Dr. Holt And The Texan

“Better not.” His smile was engaging, rueful. “Wouldn’t want to press my luck, and you’ve got to get to work, haven’t you?”

She was surprisingly disappointed but tried not to show it. “Yes, you’re right,”

“I’ll be going, then.” He shoved on his hat. “Do one thing for me?”

She bit her lip. “If I can.”

“Those posies cost me an arm and leg.” He winked. “Promise me you’ll stick them in some water?”

He’d commented on that wilted grocery store nosegay last night, the one she’d finally thrown in the trash just an hour ago. Maybe he was charitable enough to realize she’d been too tired to find a vase. Or maybe he assumed the rich girl couldn’t be bothered with so simple a task, not a spoiled gal like her who’d always bought and discarded things on a whim, unlike a poor cowboy who had to count every penny to keep up with his entry fees.

Flushing, she managed a stiff nod. “Don’t worry, I’ll go put them in water right now.”

Disconcerted by the bitter edge in her voice, he hesitated, then he shocked her by dragging his knuckles across her cheek in a brief and all-too-disturbing caress. “I’ll see you around, blue eyes.”

Mercy didn’t close the door until the tattoo of his boots on the brick walk faded completely away. When she released the knob, she was trembling. The cellophane crackled in her hands, reminding her with a start of her promise. Moments later, the blossoms safely stashed in a cut-glass pitcher—a housewarming gift from her mother that had never been out of its box until that moment—Mercy picked up her doctor’s jacket, checking automatically for her ID badge, pen and stethoscope.

“See you around,” he’d said. No, not a good idea. Not with the history she and Travis had between them. Not when her reaction to his merest touch had all the dangerous volatility of a trainload of nitroglycerin. She had her life to get on with—responsibilities, obligations, things to prove.

Not that he’d meant anything by that catchphrase, Mercy thought, as she let herself out of her apartment. No, it was just as likely that it would be another fifteen years before she ran into Travis King again, and that suited her just fine. Because she certainly didn’t need a dark-eyed, sweet-talkin’ cowboy, who didn’t care squat for his personal health or safety, coming around, calling her “darlin’,” messing with her head and making her think about what might have been.

Not if she knew what was good for her.

“Who’s the man in black?”

“Johnny Cash?” Two days later Mercy was scribbling on a patient chart, the final one of the evening and her ticket out of the E.R. for the night.

“No, not him.” The young nurse juggled the charts she was holding, poked Mercy’s shoulder and pointed. “That one.”

Mercy looked up and couldn’t contain an involuntary spurt of pleasure at the sight of Travis King flashing his wicked grin at her. She deliberately quashed her untoward delight, frowning as he approached.

“Travis. What are you doing here?” Her professional concern kicked in, her eyes narrowing on the white bandage still gracing his temple. “Something wrong? Headache ? I—”

“Whoa, there, Doc.” Travis held up his hands. “Everything’s fine. I’m just a lonely cowboy looking for a little companionship. When can I spring you from this joint?”

Mercy licked her lips. “Uh, I don’t think—”

“That’s it,” the nurse announced, slamming the last chart shut with a sigh of relief. “See you tomorrow night, Dr. Holt.”

“Great.” Travis hung his thumbs in his belt loops. “Come on, I’ll buy you some dinner. Or would you prefer breakfast?”

He was so tempting and irresistible. Instinctively she knew he was pure trouble, and she struggled to be sensible and remember that she’d already decided the better part of discretion was to keep her distance. She shook her head.

“Thanks, but I really can’t. There’s laundry piled up, and I’ve got some reading to do—”

Travis tsked between his teeth and took her arm, leading her down the antiseptic-smelling corridor. “Not much of a life for a pretty gal like you.”

“We’re not all party animals.” Her tone was crisp, but there was no way she could untangle herself from his grasp without calling attention, and they were attracting plenty of that from the staff and the patients lined up in the E.R. waiting room as it was.

