Just Kate: His Only Wife (Bestselling Author Collection)

by Linda Lael Miller

  Aubrey rolled her eyes and returned to the bed with a floral dressing gown she’d found hanging on a peg just inside the door.

  “In addition to a fever, your glands are swollen, and your throat looks like it’s on fire. You’re sick.” She located her grandmother’s slippers beneath the bed and pulled them out. “When people get sick, they visit the doctor.”

  “I hate going to the doctor.” Grandma Rose stared into space, her chin set at a stubborn angle. “Ever since the accident, all I ever do is go to the doctor. I’m tired of it.”

  “I understand.” Aubrey sat on the edge of the bed and took her grandmother’s weathered hand in hers. “Getting old stinks. But it beats the hell out of the alternative.” The blunt observation delivered with such candidness earned her a slight lowering of the chin from her difficult patient. “I love you, Grandma. And I don’t want anything to happen to you. Certainly not anything I can prevent with a simple doctor visit.”

  The chin came down another inch.

  “Now, quit being such a grump and let’s get you dressed.”

  “All right,” her grandmother said. “I’ll go. But not to Pineville. Today’s Thursday and the clinic is open.”

  “The clinic? I don’t know…”

  Blue Ridge lacked sufficient population to support a full-time physician and state-of-the-art medical facility. What the town did have was a two-to-three-day-a-week doctor and a one-room clinic built beside a ramshackle thrift store. The proceeds from the volunteer-staffed thrift store went to fund the clinic and the connecting helipad. In instances of serious illness or injury and when time was of the essence, patients were airlifted by helicopter to the hospital in Pineville.

  Though she was well aware it had saved numerous lives, Aubrey didn’t like thinking about the helicopter. Her grandfather had been airlifted out of Blue Ridge twice. And while reason told Aubrey neither the helicopter nor the clinic had anything whatsoever to do with her grandfather’s death, she’s still felt better taking her grandmother into Pineville.

  “That Dr. Ferguson is a nice enough young man, I suppose. You haven’t met him, he came here some years back after old Dr. Hunt retired,” Grandma Rose babbled. “You remember Dr. Hunt, of course. He’s the one who removed the fishhook from your scalp.”

  “How could I forget?” Aubrey slipped the dressing gown over her grandmother’s head. “I still have the scar.”

  She’d been twelve and Gage thirteen. They’d hiked the two miles to Neglian Creek crossing alone, promising to return with enough trout for dinner. Gage took her hand in his the moment they’d left the main road and never let go. Midway through the afternoon, a misaimed cast on Aubrey’s part resulted in disaster, made worse by their botched attempts to remove the hook. Gage, poor kid, had gone pale and shaky at the first drop of blood.

  Aubrey had sympathized, given him a quick peck on the cheek and told him she’d be fine. He’d surprised them both when he took her by the shoulders and pressed his lips to hers. It had been their fist kiss. More followed each summer thereafter, increasing in frequency and intensity.

  They’d discovered their secret spot earlier that same day. Tucked into the steep bank on one side of the creek and completely sheltered by the overhanging branches of a willow tree, it provided the perfect hideaway. For years afterward, they’d escaped there whenever opportunity presented itself.

  It was the place they’d made love for the first time and, minutes later, where Gage had proposed.

  “Dr. Ferguson is competent, mind you.” Grandma Rose appeared oblivious to Aubrey’s mental meanderings into the past. “But he’s no Dr. Hunt. Still, I’d rather visit him than go all the way into Pineville.”

  Seeing as her grandmother’s health was what mattered the most and not which doctor she visited, Aubrey relented with a weary, “Okay.”

  Perhaps the sorely outdated and grossly underequipped clinic had improved during the last decade. One could only hope.

  *

  Dr. Ferguson turned out to be staring fifty square in the face. But, Aubrey supposed, from her grandmother’s considerably older vantage point, fifty made him a young man. And, as reported, he was competent, if a bit brusque. Aubrey could see why her grandmother didn’t like him as well as his predecessor.

