Читать книгу What The Cowboy Prescribes... - Mary Starleigh - Страница 10

Meg clicked on the kitchen light and set her grocery bag on the counter. She glanced at the wall clock above the stove. If there were no emergencies, she might get a decent night’s sleep.

If she could sleep.

What in the world was she going to do about the demands of the insurance company? There were no quick solutions. And to top it off, the incident at the café this afternoon had rattled her more than she liked to admit.

The tall, handsome image of Steve Hartly danced slowly through her exhausted thoughts. She couldn’t put her finger on what, but there was something very different about him.

She puffed out a deep breath.

Something different, indeed. She’d practically hyperventilated when she’d looked into his eyes.

Meg chuckled. Even as bushed as she was, she could still fantasize about a good-looking stranger. She shifted her attention and gazed out the window.

“What a stranger,” she whispered. He was unique, but strange? No. She’d felt quite at ease with him even though he hadn’t said much. And in those few short moments, she’d sensed he had some kind of worry on his mind.

Meg shrugged her shoulders. Oh well, she’d never see him again. She crossed the kitchen and stopped to check the answering machine. The green light held steady, thank goodness. She tapped the beeper attached to her waistband as if knocking on wood.

This afternoon she’d finished her office appointments, returned all telephone calls and completed her house visits. For the first time in three weeks, she was caught up on everything except sleep.

Maybe if I splash my face with cold water, I’ll feel better.

Back at the sink, Meg turned on the faucet, cupped her hands and splashed cold well water onto her face in an attempt to relieve the soreness in her eyes. Then she patted her hand on the counter, in search of a towel.

Darn! All her towels were in the hamper with the other laundry she planned on doing. As she straightened, droplets of water ran from her face and hair onto her collar. A knock brought her gaze to the locked screen door.

Steve Hartly stood on her back porch, outlined by the wooden frame, his image blurred by the gray mesh of the screen.

“Oh!” Meg’s heart raced against her ribs, her breath coming in quick puffs. Why was he standing on her porch out in the middle of nowhere?

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” His deep voice carried across the room to her.

“What in the world?” Meg’s chest heaved and her hand fluttered to her heart.

Steve’s expression turned to sheer surprise. “I saw a car…but didn’t realize it was…”

“What are you doing here?” Maybe he was strange. He could easily have waited and followed her home. The thought quickened her heartbeat, causing her chest to tighten.

“I saw a car and figured it was my neighbor.” Steve rested his hand against the doorjamb and squared his shoulders. Even through the screen the man looked extremely handsome.

“Where were you when you saw me?” Meg reached for a paper towel and patted her face dry, her heart still stampeding. At least the screen was locked.

“I own the house down the road.” His left hand went to his head and he scrubbed his hair with his fingers.

“You bought the Lemon House?”

“No.”

“If you bought the house down the road, then you own the Lemon House.” She pressed her fingers against her lips.

How in the world could he live in that dilapidated old place? And right down the road from her. She drew a wooden kitchen chair out from under the table and sat down.

He nodded. “Oh, Lemon House, right. I get it.”

“Everyone in town calls it that.” She stood. “Sorry I didn’t ask you in. Blame my bad manners on surprise.” Meg walked to the door, unlatched it, then pushed it open. “Please, come in.”

Steve filled the entire door frame with his brawny physique. Grime and dirt covered his jacket. A wave of sympathy rolled up Meg’s spine. The Lemon House’s condition was probably worse than she imagined. It had been years since she’d even been inside the abandoned place.

“Can I offer you a cold drink?”

“No thanks.” He looked around her bright kitchen.

“I didn’t think anyone would buy that old house.”

“I failed to ask the Realtor for details.” He smiled a little, and her breath caught in the back of her throat.

She stepped back a tiny bit and looked up at him. Steve was taller than she’d realized. “You don’t plan on staying there, do you?” The idea of him living in the falling down house didn’t sit comfortably with her.

“I came over to see if you know of a repairman. All the windows are broken out.…” He squared his shoulders again.

Meg held back a smile. It was hard to believe anything could daunt Steve Hartly. She studied the pained look on his face and another wave of sympathy moved through her.

“I might know of someone who can help you. Please, why don’t you sit down?” She found her own chair at the table.

Steve joined her and folded his hands in front of him. The fact that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring intrigued Meg.

Her gaze moved to his, and she found him staring at her. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thanks. Anybody else live around here?”

“Just me…and now you.”

The worry line between his dark brows deepened.

“Are you going to make some of the repairs yourself?” Her heart thumped hard in her throat. The man sitting across from her seemed to undermine her self-possession.

“I was planning on making the minor ones. Now I’m thinking about just renting a bulldozer and…”

“Oh, it can’t be that bad. Besides, Jackson has a great hardware store. Down the street from the café. Bowden’s. Family-owned. Saturday nights they sponsor a country-and-western dance at the Sunshine Café. People come from miles around to dance and have fun.”

“I’m not sure one small hardware store is going to have all the supplies I need.”

The man had such a sincere voice. She drew an invisible line on the table with an index finger, then shifted her attention back to him. “I haven’t been inside the Lemon House in years. Pretty bad?”

“Yeah.”

“I hope I thanked you properly for helping Erin.” She hadn’t talked to another doctor casually in a long time, and right now, it felt remarkably good to sit across from Steve.

“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.