Cowboy M.D.. Pamela Britton
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Four
Mr. Clean was not a happy camper. Ali didn’t blame him. Airplane rides were not, as a rule, part of kitty’s everyday routine. And then there was the smell of the Diamond W Ranch. Ali had a feeling Mr. Clean’s naked-cat instincts were at high alert. As she followed Nick down a path alongside the main house, she wanted to stop and breathe in the scent of the place again.
It smelled like home.
Not Texas, but home-home. The place where she’d grown up…before.
Her eyes snapped open. Good thing, too, because Nick had stopped, her rolling suitcase propped up against the side of a…golf cart? No. It was some kind of golf cart–motorcycle hybrid with a trucklike roof over the passenger compartment and a small bed in the back.
“That’s the strangest-looking thing I’ve ever seen.” She tipped her chin toward the bright green vehicle.
“Yeah? I feel the same way about your cat,” Nick said, slinging her suitcase into the “bed.”
And it was exactly comments like that that made Ali wonder why she’d flown all the way out to California to try to hire him. Obviously the man’s bedside manner left a lot to be desired.
“I take it this isn’t a cowboy’s version of a golf cart?” Ali asked, hoping conversation might open him up.
“Actually, I think it is,” he said, not looking at her as he sat next to her. And there it was again, that frisson of awareness she’d first felt when she’d climbed into his truck back at the rodeo grounds.
Do you blame yourself?
The man was drop-dead gorgeous in his cowboy hat and boots, not at all like the pudgy, mutant-white doctors she was used to.
He started the engine, which sounded more like an ATV. Ali heard Mr. Clean meow in the back. At this rate she’d have to hire a cat therapist. And then she was straightening in surprise. “Oh, man,” she said as she caught a glimpse of what was on the other side of the trees.
A lake.
A sparkling, catching-the-last-rays-of-sunlight lake.
Nick guided the miniature truck along the asphalt path.
“I didn’t see a lake from the house.”
“Can’t,” he said. “Trees are too thick. Just like you can’t see the barn and arena, either.” And then Nick stopped, Ali assumed so she could get the full effect and so she followed his gaze.
Wow.
This time of day, the top of the water turned the color of white Zinfandel. Cabins, if you wanted to call them that, rimmed the lake. Actually, she’d known from the pictures on the Internet that they resembled tiny, brownstones—narrow porches in the front with three steps leading to the front door. What she hadn’t expected was the seamless way they blended into the trees behind them, giving the illusion that the lakeshore stood empty.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It is that.”
“It must have been neat growing up here.”
“It was,” he said, shifting the Gator into gear again.
“Wait,” she said, touching the top of his hand. It was such a man’s hand, from the tiny, dark hairs on top to the thick, square fingers. Odd that that hand was capable of performing such delicate surgery.
“What?” he asked.
“Look, I know you think I’m stalking you or something, but….” She struggled for words—unusual for her. A fish broke the surface of the lake, water ripples spreading toward the shore. “I felt your family’s ranch call to me. It’s been a long time since I’ve been around horses.”
“You said you know how to ride, in the car.”
She met his gaze, blinking to dispel the brightness of the lake’s surface. “Yeah. I practically grew up on a horse’s back.”
That made his brows lift. It was a shame he seemed so uptight. She had a feeling if he’d just relax his gorgeous good looks would surpass those of her favorite movie stars.
“I had a horse until I was fifteen,” she admitted, looking away. “Some of the best moments of my life were spent on a horse.”
“Why’d you stop riding then?”
Her stomach flexed. “Things happen.” And that was all she’d say about it. “Anyway, I’ve never forgotten how wonderful it is to be on a horse’s back. The sense of freedom. The camaraderie of being on an animal that trusts you and will do anything for you, as long as you treat it right.” She peeked over at him. “I sound like a Hallmark commercial, don’t I?”
And there it was again, that tiny spark that made her think he might laugh if he were any other man.
“Actually, I know exactly how you feel.”
“Do you? Good. I really don’t want you to think I chased you here. And for the record, I don’t think your mom’s trying to hook us up.”
“You don’t know my mother.”
“Yes, that’s true. But she’s never even met me. Why would she pair you up with a stranger?”
“Because that’s what she does,” Nick said with a shake of his head. “But it doesn’t matter. You’re here and I hope you have a good time.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I promise to be a good guest. You won’t even know I’m here.”
YOU WON’T even know I’m here.
Ha. No such luck.
The sexy sound of her soft laughter was clearly audible over the dinner conversation. He’d been hoping she’d skip dinner in favor of a jet-lagged nap. The moment he slid open the dining room’s double doors, he’d spotted her, blond hair loose around her shoulders, a wide smile on her face.
“Nick. There you are,” his mother said from her usual spot at the head of the table. About twelve people sat around her, mostly adults, although two dark-haired kids sat at the end. Nick nodded to the guests he’d been introduced to already. There were a few new faces, but then, it was always like that. The guests came and went, some of them eating with the family, others content to do their own cooking in their cabins.
“Nick, there’s an empty seat next to Ali,” his mom added.
“Why am I not surprised?” he muttered under his breath.
“What was that?” his mother asked.
“Nothing, nothing,” he said, taking a seat next to Ali.
She looked different.
Well, he supposed most people looked different when they weren’t dressed in a buttoned-down business suit. The white cotton blouse and blue jeans suited her.
“Good evening, Doctor,” she said softly, her eyes more blue than gray this evening.
“Doctor?” one of the guests asked, a balding man with a bright red scalp. Obviously he’d forgotten to apply his sunscreen today. “You’re a doctor?”
Yeah, want a prescription for some sunscreen?
“Graduated at the top of his class from Harvard Medical School,” his mother answered.
“Harvard?” the man asked in obvious surprise. “You went to Harvard?”
He said the words like, “You went to the moon?”
“He was offered a Rhodes Scholarship,” Ms. Forester provided.
“Really?”
“But he turned it down,” she said, “so he could graduate from Harvard.”
And from the end of the table, his mother looked at Alison as