by Maggie Price
“Morning, Etta,” Regan said, crossing to the table. “Can I stay for breakfast if I help cook?”
“Always happy to have an extra mouth to feed.” Etta smiled but the usual glint was missing from her eyes. “Child, I’ve worried about you since you called last night. You sounded so scared.”
“I was.” Resting a hip against the table, Regan glanced up when Josh strode in with Anthracite cupped in one palm. “I’m sorry I had to wake you,” she said, looking back at Etta. “Thanks for sending the cavalry.”
“The tavern and all who are in it are my responsibility.” Etta shifted her gaze to Josh. “It makes me sick to think about that Peeping Tom setting foot on my property, staring in the window at Regan. Is there anything I can do to the building to make it safer?”
“The door locks are sound,” Josh said. “So is the one on the apartment’s window. The curtains are thin, so you need to have a blind put up. Sometimes peepers lose interest if there’s nothing to look at.”
“I’ll call the hardware store and order a blind today,” Etta said.
“Let me know when it’s in and I’ll pick it up and install it for you,” Josh said. In his hand, the kitten purred like a little motorboat.
“I appreciate that,” Etta said, regarding him. “Anthracite sure has taken a shine to you.”
Grinning, he planted a hip on the table. “Well, she is a female.”
Regan studied Etta while she and Josh talked. Her gray hair wasn’t brushed in its usual tidy shape, and her color was off. “You look a little flushed,” she said, laying her hand on Etta’s. “Do you feel okay?”
“It’s hotter than an oven at Thanksgiving in here. I need to turn on the air conditioner before the morning gets warmer.”
“It’s more than that.” Beneath Regan’s palm, the woman’s skin felt hot. Clammy. “You have a fever.”
“When I woke up, I felt a little sluggish. Like I might be coming down with a cold.”
Regan didn’t look at Josh, but she could feel the intensity of his dark gaze on her, as if trying to gauge her true intentions toward Etta. Fine, he could analyze that aspect of her all he wanted.
“Did you check your blood sugar level this morning?” Regan continued. “And take your insulin?”
“Heavens, Regan, I’ve been doing that nearly all my life.” Etta slid a hand into the pocket of her dress and pulled out the long, silver recorder. “And if I did somehow forget, you’ve got my memory box programmed to remind me.”
“True.” Regan kept her voice light, but Etta’s flushed skin and spike in temperature had her deeply concerned. “I think we need to have Doc Zink come over and take a look under your cast. Just to make sure everything’s all right.”
Etta blew out a breath. “Doc’s got his hands full right now. Mildred England called a while ago to let me know her daughter-in-law went into labor. They’re all at the clinic.”
“Then that’s where we’ll go,” Regan said.
“I hate to bother Doc Zink when he’s got Jenny’s baby to deliver,” Etta said.
“Well, I don’t want to have to face Doc Zink if he finds out I knew you had a fever and didn’t bring you by the clinic,” Regan said. She met Josh’s concerned gaze over Etta’s head. “What about you? Are you willing to face the heat from the doc if we don’t get Etta in to see him?”
“No way am I going one-on-one with Zink,” he said. “Man’s got syringes with six-inch-long needles.”
Josh settled Anthracite on the floor, then placed a hand on Etta’s shoulder. “Here’s the deal, doll face, when it comes to medicine, Regan knows what she’s talking about. She says you need to go to the clinic, that’s where you’ll go.” He dipped his head when Etta started to protest. “Don’t make me take you into custody, ma’am,” he drawled.
Etta gave him a stern look. “Over the years, I’ve taken a switch to your backside once or twice, Josh McCall. I can still do it.”
“I’ll just have to risk it.” He slid his palm beneath Etta’s elbow and helped her up. “Let’s go.”
“What about breakfast?”
Regan checked the oven to make sure it was turned off. “We’ll get around to that later,” she said, handing Etta her cane. “Josh, if you’ll help Etta to my car, I’ll take things from there.”
His eyes flashed with impatience. “I’m going to the clinic.”
