The Temptation of Dr. Colton

by Karen Whiddon

  Though he rarely drove, every time he did, he was glad he’d made the purchase. At 340 HP, his car could do zero to sixty in 4.5 seconds. He should know, he’d tested it a few times.

  Once he reached the restaurant, he parked, noticing that Ryan had beaten him there. Eric recognized his police cruiser parked one row over. He practically bounded from his car, not an easy feat since the sleek sports car sat so low to the ground.

  Inside, he spotted Ryan, his dark brown hair as short as Eric’s. Ryan was out of uniform since he was off duty, and he’d already snagged a table. Pulling out a chair, Eric straddled it, quickly filling his brother in on everything that had happened.

  “Her memory still hasn’t come back?” Ryan sounded skeptical. Eric didn’t blame him.

  “Not yet. I’m hopeful it will soon, especially since there have been two attempts to harm her.”

  “Except you don’t know that the hit-and-run was on purpose,” Ryan pointed out.

  “It was. I have no doubt. I was there. I saw the Town Car gunning for her. And since two men in a van tried to grab her when she was shopping with Greta...”

  “Again, they could have just been pervs out to grab the first woman or women they saw. You don’t know for sure that she was their specific target.”

  Eric shook his head. “Don’t you think that’s a bit coincidental?”

  “In my line of work, I learned early on never to jump to conclusions.”

  “Point taken.” Eric looked around for the waitress, but since the dining room appeared packed, and all the servers seemed busy, he figured she’d stop by eventually.

  “So what are you going to do now?” Ryan asked.

  “I’m hoping her memory comes back quickly. At least once we know what we’re up against, I can come up with a better plan to keep her safe.”

  At Eric’s words, Ryan stared. “Keep her safe? I’d think you’d contact her family.”

  “Depends on the situation. I’m not going to allow her to be placed in danger.”

  “Not going to... What does this woman look like?”

  Immediately understanding where his brother was going, Eric shrugged. “Brown, shoulder-length hair. Wavy with reddish highlights. Light blue eyes. She doesn’t look like a fashion model, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “No.” Taking another sip of his beer, Ryan grinned. “I’m asking if she’s pretty.”

  Eric pretended to have to think about it. “Well, she’s not ugly. Why does that matter?”

  “Because you are always so laser focused on your job, you barely have time for family, never mind some strange female who you don’t even know.”

  Refusing to let his brother needle him, Eric finally managed to catch the attention of a waitress and ordered a diet cola. “I’m on call,” he explained. Which, as Ryan knew, meant he couldn’t drink in case he got called in for surgery.

  He waited for Ryan to say something like he usually did about how badly he needed a vacation, but the other man only shrugged and took another pull on his beer.

  When the waitress reappeared, they ordered their meals. While waiting for his barbecued ribs, Eric couldn’t understand why he felt so antsy. He couldn’t stop thinking about MW, all alone and probably frightened, and he realized he probably shouldn’t have left her by herself. He decided he’d eat as quickly as possible and hurry home.

  Of course Ryan, with his detective’s powers of observation, noticed his fidgeting. Luckily, their food arrived, which distracted him, though Eric knew it wouldn’t last for long.

  Digging in, he tried to shrug off his fascination with his temporary houseguest and focused on the delicious meal.

  Ryan ate heartily as well, though he kept shooting Eric questioning looks while he ate. Finally, he shook his head. Putting down his ribs, he licked his fingers before wiping his mouth with his paper towel. “All right, spill. You’re superdistracted. What’s wrong?”

  Since there was no way Eric wanted to give his brother more ammunition with which to tease him, he shrugged and said the one word that always made Ryan change the subject. “Work,” he lied, and went back to devouring his meal. When he could eat no more, he used the finger wipes and cleaned his hands.

  “That was good.” He leaned back in the chair and gave a sigh of contentment. Even now, in the back of his mind, he could picture offering MW a plate of ribs and watching her eat. Then he remembered she’d asked for a sliced beef sandwich, and got lost again contemplating her charms.

