What The Cowboy Prescribes...

“No need to thank me again.” His left hand curled into a fist, his knuckles growing white. “Just doing what any doc—anyone would do if they could.” A dark look swept across his face.

“What if I had been out of the office and you weren’t there?” She stopped when his look grew more troubled.

“It worked out. That’s all that matters.”

“Yes, I guess you’re right. Sometimes I worry. People in Jackson are good folks. I do my best.”

“I can see that.”

Meg’s hand swept through her damp hair. Steve raised his eyebrow for a moment, then brought an index finger up to his mouth and rubbed at his lip. Worry lines began creasing his forehead again.

“Are you looking to practice medicine around here?” she asked. Maybe he’d be the one to help her.

“No.” The thin, quick denial sliced the air.

“Retired, at your age?”

“I’m not practicing anymore.”

“Oh, you’ll go back. I’d never be able to give up my practice, leave medicine.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Meg. “No. I won’t.”

“Burned out? You probably just need a break.”

“I need to get back to my house.” He slid his chair back and stood.

Meg gulped. She couldn’t let him leave now. “Wait, I’m too nosy, sorry. It’s just nice to have another doctor to talk to.” She got up and smiled. “Let me get you the name of the someone who’ll help you.”

“I do need the number, but—”

“Cal Bradford does repairs and construction. He has a new baby coming in a few weeks. I’m sure he needs the work.”

Steve crossed his arms. “Maybe that’s not such a good—”

“He does great work. Wait till you talk to him. I have his number in my book.” She quickly stepped to the small kitchen desk, glad for the excuse to put space between herself and her guest. Being so close to him caused her to feel slightly off center, almost nervous.

“I don’t want to bother you.” He uncrossed his arms and moved toward the back door.

Crazy, mixed-up thoughts whirled in her mind. Steve Hartly was a doctor. Through her exhaustion, excitement rippled. She hoped he’d have at least half a dozen years of experience under his belt.

“Wait, Steve! It’s no bother. I’ll get you Cal’s number.” The man standing in her kitchen might be her last chance.

And she wasn’t going to let Steve Hartly get away so easily.

Steve watched Meg walk to the desk against the wall. Above a stack of papers hung an ancient rotary wall phone. Her delicate fingers flipped through the pages of a personal phone book. She snatched a sheet of notepaper from a stack and scribbled a number.

His gaze drifted. The stark white shirt she was wearing accented her gleaming brown hair, which turned up in a sexy flip at her shoulders. The silky strands shimmered, seeming to have a life all their own.

While she thumbed through a large stack of papers, Steve let his gaze slip farther down. Her worn jeans hugged her well-rounded hips and emphasized the curves of her perky bottom like the skin of a very ripe tomato.

He swallowed hard. Although he had more important things to think about, he couldn’t take his eyes off her nicely rounded backside.

Meg turned around and he jerked his gaze up.

She cocked a dainty eyebrow, telling him she knew he’d been giving her the once-over.

“Here it is. Give Cal a call. I’m sure he’ll help you.” She handed him the piece of paper.

He studied what she’d written. Her handwriting—a small, rounded script—was as well proportioned as her figure. A drug company logo embossed the top of the small square sheet. It jolted his memory. He’d prescribed their medicine many times to patients who suffered from high blood pressure.

His finger traced over the raised logo. What he’d enjoyed most in practicing medicine for five years was helping his patients adopt healthier lifestyles…

Steve pushed back the feelings that needed to stay in the past.

“It’s not too late to call.” Meg’s words broke into his thoughts.

“I don’t have a phone. I’ll drive into town tomorrow.”

“You can use mine. But I’m surprised you don’t have a cell phone.”

Her eyes were almost the same color as the shiny mahogany furniture he’d purchased for his office in Houston, then sold three weeks ago for a tenth of the price.

“I got rid of my phone.” Before he’d left the city, he’d sold all his possessions except his car and clothes.

“Oh. Well, use my phone, then. Anytime.” Her lips broke into a wide grin and dimples formed in her cheeks.

“No, I’ll wait.” The urge to outline one of the small indentations with the tip of his finger made him uneasy, then suddenly overwhelmed him.

