Cowboy M.D.. Pamela Britton
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“Service is spotty out here.”
“Is there a pay phone nearby?”
“Someone stole the handset.”
She raised her brows.
“C’mon,” he said again.
She just gave him a big smile. “That’s okay. I can flag someone down.”
She was starting to irritate him. “I’m not leaving you.”
She opened the door, unfolded her pretty legs with those frilly shoes and stood. Their two bodies almost touched.
“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me?” she asked.
“I didn’t say that,” he said softly, feeling an unexpected stir of interest as he gazed down at her. She had hair like the Barbie dolls his sister used to play with. Not dark blond, not light blond, but a bunch of blonds all mixed together.
“You didn’t have to,” she said.
Didn’t have to what? He took a breath, inhaling a citrus-like smell that he knew wasn’t perfume but rather a soap of some sort.
Nick backed up. “Look,” he said. “I’m not leaving you alone. Your cell phone won’t work, there’s no pay phone and I sure as heck refuse to leave you while I go call a tow truck. Sometimes we get crazies stopping by here.”
Her eyes widened again.
“Tell me what hotel you’re at and I’ll give you a ride.”
Her thick eyelashes concealed her eyes. “Look, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you just called a tow truck for me.”
He let out a curse. “What do I have to do? Pick you up and throw you over my shoulder?”
She looked up sharply. “No, but maybe you could loan me your horse?”
Amazing how she’d done that, irritated and amused him practically in the same breath.
“Look, just hop on in. Heck, you can ride in the back with Boy if you want to.”
“Boy?”
He nodded.
“Your horse’s name is Boy?”
“Yeah, it is. C’mon,” he said, gritting his teeth. But three steps later, he realized she still hadn’t moved.
“What now?”
She didn’t blink. “You’re not going to like where I’m staying.”
“I’m not?”
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
She didn’t say anything.
And Nick knew.
“You’re staying at my parents’ dude ranch, aren’t you?”
She smiled again, a mischievous, fun-loving smile he might have found cute if her next words hadn’t made his jaw pop in anger.
“I am.”
Chapter Two
Ali knew he wouldn’t take the news well, but to be honest, she’d been hoping to avoid the subject until it was too late for him to say something. Like, when she was already at his parents’ ranch, unpacked, maybe riding one of the horses she’d been promised were available for guests.
Unfortunately things hadn’t worked out that way.
“You can’t stay at the Diamond W,” he said, his square jaw more angular with his jaw muscle flexed.
“Actually, I can.”
“Are you stalking me?”
She winced, having wondered herself what it was about the man that made her determined to hire him.
He’s the best.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Doctor. I needed a vacation and so I decided to combine a little work with pleasure.”
He didn’t appear convinced.
“Look. You really don’t need to worry about me. I’m sure I can find a spot where there’s cell phone service. And if not, I’ll hike up my skirt, undo a few buttons and hitch a ride.” She smiled widely. There was no way, no how, she’d ever expose her body.
But he appeared to have no sense of humor. Typical doctor.
“Seriously—”
“Hop in the truck.” He turned away, his spurs chinking like they did in old movies.
Ching, ching, ching.
“Wait,” she said, realizing it was time to give up. “I’ve got to get my cat.”
He faced her suddenly, quickly, like a gun-fighter. “Your what?” he asked. Oh, but now he looked like a doctor, one who’d just been told by a cancer patient that they’d been outside smoking a pack of cigarettes.
“I brought my cat.”
“You brought your cat,” he repeated.
“It’s okay. I talked to your mom. She said it was all right.”
He just stared at her. Alison could hear Mr. Clean howling inside the car.
“Go get your cat.”
“I know, I know,” she muttered. She’d have been better off leaving him at home. Her next-door neighbor probably wouldn’t have forgotten to feed him or left the door open or a window….
“What is that?” he asked when she’d pulled the cat carrier from the car. It was one of those Quonset-hut-shaped things, the kind made from wire mesh so you could see the animal inside.
“This is Mr. Clean,” she pronounced, holding the cage up.
“That is the ugliest damn cat I’ve ever seen.”
She straightened. “He’s not ugly. He’s just…hairless.”
“It looks like something out of E.T.”
“Nope. He’s from this planet. Russia, actually. He’s a Russian Peterbald.” Clean gave another howl. “I’m allergic to cat hair,” she explained. And something about the bald cat appealed to her, something that had to do with the poor thing being laughed at by everyone who saw it at the pet store. She knew what it was like to have people laugh at you.
“Where should I put him?”
“Put him in the back.”
“Of the truck?”
“No. The backseat.”
Oh. Well, okay. Shaking her head, she did as asked, Mr. Clean protesting from the back.
“Tell me I don’t have to listen to that all the way home,” he said as he climbed into the driver’s seat. Ali told herself to relax. Sure, he wasn’t exactly pleased to see her. And sure, he didn’t look exactly thrilled that she was staying at his parents’ dude ranch. But he’d adjust.
“I thought you needed to go someplace,” she said. It would have made things a whole lot easier if he’d put on weight or lost his hair. She didn’t like this awareness she felt while sitting next to him.
“I do—did. I’ll be late.”
He started up his truck, the onslaught of noise from the big diesel making it impossible to think for a second. “You were going to a friend’s house while dragging this big old horse trailer behind you?”
“Do it all the time.” He put his truck in gear. She hadn’t even known big trucks came with stick shift.
“No