Chapter 2
Stone sat straight up on the examination table, a table he shouldn’t even be at, but his stupid brother had insisted.
“You’re hurt and you know it,” TJ had said, up on the mountain. “I can’t bring you home without x-rays, Annie’ll kill me.”
Their aunt was the least of Stone’s worries at the moment, with the pretty, mean doc waving that needle around. He gave a brief thought to making a run for it, but he didn’t like to move fast unless he was on skis or a mountain bike.
The deciding factor was simple—just thinking about running made him queasy. Especially since sitting up had nearly killed him dead right there on the spot. “Oh, f**k,” he gasped, clutching his ribs as fire torched its way through his insides. “Fuck.”
“I’ve got you.”
Hard to believe that sweet-as-honey voice belonged to the razor tongued, cool-as-a-cucumber snooty doctor still waving that damn needle in one hand, supporting him with her other.
Old man Doc had warned him that his daughter was tough, edgy, and abrupt, and he hadn’t been kidding. During the time she’d been in Wishful, she’d both turned him down for a get-to-know-you drink, and then again when she’d kicked his ass on Wilder’s Run back when they’d still had snow. Since he’d been skiing since he could walk, that one had hurt, but his binding had been loose, a fact she refused to believe, and…
And, hell.
He liked her and he didn’t even know why, especially since it wasn’t reciprocated.
Not even close. Not only that, she was cold, and…and smart and funny and hot. So damn hot in those fancy trousers and those fitted silk button downs and fancy doctor coat, like she was still in New York instead of the wild, remote Sierra Mountains. It didn’t hurt that she was five-foot-seven-ish, curvy, an auburn-haired beauty who looked like Barbie’s mean sister.
Dr. Barbie.
“Keep breathing,” she said, cool, calm and collected.
Stone was cool, too. Cool and calm, and possibly maybe getting a little turned on despite the fact that he hurt like hell.
It wasn’t her slight New York accent, he decided. It wasn’t the elegant, sophisticated clothes she wore that had probably cost more than his Jeep. It wasn’t that she was stacked and far too pretty for one so tough, or that she moved with quick efficiency, wasting not a single movement.
He actually didn’t know what drew him, and that bugged the hell out of him, too.
So did the fact that he couldn’t take a breath without wanting to whimper like a baby. If he’d ever been in more freaking pain, he couldn’t remember it.
Pathetic.“Keep breathing,” she reminded him.
Yeah, easy for her to say. Breathing burned like fire.
“Need a smelling salt?” Her eyes were baby blue, and as cool as the rest of her.
“Your dad’s better at the bedside manners.”
“Unfortunately for you, he’s not here.”
“That’s okay. You’re nicer to look at.” Everyone in Wishful loved and adored old man Doc, who for the past forty years had patched and stitched the entire population of Wishful, day or night, without complaint. Stone missed him. “But he’d have just given me the damn Band-Aids.”
“Well, then maybe you should have waited until he was back at work to…what did you say happened?” She slanted him a long, droll look. “Got beat up by three women?”
“Uh huh.” But his attention was now on her hands as she set down the needle—thank you, Jesus—and picked up a gauze.
A gauze he could deal with. A gauze he could be friends with. A gauze wouldn’t make him want to pass out. “Last I heard, you were working in New York,” he said, desperately trying to distract himself. “Running an ER.”
She hesitated briefly, then poured antiseptic onto the gauze, brushing the wound at his temple. Her blouse was smooth and silky. She had a crease down the center of her pants leg, and she wore heels that clicked on the linoleum floor. She was careful, organized, and obsessively focused. Maybe a bit anal to boot. It should have turned him off.
It didn’t.
The opposite actually, and he had no idea what that said about him. Her lab coat added a serious sexy factor to the ensemble. Her fiery hair was shiny and straight, and pulled back at the nape of her neck, held there by a pretty silver clip. The silky strands smelled good, too. God, he loved it when women smelled good. “Never noticed you coming back this way to visit.”
“My dad’s busy.”
“Not that busy.”
“Okay, I’ve been busy.” She paused. “We’ve seen each other. He occasionally came to New York to visit me.”
Ah, there it was. The war between pride and censure. She didn’t like the idea of Stone thinking she didn’t care.
Stone had one parent who’d walked. The other was dead so he wasn’t one to judge a parent/child relationship. He loved Doc, but there was no doubt the guy had made mistakes with his daughter, and he knew Doc would be the first to admit it to anyone who asked. “It’s nice to see you here,” he said. “Taking care of this place for him.”
“Just until he’s back on his feet. Then I’m going home.”
He studied her face. She was a good doctor. He knew because Doc had followed her career and bragged about her often, but something about the way she was taking care of him so efficiently and professionally made him want to ruffle her up and show her how much more fun being even a little relaxed could be. “Once upon a time this place was your home.”