing her bare foot up and down his calf. “Play footsie?”

  “Witch,” he groaned, and kissed her.

  It wasn’t until his mouth covered hers, claiming her, seducing her, that she realized that she’d been waiting ever since last night for him to kiss her again. Moaning softly, she kissed him as the pounding of her heart drowned out the warning bells clanging in her head.

  “Your ankle…?” he groaned against her mouth, suddenly remembering. “Damn! I forgot! Tell me it’s not hurting you. Don’t make me beg. Because if you’re feeling even a twinge of pain, we’re not doing this.”

  He sounded so tortured that she had to laugh. “It’s fine. Really,” she said when he looked skeptical. Unbuttoning his shirt, she spread it open and slowly slid her hands over his chest. Seconds later, her mouth followed her hands. Smiling as she kissed the side of his neck and felt him groan, she murmured, “I do have this ache, though….”