“Cal does need the work. You’ll be doing him a favor.”

Her genuine kindness made him want to crush her to his chest and kiss her soft lips. Instead he stared at her. A smudge beneath her right eye caught his attention. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and traced it gently with his index finger.

Her long, lush lashes feathered against his skin and his breath came in ragged spurts. Meg’s eyes widened and he counted five full respirations before she pulled back.

“There’s a smudge under your eye. It’s still there.”

Meg felt her hand tremble as she brought it up to her face. Steve’s fingers were warmer than she’d expected. She rubbed hard at her skin. “Did I get it all?” She glanced down and wished her hand would quit shaking, but she knew it wouldn’t while his eyes were holding her captive.

“Yeah, it looks like it.”

Steve turned his head slightly, and Meg noticed a tiny heart-shaped mole on his jawline. She nibbled her bottom lip and forced her gaze to his jacket.

“You’re so dusty. What did you do, climb into that old fireplace?”

Steve brushed at his coat, causing tiny clouds of soot to float in the air. He studied her for a moment. “No. I got this from just walking around the place. Why’s your hair wet?” His fingers caught a wayward strand, then let go.

“I splashed my face, hoping it would make me feel better. I’m exhausted. Remember med school? Eyelids grainy from no sleep and feeling like hell? Guess that’s how my mascara got where it’s not supposed to be.”

Meg brushed back her damp hair, wondering how bad she really looked, and upset with herself for caring.

“Med school…seems like a long time ago.” Steve cleared his throat. “There’s not enough time to learn everything.”

“I felt the same way. But then eventually everything slides into—”

“Sometimes. I’d better get going.” Steve folded the note with Cal’s number in half and slipped it in his coat pocket.

Meg shifted. She couldn’t let him leave. Even though she was really tired and apprehensive, she had plans for Steve Hartly.

Chapter Three

“Why don’t you use my phone?” Meg positioned herself between her guest and the back door. “It’s a shame to wait. Besides, you’ll make Cal’s day.” She gazed into Steve’s dark eyes and, before she knew what she was doing, rested her hand on his arm.

His muscles tightened under her fingers.

“No. I can make the call tomorrow.”

Meg brought her hand away. “Please. I enjoy your company. Go ahead and call.”

“Well, if you’re—”

“Good. I’ll get us something to drink.” She motioned toward the telephone, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease a little.

“I guess it would be easier to call from here.”

“Of course it would. Then you can relax, drink some iced tea.” Meg stepped to the kitchen counter and started unloading groceries. She’d all but forgotten about the milk, eggs and bread.

Steve went to the phone and dialed Cal’s number. Soon he was talking about the Lemon House. Meg filled tall glasses, then sat at the table and waited for him. When he hung up, he picked up Charlie’s inhaler and glanced over at her.

“Asthma?”

“Not me. My cousin’s little boy. The child is always losing it. I’ll take it back in the morning. Just put it by my purse.”

He did as she asked and turned back.

“So was Cal happy?” She took a sip of her tea and glanced at him over the rim of her glass.

“Says he can start tomorrow.” Steve leaned against the back of the chair.

“Cal will do a great job. His wife is having their first baby in a few weeks. Oh, I told you that.” Meg took another sip of her drink. What was wrong with her? She usually never repeated herself. “Donna works too hard around their ranch. She’s healthy, but I’ve delivered her sisters’ babies, and they’ve all had difficult deliveries.” Steve’s expression tightened and he shifted as if he were uncomfortable.

Meg waved toward his glass. “Sit down and have some tea. I made yours plain. You don’t use sugar, do you?”

“No. Thanks.”

“So how long did you practice?”

“Five years.”

“Me, too. I did a one-year residency at Presbyterian in Dallas, then came back to Jackson. Been here ever since.” She tilted her head nervously. Steve was the type of man who listened—and watched. The type who made her feel…was it uneasy, nervous or what?

Her temples pounded. Why, for goodness’ sake, had she told him about her residency? He hadn’t asked. She needed to bring the conversation around to his medical practice and not talk about herself.

“I was raised in Jackson.” The information seemed to spring from her mouth.

