Читать книгу Dr. Dad - Julianna Morris, Julianna Morris - Страница 11

Chapter Three

“Wait a minute!” A stunned Noah yanked his jacket from the rosebush and heard the fabric rip.

Terrific.

He had all the tact of a rhinoceros. What else could he do to screw things up?

“Starr, please wait.” He caught up in front of her parents’ health food store and grabbed her arm. She spun around in time for him to see pain temporarily replace the anger in her face.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.” Nevertheless, she put her hand on her left shoulder and rubbed. “It’s just the scratches.”

Noah sighed. He didn’t believe her, yet he couldn’t force her to explain. “Look, I’m sorry I got carried away...I don’t like reporters.”

“Gee, that’s a surprise. I wouldn’t have guessed.”

He sighed. Ever since Sam had died, he’d been fighting with the McKittricks. Unfortunately, since Starr was both a friend of the McKittricks and Becky’s godmother, that put her directly in the middle of the battle. “You weren’t in the country when Sam and Amelia were killed, so you don’t know what it was like.”

She nodded warily. “I was out of touch. I haven’t even had a chance to talk to Rafe. He called this morning, but I was taking a walk.”

“Well...there was a lot of publicity after the accident. The McKittricks are influential because of that chain of newspapers they own—not to mention being friends with everyone who is anyone in Oregon, including the present governor.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“Everything.” Noah massaged the back of his neck. “They never liked Sam. They thought he was presumptuous to marry their daughter. Amelia must have told you how much they disliked him.”

“They didn’t dislike him,” she murmured. “Not exactly.”

“Really?”

“Okay, I guess they would have preferred her marrying someone else,” Starr admitted, wrinkling her nose. “Deep down they’re nice people.”

Noah decided the “deep down” part must be way deep down—like in the Marianas Trench. He took a breath, knowing it might be foolish to confide in Starr, yet also knowing his sister-in-law and brother had trusted her. “The McKittricks blame Sam for the accident. The way they see things, if he hadn’t married their daughter, she wouldn’t have been in that plane with him,” he said, bitterness tinging his voice.

Starr’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry. That isn’t fair,” she whispered.

Turning, Noah stared down at the town. Below them the Columbia River flowed to meet the ocean, a glistening silver ribbon across the western horizon. The ocean was constant, unchanging. He needed something that couldn’t change, something that couldn’t be ripped away with a single phone call. Like Sam.

He sensed compassion in Starr’s gaze, yet he couldn’t handle any more sympathy. Everybody was sorry about his brother. His friends, his co-workers, even the checker at the supermarket. Everybody “understood.” How could they understand? He’d lost the person he loved most in the world, the only family he had left except for Becky. He couldn’t endure losing anyone else.

“They aren’t too happy with me, either,” he added harshly. “Maybe it would be different if I was a wealthy, big-city specialist. But I’m not. I’m just a general practitioner who doesn’t play golf, and doesn’t plan on getting filthy rich.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Thanks. But you’ll never convince the McKittricks I’m a proper guardian.”

Starr winced. Amelia had been raised mostly by nannies and servants—she’d wanted a different childhood for Becky. The elder McKittricks were decent in a stuffy kind of way, but they’d been lousy parents.

“All right.” She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him squarely. “They never liked Sam, they don’t approve of you and they own a bunch of newspapers. What has that got to do with hating the news media?”

He snorted. “You have no idea what it was like——news—paper articles implying Sam was at fault, suggesting pilot error.” Noah threw out his hand angrily. “There wasn’t any error, Sam was a great pilot. Then after Becky was put in my custody, the reporters started hounding me again, questioning my fitness and harassing me about my relationship with the McKittricks.”

“Oh.”

That was all she said. A single word.

“You see, don’t you?” he appealed. “It was like being surrounded by sharks.”

“I’m a photojournalist,” Starr said quietly. “Not that kind of reporter. And I’ve spent most of my career taking nature photos, which is completely different.”

Noah hesitated, remembering his thoughts earlier that morning. Starr was a respected photographer. She wouldn’t agree with the McKittricks’ muckraking tactics, no matter how close their friendship might be.

Oh, hell. He’d been a jerk. He’d let his temper override his common sense. “L..uh...I’m sorry.”

“Never mind.” She shrugged and hooked her thumbs into the belt loops of her jeans. Noah groaned silently, because the motion reminded him how great she looked in those skin-fitting denims.

So much for a guilty conscience.

It would have been nice to talk to his brother about Starr, to get his opinion. God, he missed that...missed talking and laughing with someone who knew him better than anyone else in the world. He would have told Sam about Starr’s tight jeans and her tight bottom. Then he’d have complained about his lack of self-control and latent immaturity. The big goon would have sniggered and called him a Neanderthal—marriage had turned Sam into a real nineties kind of guy.

Noah gave himself a mental slap. He’d progressed beyond the ogling stage in his early twenties. Hadn’t he? Maybe it was just Starr. She was entirely too intriguing. And at the moment, she was also entirely too accessible.