“You’ve got to stop and smell the roses, sometimes, blue eyes.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“So?” He lifted one dark eyebrow.

She relented slightly. “So your bouquet, which I’ve babied with doses of aspirin, is opening up beautifully. And yes, I’ve been smelling those damned flowers.”

Actually there was no way she could avoid it, for the scent of roses filled her to house, and each time she opened the door, she was greeted by the sweet fragrance of springtime and youth and renewed hope.

Travis’s smile was slow and satisfied. “See,” he said softly, “I’m a good influence.”

Mercy rolled her eyes. “Give me a break, Travis. Nobody ever raised as much hell as you.”

He placed a hand over his heart, mock wounded, his coffee-colored eyes devilish. “Maybe, but nobody ever has as much fun, either. And you could use a good dose of that, gal.”

“I’m all right.”

He snorted. “Sure you are. Somebody needs to take care of you, so come on. Dr. King’s orders.”

Ignoring her protests, he trundled her off in his black truck to the Stockyards, now a tourist mecca of shops and restaurants and clubs she’d rarely visited, then plied her with slabs of baby back ribs from Riscky’s Barbeque. Afterward he insisted they go two-stepping at the infamous Billy Bob’s Texas, where, not to Mercy’s surprise, he was recognized and greeted with obvious affection by every two out of three luscious cowgirls who frequented the tourist honky-tonk.

While his easy teasing and cowboy foolishness kept her laughing, and on the surface they were back on their old friendly footing, Mercy kept her guard up against a resurgence of that odd flare of awareness. Like a swift current beneath a still river, she knew instinctively it was dangerous and better left to braver souls to navigate.

Still, when Travis dropped her off at home a few hours later, again refusing her invitation to come in, Mercy was pleasantly tired, but amazed at how relaxed she felt. Flinging herself into her rumpled bed, she realized that he’d been right. Fun was an area in her life that was in severe deprivation. She’d have to do something more positive about fulfilling that need on a regular basis. Only, the last thought in her hazy brain as she dropped off to sleep was that it wouldn’t be quite the same without Travis around....

And he was around a lot over the next few days. In fact, despite her repeated resolutions to the contrary, she couldn’t avoid him. He appeared when she least expected, then whisked her off to some new adventure, not even giving her the chance to refuse. He took her for a ride down the interstate to blow the cobwebs out of her tired brain, bought her fast-food breakfasts, took her to a midnight cult movie, massaged her feet! When he drove up to Oklahoma City alone to inspect a new bull for King and Preston Stock Company, he arranged for a pizza delivery to her town house to make certain she would eat.

She certainly wasn’t accustomed to such attention. Indeed, she felt faintly guilty at the amount of time he invested in her “prescription” of TLC. But there seemed no way to avoid the runaway freight train that was Travis turning on the charm for an old friend, and after a while she didn’t even try to get out of the way. And if she wondered at his motives, well, she knew he was a tumbleweed who’d blow out of her life very soon, the same way he’d blown in again. She was just needy enough to pretend that the occasional tingles reminding her he was all man were nothing but an aberration she’d soon recover from. She decided to count herself lucky that their friendship was still intact and take what she could get.

At this stage in her life it was all she could hope for. And down deep she had a sneaking suspicion it was more than she deserved.

He was a glutton for punishment, that’s all there was to it

Travis jabbed the doorbell on Mercy’s town house and wondered what the hell he was doing. He should have been long gone by now-heck, he would have to fly instead of drive to Colorado Springs this weekend to make the opening round—and instead here he was, traipsing around after Mercy Holt like a flop-eared hound dog puppy, hoping for some scraps—of affection, of notice, hell, of anything!

He’d been sweet as pie after nearly blowing it with her that first night—chaste as a monk, hardly crowding her at all. When what he really wanted was to take her in his arms again, to take her sweet mouth under his and see if she was really as delectable as he remembered. In fact, he wanted it so badly he was on the verge of a major explosion. His strategy of platonic friendliness was a ploy, a ruse to let her become familiar with him before he escalated his battle plan to make Mercy see him as something other than an old pal. But how the hell was he going to do that if she continued to treat him like her older brother! He ought to have his bull-battered head examined.