“I just thought—”
“I know what you thought,” he said levelly. “And we’ll talk about it later.” Keeping his eyes locked with Regan’s, he wrapped an arm around Etta’s waist. “My car only holds two people so we’ll all go in yours.”
Regan’s muscles tightened. Why did her every attempt to get away from Josh McCall just bring him closer?
“Fine,” she said evenly, knowing any protest on her part would just heighten his curiosity about her. She tugged the keys out of her pocket. “I’ll drive.”
With a shoulder propped against the wall of the exam room, Josh studied Etta. Seeing her lying on a padded exam table while wearing an oversize hospital gown had him realizing just how fragile she’d grown over the years. The tube feeding antibiotics into her via a needle in her arm just added to the look.
His stomach knotted. He felt useless standing there, unable to do anything to help the woman he’d always thought of as robust. He’d experienced the same sense of futility yesterday in that car while he watched Regan work with methodical efficiency to try to save a young girl’s life.
His gaze shifted. Regan looked just as efficient now as she adjusted the clear bag hanging from the portable IV stand. He appreciated the white T-shirt that hugged her breasts, the worn cutoff jeans that molded to her slim hips and showcased her tanned legs. Still, he suspected some sort of health care uniform would suit her better. She should be working in the medical field, he thought. Belonged there.
Instead, she’d chosen to tend bar in an out-of-the-way watering hole. And this morning, she’d shown up at her boss’s house with the tavern’s account book, and her suitcase on the backseat of her car. He figured if it hadn’t been for this detour to the clinic, she’d have already left Sundown for good.
Why? Had she all of a sudden felt the need to get the hell out of Dodge because she’d revealed too much of herself yesterday at the accident scene? Or had he spooked her last night when he told her he was curious about her? Had the kiss they’d shared gotten through one of the defensive walls she’d put up, and had her worried he might get through more? The kiss, he conceded, that had rocked him like no other had before.
“Doc Zink isn’t keeping me here one minute longer than it takes to dose me with this stuff,” Etta said, flicking her wrist in the direction of the IV pole. “I’m not sick.”
“You got a sore under your cast and it got infected,” Regan said as she propped up the pillows behind Etta’s head. “And you have a fever. That’s called sick.”
“Maybe.” Etta lifted a thin shoulder. “Doesn’t mean I intend to let the doc keep me here.”
At that instant, the door swung open and Doctor Orson Zink stepped into the exam room. He was in his early fifties and fit, his wiry, athletic frame clad in black pants and a baby-blue shirt. The lines fanning out from his dark brown eyes deepened when he smiled at Etta.
“Jenny England just gave birth to a seven-pound, ten-ounce daughter. Thought you’d want to be one of the first to know.”
Etta beamed. “Well, that’s good news. How’s Mildred doing?”
“As calm as a first-time grandmother is expected to be.” Zink crossed his arms over his chest. “How are you feeling now?”
“I’m fit as a fiddle,” Etta stated. “Regan and Josh are ready to take me home.”
“If Doc Zink says we can,” Regan added, then shifted away from the exam table to give the doctor room.
With her standing only inches away now, Josh picked up her scent—warm lemony soap and skin. Every hunger he’d ever known stirred while he took in the stiffness of her spine, the rigid set of her s
houlders. She was wound as tight as an addict in withdrawal. Panic, he sensed suddenly. Beneath all that tension was quietly desperate panic.
Over what? Etta being sick?
He glanced at the older woman, now in deep conversation with her doctor. Already Etta’s color had improved, so he didn’t think that was the source of the distress he could almost feel emanating from Regan.
He studied her profile, her thick, straight hair a dark contrast against the high sweep of one pale cheekbone. His need to hold that nifty body against his while he took another long, slow taste of her had only intensified over time.
Yet, something more than physical was going on, he admitted in a shadowed corner of his mind. Something more than just an intense curiosity about her had hooked him. At this point he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to pry himself loose or be reeled in. It would take time to figure that out. Figure her out. Time he wouldn’t have if she left Sundown.