  “There you go again.” Ryan’s sharp comment brought Eric out of his reverie.

  “Sorry,” Eric apologized, meaning it. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Working too hard, probably.”

  Because he had been and he hoped that was the reason for his unexplained preoccupation with his pretty houseguest, he nodded. “Probably.”

  “You been home lately?” Ryan asked quietly, meaning the Lucky C ranch.

  “No.” Eric refused to feel guilty. Both brothers had escaped the family ranch as quickly as they could—Eric because he’d never fit in, Ryan because of the never-ending drama. “How about you?”

  Ryan sighed. “I’ve had to run out there a few times. I’m still investigating the attack on Mother. Since she’s unconscious, she can’t tell me anything. And there have been a couple other instances of vandalism, mostly minor.”

  Eric grimaced. While he loved his mother, Abra Colton had always been one of those women who always seemed to be on edge. Everything made her nervous, including her children. Thus a series of nannies had raised Eric and his siblings. None of the Coltons had felt particularly close to their mother growing up, though not from lack of trying. Greta in particular. Eric had hated watching how often Abra’s careless indifference hurt his sister.

  But these past several years, Abra had begun to mend the fences. She and Greta had become close. She’d even reached out to Eric, hoping to try to forge a tentative relationship. Unfortunately, this had been right before she’d been attacked, and Eric and she hadn’t made up.

  “How’s Dad holding up?”

  Ryan shrugged, his expression grim. “Oh, you know Big J. He’s devoted to making sure Mother is comfortable, as long as the hired nurses take care of her.”

  Lately their father had been showing signs of early dementia, though he refused to see his doctor and get tested. Big J had always been larger than life, with his booming voice and his raucous laugh. Though he never spoke about it, all his sons understood he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  “Some days he seems better than others,” Ryan continued. “Jack’s keeping an eye on him.”

  Their oldest brother, Jack, managed the Lucky C. Nothing mattered more to him than family, especially his son, Seth. The ranch came in a close second, though.

  “You need to try and pop out there when you can,” Ryan said. “Even though Abra won’t know you’re there, I know Jack and Seth will be thrilled to see you.”

  “I will,” Eric promised, meaning it. He adored his five-year-old nephew, Seth, and hadn’t seen him in too long. He couldn’t remember the last time Jack had brought his son into Tulsa.

  Once they’d finished, Ryan announced he’d decided not to order his customary peach cobbler. Instead, he kept checking his watch. “I’ve got to run,” he said. “I’ve got a couple of reports I need to fill out and email in.”

  Even though turnabout would be fair play, Eric resisted the urge to tease his brother about his own work. Truth be told, he felt relieved Ryan wasn’t inclined to chat. He wanted to get home and make sure MW was okay.

  He ordered the extra sliced-brisket sandwich, paid for it as well as his own meal and gave his brother a quick hug goodbye before taking off.

  The Porsche begged to be driven fast. Sometimes he had to force himself to travel relatively clo
se to the speed limit. With all the afternoon traffic, this was one of those occasions. Nonetheless, he made it home in less time than it had taken him to go the opposite direction, mostly because rush-hour traffic went out of the city rather than in.

  After parking in his private garage underneath the townhome, he grabbed the bag and hurried outside. He winced as the late-afternoon August heat blasted him the instant he left the garage. Sadly, the cooling rain of the previous day had turned into a distant memory. Oklahoma summers could be tough. The relentless sun and constant wind sometimes made him feel like dust coated everything, even mixing with the blood inside his body, turning it sluggish. Fanciful, certainly, since as a physician he knew such a thing wasn’t possible. He gave himself a mental shake. It was just a typical Oklahoma summer, and he wasn’t often given to such flights of abstract fancy.

  Again he had the nagging feeling that taking in this mystery woman might change his life in ways he never could have anticipated.