The door swung open, and Mercy stood in her robe, one hand clutching the lapels to her creamy throat, her golden hair streaming loose about her shoulders. “Oh, Travis, hi.”

“Hi, yourself, blue eyes.” The state of her dishabille and the wary light in her eyes made him wonder if she were naked under the forest green terry cloth. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops to keep from reaching for her.

“Uh, this isn’t a good time.” She gestured over her shoulder. “I was just getting in the shower before I have to leave for work.”

“Hey, I know I’m a nuisance, but I was wondering...”

“Yes?”

He tapped the bandage at his temple, inwardly grimacing that he was reduced to concocting any excuse to be with her. “About time these stitches came out. Think you could help me out? I’ve got a big date with a bull in Colorado Springs tomorrow night and I want to look my best.”

“You’re going—?” She caught herself, but not before he heard the dismay in her tone. Of maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part.

“Yeah, Colorado over the weekend, then back to Flat Fork after that. Some prime stock’s come up missing, and Sam’s flat ticked about the situation. So if you don’t mind playing doc...”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Sure, come in.”

As he stepped over the threshold, he could hear water running. “Look, you go ahead and get that shower while the water’s hot, then we can tend to this and I’ll be out of your hair in two shakes of a piggin’ string.”

She smiled. “Okay. Make yourself at home.”

While she headed off for the bathroom, Travis moseyed around the living area, noticing that not much had changed since his last visit It was still a mess. Shrugging, he hung up his hat and went to work.

“Oh, my God, what have you done?”

A short time later Travis looked up from wiping out the kitchen sink to find Mercy gazing at him in absolute horror. She was still in her robe, her skin glowing and dewy from her shower, her freshly shampooed hair hidden under a towel that was wrapped turbanlike around her head. She carried her doctor’s bag in her hand.

His lips twitched. “I think it’s called housework.”

She looked at the spotless cabinets, the gleaming sink, the clean dishes in the drainboard, the neatly stacked paypers and cleared surfaces in the living area and stifled a groan. “Now I’m mortified. Travis, really, you shouldn’t have.”

He wiped his hands and hung the damp dish towel over the spigot. “Relax, darlin’. I’ve been a bachelor a long time. Believe it or not, since my folks retired and both my sisters married and moved away, I’ve been at the ranch by myself and I’ve become a pretty fair kitchen hand. Besides, a little help for some free medical attention is a pretty fair trade in my book.”

“You think I’m a slob.”

He grinned. “No, I know you’re a slob. But busy doctors are allowed, I reckon. Why don’t you hire somebody?”

“I’ve been too—”

“—busy. Yeah, I know.” Coming around the counter, he gave her a hard look. “Darlin’, you need to get a life.”

“I like my life just the way it is, thank you very much.” Mercy reached into her bag for scissors and a pair of tweezers. “Have a seat, cowboy.”

“Uh-oh. You gonna hurt me?” He eased a hip onto a bar stool and hooked his boot heels on the brass rungs.

“I thought bull riders felt no pain.” She tilted his chin up with a fingertip, peeled away the bandage, swathed the wound with antiseptic, then deftly removed the stitches.

He sucked in a breath at the brief sting, inhaling her flowery fragrance. It made him dizzy. It made him hard.

“That’s a myth we knights of the rodeo arena perpetuate to attract women,” he said in a strangled voice.

“So, how’s it working?”

“You tell me.”

She looked startled, but didn’t answer as she turned away to replace her implements in their case.

“You know, we can’t keep doing this,” he drawled.

“Doing what?”

“Meeting only at night like a pair of vampires. When do you get some time off? I’d like to see you by daylight for a change.”

