Читать книгу What The Cowboy Prescribes... - Mary Starleigh - Страница 12

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.

Steve stopped in the kitchen doorway. Meg’s shiny hair was tousled and she looked sleepy and warm. She was wearing jeans and a pale blue T-shirt. The softness of the shirt outlined her delicate shoulders and hugged her full breasts. A tiny red logo stretched across the supple curve of her bottom. His glance traced down to her bare feet. A slash of pink nail polish caught his eye before his gaze drifted up again.

The rich fragrance of coffee filled the air. Sniffing, he enjoyed the homey smell. “Good morning,” he said, managing to keep his tone of voice neutral.

She met his gaze with a welcoming smile. Her face was bare of any makeup and she looked natural and pretty. “I thought I heard you. How about some coffee?”

“Sounds good.” His body loosened a little. He couldn’t stop staring at her. He hadn’t been with a woman in the gray, quiet morning for a long time. And standing in the doorway of the kitchen studying Meg caused him to feel, for a split second, alive and at peace with himself.

Meg turned back to the coffeepot and checked it. Steve remained in the doorway, and she felt his eyes on her. She tried not to enjoy the idea that he might be admiring her as she pulled two cups down from the cabinet.

Suddenly she yawned as she placed the mugs on the counter. Early this morning Steve’s voice had woken her. At first she’d sat straight up in bed, her heart pounding but then she’d remembered he was in the next room. She’d fallen back against the pillow, her heart still thumping.

As she listened, he’d moaned a little and called out in a husky, sleep-ridden voice. She couldn’t decipher anything he said; the only thing she knew for sure was that his voice was filled with torment.

“Coffee smells good,” he said from the doorway.

She glanced over her shoulder and motioned him into the room. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah.” He remained where he stood, his body filling much of the space. “How about yourself?”

She nodded despite the fact she hadn’t been able to go back to sleep after his nightmare. All she could do was lie in the dark and think…about him.

She wanted to question him now, but knew she needed to mind her own business at six o’clock in the morning. Besides, after last night, she knew that kind of conversation would be much too intimate, and she was afraid he’d bolt. She needed to keep emotionally distant from him, for the clinic’s sake.

She placed the mugs on the table and poured coffee into them. He found a chair and sat. “Thanks.”

Smiling, she took a seat with the glass coffeepot still in her hand. “I bet you take it black.”

He nodded.

“So do I. Learned to drink coffee that way in med school.” She set the glass pot on the table.

“Yeah, me, too.”

She lifted her mug to her lips and took a sip. “Good. Hot, though.”

He reached across the table and outlined the name embossed on the mug. “Jim? A boyfriend?”

She smiled. “Hardly. It’s my dad’s. Mom gave it to me after I graduated from med school, before she moved to Galveston. It’s about the only thing I have of his. I drink my coffee from it every day. Kind of a ritual. He’s the reason I went into medicine. Whenever I feel like I can’t go on, I think of my dad.”

“He’s gone?”

“Yes.” She brought the coffee to her lips again, trying not to give in to the memories. She didn’t want to talk about her father right now.

“You must miss him.”

Her chest ached with the statement and she knew she’d better change the subject. “Remember pulling thirty-six-hour shifts in med school and drinking this stuff by the gallon?” Meg rubbed her fingers against the blue porcelain, hoping to crush the tiny hurt starting in her heart.

“I don’t miss those days, but it sounds like you’re still working just as hard.”

“Sometimes. It comes in cycles. There are days when I’m so busy I need to be three people, then it slows down enough so I can catch my breath.” Meg smiled wryly.

“That sounds like a tough way to live and work.”

“How are you going to make a living here in Jackson?”

Steve shrugged. “I’ve saved enough money for two years. By then I’ll figure out something.”

So he really wasn’t planning on practicing. Frustrated and confused, Meg picked up the coffeepot and reached back to place it on the heating element. Pyrex glass connected with the tile countertop, a loud crack sounded and coffee splattered everywhere.

“Oh, heavens, what a mess.” Embarrassed, she stood, pushed back her chair and stepped toward the sink. A shard of glass pierced her bare foot, causing a jolt of pain. “Ouch,” she yelped. The wound was deep in the fleshy part of her foot.

Before she could reach the chair, Steve hastened to her side. “Take it easy,” he said gently. He helped her sit, then knelt in front of her.