  “You think she has strep throat?” Aubrey asked when he’d completed his exam and taken a throat culture.

  “I think it’s likely, given her symptoms and the fact I’ve treated three cases in town since last week. Here’s enough penicillin to last ten days.” He handed Aubrey a box containing the capsules. “Bring her back to see me next Tuesday when I return for a follow-up.”

  Aubrey didn’t need to read a book on body language to know when she was being dismissed. “Is there any chance you can come back tomorrow? Just in case she gets worse.”

  “I’ll be fine, Aubrey,” Grandma Rose assured her.

  “Aren’t you a nurse?” Dr. Ferguson asked. “I thought I remember your grandmother telling me you were.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “She couldn’t have a more competent caregiver than you.”

  Her grandmother pulled at her arm. “Aubrey, honey, can we go home? I’m tired.”

  “Of course.” She did look bedraggled. It was thoughtless of Aubrey to prolong the visit. “We appreciate your help, Dr. Ferguson.”

  “How long are you staying in Blue Ridge?”

  “Another four weeks or so.”

  “I’m glad to finally meet you. No offense, but I hope this is the last time.” He took firm hold of Grandma Rose’s left arm and helped her stand. “We want your grandmother to make a speedy and full recovery without any complications.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Grandma Rose said feebly, latching on to Aubrey’s elbow.

  The three of them shuffled outside to Aubrey’s SUV. Being hoisted into the passenger seat robbed Grandma Rose of the last of her strength, and she dozed during the five-minute drive home. They arrived to find Gage’s pickup truck parked in the side driveway. Like before, a circular saw had been set up on the lowered tailgate and building material was strewn across the lawn.

  Aubrey attributed the flash of joy filling her to relief at having someone to help her with her grandmother and not that the someone was Gage. The argument might have held water if her heart didn’t execute a full somersault at the sight of him emerging from the garage. He’d grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and was using it to wipe his face, exposing a wide expanse of flat, muscular stomach.

  Spying them, he dropped his shirt and broke into a brisk walk, meeting Aubrey just as she stepped out of the SUV. “Need a hand?” he asked.

  “Thank you!” Okay, some of the joy Aubrey felt really was relief. The trip to the clinic had exhausted her, too. “If you could help me get Grandma out of the car and stay with her while I bring the wheelchair, that’d be great.”

  “I have a better idea.” Without waiting for her reply, Gage strode to the passenger side and opened the door. “How about it, Rose? You ready?”

  “For what?” she asked, blinking as she came more fully awake.

  “A ride.”

  Gage slipped one arm under her knees and the other behind her back. He lifted her out of the car and carried her up the front porch steps as if she were a small child.

  “I can walk, young man,” she said, but her protest lacked conviction.

  Aubrey dashed ahead of them and opened the door.

  “Where to?” Gage asked.

  “Her bedroom, please. Down the hall, last door on the right.” Aubrey followed behind and watched Gage gently set her grandmother down on the bed, touched at the pains he took not to cause the older woman any discomfort.

  Aubrey came up beside him. “I don’t know how I would have managed without you.”

  “No problem.”

  “How about some lunch in return for the favor?”

  “I’ve eaten, thanks. But I’ll take another glass of that lemonade, if you have any.”

  The dra
wl and the grin were a potent combination, and hard to resist.

  “Coming right up. Just give me a few minutes to give Grandma her medicine and settle her in bed.”

  It took more than a few minutes to accomplish everything and longer still to leave a message with her grandmother’s regular doctor and make a pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade. By the time Aubrey brought Gage a tall, icy glass, a good hour had passed.

  “Is your grandma doing better?” he asked, taking the glass from her.

  “She’s resting, finally.”

  “Good.” He’d made impressive headway with the ramp.

  “Wow! I can’t believe you did all this in an hour.”

  He raised the glass of lemonade to his lips and guzzled almost the entire contents in one swallow. What was it with him? Did the man not know how to eat or drink like a normal person?