She gave a little strained chuckle. “Why...so you can count my crow’s feet? Soft lighting becomes the haggedout lady physician, didn’t you know?”

Catching her elbow, he pulled her around, positioning her between his spread knees. He tugged the towel free of her damp tangles, then let his fingers slide down the slim column of her neck. He smiled at her startled expression and the way her pulse leapt in the hollow at the base of her throat. No matter how cool she wanted to play it, she was not immune to him.

“I know you’re even more beautiful now than you were as a dewy-eyed kid,” he said softly.

She stiffened. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Play games with me.”

“What makes you think I’m playing?” His thumb traced the curve of her collarbone.

“Because that’s what ‘Love’em-and-leave‘em’ King does.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Bending close, he nuzzled the side of her neck, whisking his mustache over her skin, smiling to himself at the shudder that raced beneath the satiny surface.

She batted his shoulder. “Stop it, Travis. You’re trying to change things.”

“Exactly. Glad you finally figured it out.”

“I thought we had this clear,” she said angrily. “I know you. You’ve got a buckle bunny in every rodeo town from here to California. Maybe you’re just bored, maybe I’m some sort of unfinished challenge from your past, but I won’t be a notch on some cowboy’s bedpost. Especially not yours.”

Hands tightening on her forearms, Travis reared back, his jaw going taut. “I don’t recall issuing that kind of invitation, darlin’. But hang on, I’m sure I’ll get around to it eventually. If you play your cards right.”

“Leave me alone. I’m not interested.”

“Liar. You know as well as I do that something powerful’s going on here.”

“Nothing of importance.” She gave him a haughty glare, the princess withering the peasant with a glance, and his blood began to boil. “Nothing I’d care to trust.”

Her words pricked him in the half-healed wound of old insecurities, the part of him that felt responsible for Kenny’s accident. He must have been crazy to think she could have let that go, even long enough to explore a friendship that was more than it should have been and a chemistry that couldn’t be ignored no matter how hard she tried.

But then, he’d never pretended to be a rocket scientist. Hell, he hadn’t even finished college! There’d never been much he could offer the rich girl, and there certainly wasn’t much now. The lick he’d taken on the noggin a week earlier must have made him loco to think he might ever have a snowball’s chance in hell with a high-society gal like her—then or now.

He smiled, but he knew there was no humor in it. “Miss Mercy Holt, heartless and cold, same as always. Why am I not surprised?”

“Just because I’m too smart to fall for your cowboy palaver? Well, don’t beat yourself up about it.” Features tight with fury, she tried to pull away, but he held her fast, and her voice dripped acid. “I’m sure there’s plenty of empty-headed twits who’ll fawn and sigh over the ‘champeen’ and give you all you think you’ve got coming. You certainly don’t need me for that.”

His smile turned wolfish. “You’re right, I don’t. I’ve got a lot more on my plate than catering to a spoiled little witch who never grew up. ’Course, it might have been interesting while it lasted. Guess we’ll never know.”

She gasped in outrage. “You despicable sidewinder! You sorry—”

“Then again,” he growled, “I hate to disappoint a lady.”

Jerking her close, he covered her mouth with his, consuming her small squeal of protest with a sweep of his tongue. Hurt, disappointed, enraged, he burned his bridges behind him, kissing her unmercifully, holding her against his chest, his body growing hard at the sweet pressure of her against his thighs.

Boldly he explored her mouth, then slid his hand inside the lapels of her robe to cup and lift the lush flesh of her naked breast. Mercy shuddered and clenched her fingers in the black cotton of his shirt, arching involuntarily to fill his palm, and he gentled, rubbing the distended bud of her nipple in slow circles that inflamed them both.

Everything changed in an instant. Summer lightning flared, distant at first, then the thunder was pounding in their veins, and the storm raged uncontrolled, a week‘s—a lifetime’s—worth of wondering and denial unleashed by temper to its full and uncontrolled limits. Gasping, hungry, insatiable—lips clung, hands explored, hearts exploded.

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