Watching her, he felt something inside him shift, something he was hesitant to acknowledge, much less want to understand. All he knew was the last thing he wanted was for her to disappear from his life.
“I can’t afford a hospital stay,” Etta said, pulling Josh’s attention back across the exam room. “Can’t you just send me home with some pills?”
“If you weren’t a diabetic, probably,” the doctor said. “In your case, you need bed rest, the dressing on your foot changed four times a day and IV antibiotics every eight hours.”
“For how long?”
“Depends on how you heal.”
“No hospital,” Etta said, her lips trembling. “People go into those places alive and come out dead.”
Having seen Regan in paramedic mode, Josh figured it’d be a snap for her to change dressings and administer IVs. The temptation to point that out faded when he flicked her a look. Her hands were clenched and her dark eyes swam with emotion. It was as if he could see the battle raging inside her. Dammit, why the hell did she feel such an urgent need to leave Sundown?
When Regan remained silent, he stepped to the exam table. “Doc, what about your nurse here at the clinic? Could we hire her to come by Etta’s house a couple of times a day to change her dressing and give her the IV?”
Zink shook his head. “Irene could probably use the money, but she’s got three kids at home and a baby on the way. I doubt she’d have time.”
Josh nodded. “Okay, is there a visiting nurses’ association around here? They might have someone we can hire.”
“The closest nurses’ group is in Dallas,” Zink replied. “That’s a two-hour drive. Four hours, round trip.”
“Let me make a call,” Josh said. “The mother of one of the cops in my unit is a retired nurse. She might—”
“I can do it.”
He turned as Regan moved to Zink’s side. Her skin had gone ice pale.
“I know how to change a dressing. Administer IVs.” She gestured toward the IV pole. “You can send Etta home with a heplock in her arm, right? Prescribe bags of Unasyn or some other antibiotic that I can pick up at the pharmacy?”
Zink studied her. “You know news travels fast in Sundown. I heard about how you took care of that girl yesterday. A couple of people have already asked why I haven’t hired you to help out around here.”
“I already have a job.” Regan shifted her gaze to Etta. “And since my boss is also the patient, I bet she’ll let me adjust my work schedule at the tavern.”
“Regan, I’m like the doc,” Etta said. “I heard about what you did for Amelia. But I figure if you wanted to do a job like that, you’d be doing it. So don’t think you have to tend me.”
“I want to.” Reaching out, Regan squeezed Etta’s hand, then looked back at Zink. “I imagine you’ll want to see for yourself I can do what needs to be done for Etta.”
“That’s right.” Zink gestured toward Josh. “Mind keeping Etta company while Regan and I discuss some things?”
“Always happy to spend time with my favorite girl.” Easing one hip onto the padded table, he tracked Regan out the door.
“That poor child must have been through some terrible times.”
He looked back at Etta. The worry he’d heard in her voice swam in her eyes. “Why do you say that?”
“The day I met Regan, her car had broken down in the middle of Main Street. She saw my card on the corkboard at the garage advertising a bartender’s job, so she walked over to the tavern. She looked as fragile as glass. Had a hollowness in her eyes. And probably weighed ten pounds less than she does now. All that’s changed in the months she’s been in Sundown.”
Not enough, he thought. Because whatever had put the hollowness in her eyes still had a hold of her. Still had the power to make her toss her belongings in a suitcase with the intention of leaving town.
He cupped Etta’s hand in his. “Have you asked Regan about her past? Why she’s here?”
“Asked, no. Wondered, yes. For reasons of her own, she’s chosen to keep things to herself. I respect that.” Etta met his gaze, her face taut with worry. “As private as she is, it must have been hard yesterday to let folks see how much she knows about medicine.”
“Yeah,” he agreed quietly. Just as it must have been hard as hell to offer to stay in Sundown and do nurse duty for Etta. Which in his mind was slam-dunk proof Regan had Etta’s well-being at heart.