He picked up his glass. The man sitting in front of her had a way of making her feel all mixed up. Although he was quiet, she guessed he had a wonderful bedside manner, serene and calm.

The last thought stunned her. She wasn’t really thinking at all about medicine. In just the blink of an eye, Steve Hartly was making her envision soft down comforters and cold winter nights snuggling under them—with him.

“I was born in Jackson.” Good Lord, hadn’t she said that? “I mean, uh, and I’ve lived here most of my life except when I went away to school. You practiced how long?” She’d already ask him that, too. The man was going to think she was an idiot! Quickly she vowed again to keep her mind on finding out more about Steve Hartly.

He placed the glass on the table and drew his finger through the beads of condensation.

“What kind of practice did you have?” she asked breathlessly.

“I worked the emergency room for four years.” His tone had gone flat.

“How’d you pick Jackson?”

“Wanted a place far away from Houston.”

“Know anyone here?”

He shook his head. “Just looked at a map and made a few phone calls.”

“Do you miss the ER?” Good. She was getting some great information. Yet it bugged her that she really liked the idea of finding out what made him tick, what caused the faraway look in his dark eyes to come and go.

“I try not to think about my old life.” His finger lingered on the glass, then traced around it again, this time in the opposite direction. He didn’t bother to look up.

“I know how you feel. Like today. I panicked until I saw you in the Sunshine. And I worry about Donna all the time, afraid I won’t be there for her. I just have to put the worries out of my mind. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know what the heck I’m—”

“Being a doctor is not all what’s in here.” Steve tapped his right temple, then reached across the table. His index finger stopped an inch short of her chest. “It’s what’s in your heart that counts.”

His body heat seemed to flow through her shirt to her bare skin. For a moment Meg feared he might touch her, and the next, she wished he would.

They stared at each other, their gazes meeting, then blending and melting together. His arm drew back, and his hand gripped the edge of the table.

Her eyes drifted to his lips. They were soft and full, and she just bet he kissed with the same passion he exuded. She chastised herself for the thought. She needed to keep her mind on finding a doctor for the clinic.

“Think you’ll ever practice again?”

“No. I’ve started a new life.” The words rang through the small kitchen. His eyes flashed with conviction and his jaw tightened, accentuating the heart-shaped mole.

“That’s too bad.” Intuitively she knew Steve was a good doctor, and she wondered what had happened to make him not want to do what he was trained to do. Maybe he was burned out. Or just tired of big-city medicine.

He rolled the iced-tea glass between his palms.

“I’ll bet you are a darn good doctor,” she blurted. The man sitting across from her had just implied it took heart to be a good doctor. Meg sensed Steve cared deeply, and when she got this kind of feeling, she was never wrong.

The cold glass soaked the heat from his hot flesh. Sitting across from Meg Graham had made his hands warm and sweaty. With all the talk about being a doctor and whether he planned to go back to medicine, the top of Steve’s head felt like it was about to blow off.

“I’m not a doctor anymore.” Those words were his mantra now. And at times like this they felt right. He picked up the glass and drained it. Then he pushed the wooden chair back and stood.

She gave him a sincere look. “Sorry to hear that.” Her brown, velvety eyes filled with compassion.

Meg’s words soothed him for a moment. He did miss his old life, but it was better this way.

“I need to get back to the house. Thanks for the tea and the use of your phone.” He crossed to the door. The screen squeaked as he pushed it open.

Steve heard her chair scoot against the linoleum, and he turned back. She picked up the empty glasses and made her way to the sink, her hips swaying.

A fiery blaze started in the pit of his stomach.

If he was in any mood to be attracted to a woman, it would be Meg Graham. She possessed a delicate yet strong face and a sensuous mouth. And her body…

His eyes stroked over her full, lush curves.

Indulging himself a moment longer, he let his gaze slide up slowly, admiring every tempting inch. Meg was sexy. Steve thought of soft skin and sweet scents. It would be easy to let his problems fade away, with her in his arms.

With no hesitation, he imagined Meg without a stitch of clothing. He liked what his mind conjured up, and the need to get Meg into his arms rushed through him.

She faced him, her lips curled in an inviting smile. “Have you decided where you’re going to sleep?”