He opened his mouth. “Do you know how tight your jeans are?”

“What?” She let her hands drop.

Uh-oh. A classic Freudian slip of the tongue. “I just meant...er...they look great.”

Watching closely, Noah could have sworn a trace of color touched her cheeks. Of course, it might have been from the crisp ocean breeze; Starr wasn’t the blushing type.

“You’re a Neanderthal,” she said tartly.

Suddenly Noah felt a lot better. Granted, it wasn’t Sam insulting him, but it was the same insult. Maybe they could just be friends.

No... He stopped and looked her up and down again. Friends and lovers maybe, but never just friends. A platonic relationship with Starr would never work. Never.

“How do you work in those? I mean, they’re really tight,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’m surprised you can even walk.”

Starr ran her fingers over her thighs, enjoying the feel of the soft, worn fabric. She didn’t think jeans were worth anything until they’d been washed and worn to the last inch of their life. “Not that my clothes are any concern of yours, but I have big, baggy ones when I’m working, with lots of room in the pockets.”

“That’s good, because there’s no room in those pockets. Thank God,” he said with an exaggerated leer.

“Men,” she mumbled. They were all the same, no matter what language they spoke. Still, it was kind of cute. And rather surprising, considering the man was wearing a suit. On a Saturday, no less. It made him seem like a regular guy, not an uptight yuppie.

Uptight?

Starr bit her lip to keep from laughing. This whole thing was awfully funny, because Noah reminded her of the McKittricks, who were also a bit uptight.

Except...on him it was okay.

All at once panic hit Starr. She didn’t want to care about Noah Bradley. She didn’t want to think he was cute, or any other superlative like handsome or sexy, or even likable. And she certainly didn’t want to fall in love with him. So why had she kissed him? Temporary insanity?

Get a grip, she ordered silently. Her response to Noah was way out of proportion. Like getting so upset at his negative attitude toward reporters. She was used to that—she shouldn’t have let it become personal.

Noah lifted one of her hands and traced lazy circles over the base of her wrist.

Drat.

Starr tried to control her feminine response to his touch...and failed utterly. It was baffling. How could he make her so hot and shaky with a single touch?

“What are you doing?” she asked, a shade of desperation creeping into her tone as his gaze dropped, taking in the taut thrust of her breasts.

“Damned if I know,” he muttered. “I must be losing my mind. What is it about you that keeps me so confused?”

Starr couldn’t be sure, but she suspected his confusion was caused by his intellect arguing with male instinct On a purely rational level he obviously didn’t want to get involved with her. But on a physical level...maybe he wasn’t so sure. A small, embarrassed smile tugged at her lips—it was flattering, even though she didn’t want to get involved, either.

Of course, for men, sex didn’t necessarily mean “getting involved.” Hmmm. She’d have to think about that for a while. And what was so wrong with her anyway?

“For the record...” she said thoughtfully, “what do you dislike so much about me? I mean, aside from my impulsiveness and career. Oh, yes—and the fact I’m a friend of the McKittricks.”

“You want some kind of list?” he asked, giving her a teasing grin.

She smiled back—showing her teeth—and Noah’s expression became a lot more cautious. “Just hit the high points,” she said with an overdose of sweetness.

“Er...I don’t dislike you. But we’ve got different lives. Different priorities.”

“And?”

“And nothing.”

“Aren’t you going to pull Becky into this? You seem determined to dictate the terms of my relationship with her.”

He sighed, an I’m being as patient as possible sigh. “I just suggested you keep things casual, at least until she’s a little older. She’s too young to really understand what happened to her mother and father, and she’s having a few problems adjusting. I don’t want anything else to upset her. She could get really fond of you, and then...” He shrugged.

Starr blinked. She respected Noah’s protectiveness of Becky, though it seemed to be a little in the overprotective category. Yet she couldn’t help thinking he was mostly looking for an excuse, not so much to keep her out of his niece’s life, but out of his. “I’d never do anything to hurt her.”

“Not intentionally.”

“Look, if you’re talking about the fire again, I was perfectly safe.”

“Yes,” he said tensely. “I’m talking about the fire. I’m talking about something happening to you...something permanent. You do some pretty crazy things.”

Starr glared. “What do you mean by that?”

Uh-oh. Rocky territory. Noah already knew the warning signs. Flashing eyes. A stiffened spine. And a tightness to her generous mouth worthy of a schoolmarm. Sheesh, she was prickly. One innocent little statement and she was ready to flatten him.

“Hell, Starr. Look at your life. You don’t exactly live by the rules.”

“Your rules, maybe.”

“Dammit. You’re deliberately misunderstanding me!” Noah waited a tense minute, not wanting to say something he’d regret. Starr’s life was her own concern. If she wanted to throw it away for some photographs, then he didn’t have the right to object. But he wanted to. He wanted to nail her shoes to the floor so she couldn’t take such wild chances. “You have an unusual life-style. Most people are a little more...”