Josh scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw.
Have you broken any laws?
Not a one.
Standing on Etta’s porch with his hands on Regan’s waist, he’d felt her tremble when he’d turned their conversation to the law. Yet there’d been something in her tone, in her eyes that had every instinct he’d developed after years on the force sending the message she’d been telling the truth.
He thought again about the starkness of her apartment. The total absence of personal items that would give a hint of her past. What the hell kind of life had she left behind her? And who? A husband? A lover?
Just the thought of her belonging to another man, no matter what the circumstances, scraped at him like tiny claws. He’d never experienced jealousy over any woman and he didn’t much care for it now. Just as he damn well didn’t like the fact that every time he laid eyes on Regan, he felt himself sink a little deeper into a woman who was a walking enigma.
Rules, he thought. He’d been serious when he told Regan he was adept at bending them. As a cop, his infinite knowledge of how to skirt rules and slice red tape came in handy when digging into someone’s past.
The direction of his thoughts brought his suspension to mind. His willingness to bend rules and cut corners had been one of the reasons so many cops had been quick to believe he’d stepped over the line.
Josh set his jaw. He would never forget what the brush with losing his job had done to him. His family. He had no intention of letting history repeat itself.
Still, that didn’t change the fact it was more than just her clothes that he wanted to peel off Regan. It was also all those layers of secrets.
He was just going to have to figure out how to stay on the straight and narrow while he peeled.
Chapter 6
“Etta’s going to be okay, right?” Deni Graham asked from across the island topped with butcher block in the tavern’s kitchen. “She’ll get over that infection and be as good as new?”
“That’s the plan.” Regan shifted her gaze to Howie Lyons. He’d sent the day cook home early and had the sauce for that evening’s spaghetti special simmering on the stove. The air was filled with the spicy aroma. Regan marveled over how the man stayed as thin as a thermometer while eating his own culinary masterpieces.
“Howie, at the end of each shift I need you to make a list of food items we’re low on so I can get the orders turned in.”
“All right.” Wearing a white apron lashed over his dark T-shirt and jeans, Howie pulled open the refrigerator’s door. “I’d have done that all along, if you’d asked.”
“I know. But with me living upstairs
it was easy to run down and check the pantry. I can’t do that while I’m at Etta’s.”
Deni eased her order pad into the back waistband of her snug jeans. Her mouth was glossed taffy pink to match her T-shirt. “Are you moving in with Etta permanently?”
“No,” Regan replied, thinking permanence wasn’t a concept she’d ever again have in her life. “Just until Etta’s well. Don’t forget, she and A.C. are getting married soon and he’ll move in. They aren’t going to want company.”
Regan checked her watch. It was nearly six, the time their shift started. “After we got home from the clinic, Etta called Frannie Tays. I understand she used to bartend here?”
“Yeah.” Howie retrieved a knife from the holder on the island and began slicing a softball-size onion. “Frannie had to quit when she was pregnant ’cause of some medical problem.”
“She’s going to tend bar each evening so I can go check on Etta.” Regan avoided any mention of her administering their boss IVs. She felt shaky enough over how much she’d divulged to Doc Zink about her medical training. “Then I’ll come back and work to the end of my shift,” she added.
“All that running’s going to wear you out.” Deni fluffed her blond hair while studying Regan. “You already look tired.”
“I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Regan gathered up the order list she’d prepared for the liquor distributor. “The peeper showed up outside my bedroom window.”
The long-bladed knife halting midchop, Howie jerked his attention from the onion. “Did you see the guy?”
“No, I just heard him on the balcony.” She rubbed at the headache that had settled in her right temple. “I thought someone had broken in down here.”
“That would have scared the liver out of me,” Deni breathed.
Regan lifted a brow. “Good way to describe how I felt. I called Etta and she phoned the police.”
“They find anything?” Howie asked.
“The cops didn’t show up,” Regan said, then explained about the domestic shooting on the far side of the lake. “Etta called Josh McCall. He checked things out.”