The tightness in his jeans increased. “Uh…in my car.”

“Oh, no!” Her chin tipped up, showing her smooth, curved throat.

His mouth went dry and his thoughts swirled with wonder. What would it be like to kiss her porcelain skin and let his lips trail down to the sweet indentation at the beginning of her throat?

“That’s bound to be uncomfortable. There’s not much room in the back seat of a BMW, is there?”

“I don’t know.” The answer hung in the air between them.

“Well, back seats aren’t all…that comfortable.” Meg’s cheeks flushed. “Not that I’ve been in the back seat of a car in years.…”

Hot summer nights and Meg!

His body pulsed with the need to hold her in his arms. What the heck was he thinking about? He needed to keep his mind on his house, his new life.

“There aren’t any motels close by. I want to start on the house repairs early tomorrow.”

She leaned back, her right hand resting on the curve of her hip. “I have plenty of room right here, and it’s next door. Why don’t you stay with me?”

“What?” The offer sent a powerful sensual message to his brain. He and Meg together!

“My guest room is warm and clean, and it sure is a heck of a lot more roomy than—”

“That would be too much trouble.” Good sense told him he needed to stay away from Meg, yet he knew that wasn’t going to be easy.

“You won’t be any trouble. I’m hardly ever home. And you don’t have to worry about the rent. Around Jackson we barter a lot. I get bread, pies, even eggs for my services.”

“I don’t have anything to trade.”

She smiled again and his heart beat faster. She was so pretty and sweet…so sincere.

“Sure you do. Everyone has something someone else wants.”

Right now all he wanted from Meg was to hold her and kiss her pleasing lips.

“While you’re working on the Lemon House maybe you can help me with a few odd jobs around here.”

Her practical suggestion made Steve realize a soft, clean bed would be better than the back seat of his car. And he’d have access to a working bathroom. Yet he’d vowed to stay far away from anyone who had anything to do with medicine. Meg Graham, he’d learned already, was a dedicated doctor.

“Come on. You’ll be doing me a favor.” Her soft, feminine voice feathered against his reserve like smooth silk. With eyes closed, Meg took a deep breath, and the action melted a thin layer of ice surrounding his heart. For a moment, Steve forgot where they were.

“How would I be doing you a favor?” he asked.

She opened her eyes and crinkled her nose. “The house repairs.”

“I don’t have any experience with what you’re talking about.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m a patient woman. I’ll get you a key.” She went to the teddy bear cookie jar on the counter and took off its baseball cap lid. “This fits both the front and back doors.” She crossed the kitchen and held out the extra key.

He knew he shouldn’t, but he let his fingers uncurl. She placed the warm metal in his palm, and he stared at the key. Meg could talk a blind man into buying eyeglasses.

If he did a few odd jobs around her place, he wouldn’t be obligated in any way. And in a few days, he’d be only her neighbor, not her houseguest.

As if to negate his last thought she laughed. “It’s official. You’re my roommate. And once you get the Lemon House livable, you won’t have far to move.”

Steve thought about giving back the key, but she’d crossed to the sink.

“Go ahead and bring your stuff in,” Meg nonchalantly called over her shoulder. “I only have one bathroom, so we’ll have to share.” She turned on the water, which pumped from the faucet full blast. She hummed a familiar tune and her hips swayed to the melody.

Steve forced himself to stop gazing at those sensual undulations. If he was going to live with this mesmerizing woman for a few days, he had to draw a line. He made his way to the door and stepped out into the September night, wondering if he was in his right mind, accepting her invitation.

A mixture of emotions coursed through his veins. Sure, it would be convenient living just up the road from his house. But common sense told him he shouldn’t let himself get any closer to Meg.

She sat on the couch and wondered if her earlier prediction was coming true. Maybe she was going off the deep end. Why in the world had she asked Steve Hartly to stay at her house? She’d never done anything like this in her life. But an uncanny feeling told her everything would be okay. She could trust Steve.

And she couldn’t let him stay in his car, or worse, the Lemon House. She gulped and forced herself to think realistically. With Steve Hartly on staff, she could keep her clinic open. And she might be able to get some much-needed sleep. The last thought wreaked havoc with her rationale. If anything, Steve’s presence in the house would preclude her sleeping.