  “I didn’t do it all in an hour.” He stopped to wipe his damp forehead with the back of his arm, the gesture pure Gage and cover-model sexy. “I built the ramp at home in two large pieces. Figured it would be easier and faster constructing it that way.”

  She smiled at his ingenuity. “It looks good.”

  “Care to take it for a test-drive?”

  Would she ever become immune to that grin of his? “Very funny.”

  “I’m serious. I need to test the ramp before I bolt the pieces together. Go get your grandmother’s wheelchair and ride it down.”

  “She pretty much uses a walker now.”

  “The wheelchair will be a better test.”

  And there would be days her grandmother might still use the wheelchair. Like today, when she was sick.

  “Okay. I’ll be right back.” She returned shortly, pushing the wheelchair ahead of her. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be the first one to try the ramp?” she asked Gage. “You built it, after all.”

  “Nah. I have less experience with wheelchairs than you do. I might crash.” He stood at the bottom of the ramp. “I’ll be your spotter.”

  Aubrey hesitated only briefly, then sat in the wheelchair and rolled it to the edge of the porch.

  “Watch that a wheel doesn’t go over the side,” he warned. “I haven’t nailed on the guards or put up the handrails yet.”

  The first part of the descent went without a hitch, but maneuvering the L-turn required some skill. Aubrey would have to be sure and practice with her grandmother before she left for Tucson. Her level of concentration was so intense, she didn’t realize she was at the bottom of the ramp until Gage’s jean-clad legs came into view.

  “Hey, I did it!” She laughed. “The ramp works.”

  The toe of his raised work boot made contact with the wheelchair’s footrest, and she came to a sudden stop. Her laugh stuck in her throat when his hands came down on the armrests, trapping her where she sat. Instantly, her Gage-meter kicked on, and she didn’t have to see him to know his face hovered two tiny inches above hers.

  “Look at me, Aubrey.”

  His low voice somehow managed to awaken every nerve ending in her body and start them tingling. Luckily, the emergency fail-safe in her brain went on red alert.

  “Maybe I should go inside and ch—”

  “Look at me.”

  Talk about manufacturing trouble where none existed. If she looked up, he’d kiss her. She knew it sure as she knew migrating birds flew south for the winter. And kissing Gage would be foolish and stupid and…and…unbelievably fantastic if their last kiss was any indication.

  “I can’t,” she whispered, maintaining her reason, but only by a slim margin.

  “Yes, you can.”

  She kept her eyes glued to his work boot. Don’t do it. Don’t look at him.

  But then she did, and reason went the way of migrating birds.

  Chapter 6

  Aubrey looked up at Gage, and just like that, the control he’d fought so hard to maintain snapped. Desire crashed through him with the delicacy of a piano being dropped from a third-story window. He sucked in a breath of much needed air hoping to counter the effects. It didn’t work. Nothing would work if he continued staring at her.

  She had the most expressive green eyes he’d ever seen. He swore he could read her mind just by observing their subtle changes in color. Back when the two of them were married, her eyes would darken from emerald to almost hazel as he moved over her naked body, then grow darker still when he entered her. It had been—and judging by his body’s reaction, still was—the most incredible turn-on.

  Today, hesitation and a hint of suspicion clouded the vivid depths of those irises. She wanted him, but she was as yet unwilling to surrender to that want. Maybe she never would.

  He wished he weren’t so adept at this mind-reading stuff. Given the opportunity, he’d have rather gone with his first instinct and kissed her socks off. Playing it cool didn’t come naturally to Gage, but he’d made up his mind she’d be the one to make the next move. Given the way he felt at the moment, he might live to regret his decision.

  “You forgot to apply the brake.”

  “I did?”

  She angled her head in question or, dare he hope, invitation. The roaring in his ears and the pounding inside his chest made it impossible for Gage to decide which.

  “Uh-huh. You should apply it when you reach the bottom of the ramp.” He stared at her mouth and let his eyes linger there. “You don’t want to lose control and have a runaway.”

  “Are we talking about the wheelchair, or…” She hesitated, parted her lips, “Something else?”