  Chapter 4

  Anticipation at seeing her again quickened Eric’s footsteps. Using his key, he entered his town house, trying to be as quiet as possible so if MW still slept, he wouldn’t wake her.

  But when he stepped into the living room, she rose gracefully from the sofa to greet him. She’d opened the blinds, and the western sun streamed in so brightly it silhouetted her in a halo. Stopping short, he caught his breath, struck dumb by her beauty.

  “You’re back early,” she said, smiling.

  Blinking, he took another step forward.

  “Ryan had to go back to work. But I brought your sandwich.” He held up the now grease-stained bag. “It’s pretty big, so I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Starving,” she told him, her soft voice matching her smile. She followed him into the kitchen, taking a seat at the bar while he located a plate for her. Handing her the sandwich and some paper towels for a napkin, he asked her what she wanted to drink.

  “Water is fine,” she answered. “But you don’t have to wait on me. If you’ll point out the cabinet that holds the glasses, I’ll be happy to get it myself.”

  Unfortunately, he needed to keep busy to refrain from touching her. “Just sit. I can take care of this, so let me. Maybe after you’re feeling better, but for now, rest and relax.”

  Once he got her water, he leaned against the counter and watched as she devoured her sandwich, trying not to eye her too intently while he attempted to figure out what exactly about her so entranced him.

  As a physician, Eric believed in logic, in cold hard facts. He knew physical attraction could be due to pheromones, or physical appearance, or a combination of these things and more. Whatever the reason, he desired this woman, whom he’d just met, with a fierceness that should have shocked him. The fact that it didn’t made him wonder if he was losing his mind.

  The sandwich disappeared, and MW sighed, blotting her lush mouth with the paper towel. He couldn’t help but follow the gesture with his gaze, feeling as if he might be drowning. She took a deep drink of water, then smiled at him. “Thank you so much. That was absolutely delicious.”

  He swallowed tightly. “I’m glad you liked it.”

  “Thank you so much for all you’re doing for me.” Impulsively, she pushed to her feet and enveloped him in a tight hug. His arms came up of their own accord, holding her close. He could feel every soft, rounded curve of her as she pressed herself against him. His body stirred, his arousal immediate and strong. Not wanting to frighten or horrify her, he quickly extricated himself from her embrace.

  “You’re welcome.” Struggling to sound normal, he cleared his throat. He spied her purple umbrella, still in the stand near the doorway. “Do you recognize that?” he asked, pointing.

  Frowning, she walked over to it and picked it up. “Purple with white cupcakes. Very cute. Is it mine?”

  “Yes. You were carrying it the night you...had your accident.”

  “Oh.” Dropping it back in the umbrella stand, she sighed. “I think I need to get some more rest.” She gave him a wobbly smile that made his chest feel tight. “I’ll talk to you in the morning, okay?”

  Still battling a fierce and persistent need, he nodded. And then, feeling like a fool, he watched her walk away, all the way down the hall until she closed her bedroom door behind her.

  Only once she’d vanished from view did the tightness disappear from his chest.

  Some things couldn’t be analyzed, he knew, and if he’d been prone to flights of fancy, he’d think MW had been brought into his life for a reason. He’d been in the right place at the right time, and knew his quick call to 911 would have saved her life had she been badly hurt.

  Imagination, wishful thinking, was as foreign to him as modern medicine might be to a witch doctor. Eric had never been anything but honest with himself. For whatever reason, he found MW attractive. His desire for her made the space around her seem electrified. Had she been anyone else, in any other situation, he’d have pursued her.

  But until she had her memory back, until she knew who she was and the details of her life, he needed to keep himself under control. Somehow.

  Frustrated, he considered heading down to the gym and working out, but didn’t want to leave her alone again.

  Instead, he unwound by watching television, falling asleep to the ten-o’clock news. At some point near midnight, he roused himself and headed off to his own bed.