Meg imagined Steve’s fingers tracing against her skin, his body warmth enveloping her.

With a jolt she stood. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t about to be attracted to another man uncommitted to his medical career. The experience with Andy had been enough for one lifetime.

Oh, for goodness’ sake, Meg. Get a grip. You just met the guy and already you’re comparing him to Andy.

She was acting silly. She was tired and worried about her patients and the clinic. Meg sank down again and groaned. Steve Hartly created havoc within her. What in the world would he be able to do when he was living in her house? She rubbed her eyes.

This kind of thinking had to stop. Getting involved with Steve physically wasn’t going to help the situation—it could only hurt it. She had to convince the man to work at the clinic. The insurance company meant business with that letter, and she wasn’t going to let her clinic close.

She tapped her bottom lip with her finger. Steve had been adamant about not practicing, but she only needed his help for maybe three months at the most. Just until she could get another doctor to move out to Jackson. And what was so terrible about rescuing him from that awful house next door?

The thought of anyone living in the Lemon House made her stomach knot. Why in the world would he buy a place like that?

She heard the screen door squeak open and shut. Her gaze darted up. Carrying one suitcase, Steve made his way through the kitchen to the living room.

“Can I help you bring in the rest of your bags?” Meg sprang off the couch, hoping to stop her heart from pounding so hard.

He lifted the bag a little. “This is it.” He’d taken off his jacket and his forearm muscles rippled.

“Your room’s on the right. Bath’s the next door,” Meg announced, and plopped on the couch again. Trying to seem unruffled with her new houseguest was hard work.

“Thanks.” He tramped down the hall and found the guest room.

Meg watched his every step.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take a shower, then hit the sack,” he said over his shoulder. He placed his bag against the wall and flipped on the light. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and looked around.

“There are extra towels in the cupboard under the sink. Help yourself,” Meg called. Steve moved out of her sight, and she stared at the carpet. From the gentle rustle, she knew he was taking off his shirt.

“Hope I’m not keeping you from anything.” His words brought her chin up, and she gazed at the man standing in the hallway. His chest was bare, his right shoulder braced against the wooden doorjamb.

Meg tried to keep her eyes off her new neighbor’s torso but found it impossible. Hard muscles etched an almost perfect physique. A fine matting of curly hair enhanced his chiseled chest.

She consciously closed her eyes. Maybe she was asleep, and Steve Hartly, standing in her hallway half-naked, was a sadistic dream her subconscious had conjured up.

Opening her eyes, she shook her head. Nope! There he stood in all his sexy glory. The first man to stand in her hallway looking like that, ever!

She drew in a breath and tried to relax. “Make yourself at home. If you need anything, just look around.” She stood and prayed her legs would hold her.

“Thanks.” The sensual sound of his voice was all Meg needed to propel her into the kitchen—as far away from Steve Hartly as she could physically get.

Chapter Four

The whoosh of water told Steve that Meg was up and getting ready for another hectic day. He’d had many hurried days in the Houston ER. Days when there wasn’t enough time to even think clearly. Yet his work had been very fulfilling.

Steve made his way out of bed to the window. The pale gray morning was slipping the bonds of night, and the beginning of a Texas sunrise splashed across the sky.

Not far away the Lemon House sat in all its rundown glory. Steve shook his head. He was determined to get the place in shape and livable.

He stepped back to the bed and straightened the twisted covers. He’d thought the dreams troubling him would go away when he left Houston. But early this morning, when he’d found himself soaked in cold sweat and the sheet wrapped around his legs, he knew the move to Jackson hadn’t helped at all.

The scent of Meg’s perfume trailed down the hall and under the door, jarring him fully awake. Her fragrance reminded him of how beautiful she was. He raked fingers through his hair, then picked his clothes off the floor.

Moments later he padded out to the living room, hoping she hadn’t left the house yet. He couldn’t help himself; the need to see her again overwhelmed any other emotion. Lights were on in the kitchen, and he caught a glimpse of Meg as she crossed from the table to the counter.