  She had a great mouth, too. Soft, sweet and, when she was so inclined, wonderfully wicked. He remembered the sensation of her lips trailing down his neck, his stomach, his…

  Whoa, buddy, he cautioned himself. Better not go there. If he weren’t careful, the neighbors would have one humdinger of a free show.

  The threat of public shame had little effect on his raging hormones. “I was talking about the wheelchair. Did you have something else in mind?” He sure as hell did, and it involved her mouth, a place with considerably more privacy, and some serious loss of control.

  “No.” She didn’t quite crack a smile but almost. Encouraged, Gage lowered his head. Seconds ticked by, then a full minute. Just when he was about to break his promise to himself and make the first move, she turned and put her lips to his ear. “Aren’t you going to…”

  Kiss you, his mind eagerly supplied the rest of her sentence while his muscles tensed in readiness.

  “Get back to work?” Her low, throaty laugh filled his ear.

  It wasn’t the reaction he’d been counting on. “Yeah, right. Work.”

  Give credit where credit was due. The lady was good. She’d rejected him, but lessened the blow by giving him back some of the same teasing he’d given her. Gage stood and retreated a step, accepting defeat and freeing her from the confines of his arms.

  “How’s your family? Is your dad’s gout still bothering him?” She set the brake and rose from the wheelchair, smoothly shifting the conversation from pillow talk to small talk, much to Gage’s disappointment.

  “Better these past couple weeks.” He strolled over to his truck, which was parked a few feet away. Picking up the glass of lemonade he’d put down earlier, he swallowed the bits of melting ice cubes, then located a tape measure from the open toolbox.

  “I have an article on gout and diet in the house, if you think your father’d be interested.” Aubrey had followed him to the truck. “It discusses how eating the right foods can reduce the frequency and severity of attacks. I’m sure your father’s doctor has already counseled him about diet, but the article details an innovative approach.”

  “Mom might be interested. I think she’d try anything just about now. Dad hasn’t exactly been a barrel of laughs since the attacks started.” Gage measured off one of the ramp guards.

  “Gout is very painful.”

  “On everybody.” He was well aware he’d let some of his resentment toward his father creep into his voice. Forcing hi
s mouth into the shape of a smile, he said, “I’ll take the article for Mom, if you don’t mind. I can drop if off on my way home. She’s working today.”

  “Your mother has a job?” Aubrey hoisted herself onto the tailgate next to the toolbox. Kicking off her sandals, she let them drop to the ground.

  “Part-time. At Mountain View Realty.” Gage pushed a button on the tape measure. As the mechanism sucked up the tape with a noisy whirr, he studied Aubrey. She’d sat in that exact same spot, watching him work, chatting about nothing in particular, and passing him the occasional tool more often than he could count. Old habits, he told himself. No big deal.

  Yet, it felt like a big deal. She could have, should have, gone inside, particularly since she was determined to keep matters on a strictly casual basis between them. But she hadn’t. Instead, she’d hopped onto the tailgate of his truck and dangled those gorgeous legs in front of him.

  He searched in vain for the level he’d been using earlier, his mind unable to focus on much else besides…bare skin. Lots of it.

  “What does she do?” Aubrey asked.

  “Who?”

  “Your mom. Did she get her real estate license?”

  Right. They were talking about his mom’s job. Focus, he told himself.

  “No, more like secretarial stuff. Answers the phones, does the filing, runs errands. She works with Eleanor, your old friend Beth’s sister.”

  Aubrey nodded. “Does she like it?”

  “She likes it a lot, and I think it’s been good for her to get away from the ranch.”

  Very good.

  Gage saw the dulling effects decades of hard physical labor had on his mother’s once cheerful personality. Working outside the home restored a small measure of it.

  “And your dad? He’s okay with your mom working? If I remember, he was sort of…old-fashioned.”

  “No.” A derisive chuckle escaped before Gage could stop it. “He hates it.”

  But he sure didn’t hate the extra income, thought Gage. There had been a few weeks during the worst of the drought season when Susan Raintree’s paycheck had been the only thing putting food on the table.