The Wolf And The Dove. Linda Turner
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blast of icy wind rushing inside. Startled, her heart jumping into her throat, Rocky glanced up just in time to see Lucas Greywolf blow in with the wind.
Over the course of the past week, she’d spent every waking hour at the hangar and she hadn’t caught sight of the doc once, which was just fine with her. He’d made no secret of the fact that he didn’t approve of her, and that still galled her. Not that she cared what he thought of her, she was quick to assure herself. She had her own agenda and wasn’t looking for a man. Especially one who was so quick to look down that proud nose of his and find her lacking. That didn’t mean, however, that she’d forgotten how just the sight of him had made her stomach flutter.
Had he noticed? she wondered, and winced at the thought. She’d been expecting a middle-aged, paunchy doctor in a white lab coat, not a tall, lean hunk who could have just stepped out of one those sexy cigarette ads. If she’d been momentarily thrown for a loop, it was a natural enough reaction. He’d just caught her by surprise—that was all. The next time she ran into him, she’d promised herself, she wouldn’t bat an eye.
Well, here it is—the next time—Rocky, my girl, a voice drawled in her ear, and not only are you not batting an eye, you’re not breathing, either. Try not to drool, sweetie. It’s so tacky. And the good doctor just might get the mistaken impression that you’re interested. You’re not, are you?
Her heart stumbled. Of course she wasn’t! The last man she’d made the mistake of getting interested in had left a bruise on her heart that was only just now starting to heal. Greg Butler. Just the thought of him brought a bad taste to her mouth and put her off even looking at another man. If Lucas Greywolf caught her attention, it was only because she couldn’t figure him out. Every time she saw him, he was scowling, and tonight was no different. Did he never smile? Openly studying him, she watched him sweep his cowboy hat off and knock the snow from it and assured herself she wasn’t even close to drooling. Just because she wasn’t buying, however, didn’t mean she couldn’t window shop.
“Hey, Doc.” She greeted him easily as she reluctantly returned her attention to the rusty table she was sanding with a wire brush. “You picked a heck of a night to come calling. Sorry I can’t give you the guided tour, but I’ve sort of got my hands in this right now, and I want to finish before I close up shop for the night.”
If he hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes, Lucas would have never believed it. The oh-so-rich, born-with-a-gold-not-silver-spoon-in-her-mouth Ms. Fortune was actually working. Her face free of makeup, her worn jeans and faded college sweatshirt splattered with dirt and grime, she scrubbed at the metal table she was refinishing with a total disregard for the rust she was getting all over her. Her hands were stained with the stuff, splotches of it had settled on her cheeks and neck, and she even had it under her fingernails. Yet she still somehow managed to look beautiful. How the hell did she do it?
Disgusted with himself for even noticing, Lucas dragged his eyes away from her and glanced around in surprise. If the lady had done this all by herself in just a week, she’d really been hustling. She’d cleaned the place up, collected all the old motor parts in a pile in the corner, then scrubbed decades of grease from large patches of the cement floor. There was still a lot of work left to be done, but she’d made more of a dent than he’d expected, and he had to admit he was impressed. He hadn’t thought the lady had it in her.
As if reading his thoughts, she laughed softly. “Don’t look now, Doc, but your chin’s on the floor. What’s the matter? Did you think the spoiled little rich girl was too finicky to get her hands dirty?”
The teasing gibe struck home. Heat, brick red and uncomfortable, rose in a tide from his neck to his cheeks, making it impossible for him to deny the accusation. So he did the only thing a man with any integrity could—he looked her right in the eye and baldly told her exactly what he thought of her. “To be perfectly honest, I didn’t think you’d even know where to begin. But then again, spoiled little rich girls aren’t exactly my field of expertise.”
“So what is?”
He frowned. “What?”
“Your field of expertise,” she answered patiently, knowing she shouldn’t push the issue, but unable to drop it. Just what type of woman attracted a man like Lucas Greywolf? And why was that information suddenly so important to her? “And I’m not talking about medicine, Doc. You’re what—thirty? Thirty-two?”
“Thirty-five.”
“And well preserved for your advanced age,” she said teasingly. “Men like you, especially when they’ve got M.D. behind their names, don’t usually walk around loose. You must have to sweep the women off your front porch every night just to get inside your house.”
Something flickered in his eyes, something she couldn’t quite read before it was quickly shuttered behind a glint of amusement. “Yeah, life’s rough. So what do you want to know? How short or tall I like my women, and if you fit the mold?”
“No! Or course not!”
Flustered, she glanced away and inadvertently jerked her hand across a rough, jagged corner of the table she was sanding. The rusty edge, as sharp as a razor, cut right across the pad of her thumb, slicing it open. “Damn!”
“What’s wrong?”
Her teeth clenched tight to hold in the curses that rose to her tongue, Rocky pressed the wound against her middle, cradling the injured hand close. “Nothing,” she said tersely. “Just a scrape.”
“The hell it is. You’re white as a sheet.” Crossing the hanger in four swift strides, he reached for her hand. “Let me see, Rocky,” he said quietly. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re bleeding all over that dirty shirt of yours.”
She wanted to deny it, but anything that hurt this bad had to be bleeding like a stuck pig. Reluctantly letting him take her hand, she winced as he gently turned it over to expose the two-inch cut at the base of her thumb. Blood seeped from it, flooding her palm.
His expression grim, Lucas looked up from the wound to her ashen face. “You’re not going to pass out on me now, are you?”
She gave him a withering look that her grandmother would have been proud of. “A Fortune woman faint at the sight of a little blood? Kate would turn over in her grave. How bad is it?”
He probed gently, not wanting to hurt her, but knowing there was no avoiding it. “It’s in an awkward spot,” he finally announced, glancing back up at her with a frown. “Every time you move your thumb it’s going to break open if you don’t have it stitched. How long has it been since you’ve had a tetanus shot?”
Caught off guard, she blinked. “I don’t know. Maybe a couple of years. I can’t remember.”
“Then it’s probably been longer than you think. You’ll need another one.” Pulling a clean, neatly folded handkerchief from the back pocket of his jeans, he wrapped it around her hand and stanched the flow of blood as best he could. Glancing around for her jacket, he found a forest-green down coat hanging on a hook near the door and helped her into it. “Come on, let’s go.” Hustling her out the door and into his Bronco, he quickly drove her over to the clinic.
Rocky protested that all the fuss wasn’t necessary—if he’d just give her the tetanus shot, she’d clean the wound herself and slap a butterfly bandage on it when she got home—but Lucas wasn’t listening. Ushering her into one of the examining rooms, he took her coat from her, settled her in a chair and collected the supplies he needed. All business, he took time only to wash his hands and make sure she wasn’t allergic to any medications before he pulled up a stool next to her and reached for her injured hand.
Over the course of the years, he’d lost track of the number of cuts and gashes he’d cleaned and stitched, and he could normally do it with his eyes closed. But his knees brushed hers, his concentration wavered, and suddenly nothing was as it should be. Her scent, subtle and spicy and damned provocative, reached out to him, teasing his senses, distracting him. Why hadn’t he noticed in the hangar how soft her skin was? How delicate