  Always an early riser, the next morning, for the first time in his life, Eric tried to move around quietly so he didn’t wake his houseguest. Growing up on a ranch, he’d learned to wake before sunrise most mornings, a habit he’d temporarily abandoned in college, then taken back in medical school and residency. Out of necessity, these days he got to the hospital bright and early, sometimes even before the sun was more than a hint of light on the Oklahoma horizon.

  When he walked into the kitchen for his first cup of coffee and flicked on the light, he stopped short at the sight of MW sitting hunched over a mug at his countertop bar.

  “Hey.” She flashed him a weary smile. “I couldn’t sleep. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  Since she looked brittle enough to crumble, he kept his movements slow. “Nope. This is when I normally get up.”

  Now her eyes widened as she glanced from him to the wall clock. “At four-thirty?” She said the time with horror. “Seriously?”

  “Yep.” He crossed to the Keurig coffeemaker, put his coffee pod in and pressed the button to brew. While he waited, he turned to study her. “Maybe today you’ll start to remember something.”

  Her nod didn’t contain any real enthusiasm, which told him he hadn’t imagined her mood last night. “Why does that upset you?” he asked.

  “I have no idea. I simply can’t remember. But for whatever reason, just thinking about it ties my stomach up in knots. That’s why I couldn’t sleep.”

  Snagging his coffee, he took the bar stool next to her. “How long have you been sitting here?”

  “I don’t know.” The downturn of her mouth fascinated him. He had the strangest urge to see if he could make it curve up in a smile.

  Instead, he sipped his coffee. “What would you like to do today while I’m at work?”

  She thought for a moment. “Do you have any cookbooks?” she asked.

  Surprised, he nodded. “I can probably rustle up one or two. At one point I thought I might teach myself to be a better cook.”

  “Did you?”

  “No.” He grinned at her, mentally urging her to smile. “I don’t have the aptitude for it.”

  Finally, one side of her mouth lifted, then the other. “I guess we can’t all be gifted in the kitchen.”

  A hint? Careful not to show his excitement, he focused on his coffee. “Are you a good cook, then?

  He looked up in time to catch her slight frown. “I...
Maybe. It’s possible. Either way, while you’re at the hospital, I’d like to try.”

  “Great.” Pushing to his feet, he dragged his hand through his hair and tried not to notice the way the frilly, brightly colored pajama shorts Greta had bought her showcased her legs. “I’ll find the books and leave them on the counter for you. Right now, I’ve got to get ready for work.”

  He hurried out of the room, more flustered than he’d like to admit, even to himself.

  * * *

  After Eric left for the hospital, MW sat in the kitchen, lost in her own thoughts. The two cookbooks Eric had been able to locate sat in front of her, untouched. She didn’t understand why the idea of finally knowing her own name terrified her, or why a heavy weight of depression settled over her every time she thought about her memory returning. Had something bad happened to her? Or worse, what if she’d committed a horrible act? What kind of person would she turn out to be?

  She didn’t know. Eric had said her memory could return at any time, but she shouldn’t try to force it. Since he hadn’t known precisely how long that would be, she had no choice but to try to be patient, even if she felt as if she were about to jump out of her own skin.

  Finally, after her second cup of coffee, she reached for the first cookbook. Flipping through the glossy pages, she tried to figure out what she’d like to try making. Of course a lot of that depended on what supplies Eric had on hand.

  Why this strong urge to cook, to make something with her own hands, she didn’t know. Maybe some vestige of who she really was. Either way, the idea brought her comfort.

  After checking in Eric’s fridge and cupboards, she settled on a simple apple crisp. After all, she didn’t really know if she had any cooking skills.

  Peeling, coring, slicing the apples she’d found in a bowl on the kitchen counter, she didn’t try to overthink anything. Her hands seemed to know what they were doing, so she let them. Measuring out the ingredients, she found herself adding a pinch of this and that, some extra cinnamon and a bit of nutmeg. When she finally placed the dessert in the oven to bake, she felt such a happy sense of accomplishment that she wished for music. Since she didn’t have any, she danced around the kitchen anyway.