Ranch At River's End. Brenda Mott

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СКАЧАТЬ But all she could picture were those dark eyes.

      The curtain parted and Darci nearly yelped.

      “So you’ve got quite the bump there,” Jordan said as he moved toward her, chart in hand.

      His professional voice was gentle, caring, and yet oh, so sexy.

      “I—I skipped breakfast and felt a little dizzy,” she said, unwilling to admit she’d flat-out fainted. She could have eaten the Grand Slam breakfast at the local Denny’s and she still would’ve passed out at the sight of Bruce Wilkins’s gaping head wound.

      “Mmm-hmm.” Jordan laid down the clipboard, lathered his hands to the elbows at the nearby sink, then snapped on a fresh pair of gloves before stepping up beside her.

      Was he going to touch her?

      Of course he was. He was a doctor after all. He could hardly examine her head from across the room. But right now Darci could use a little distance between them. The antiseptic smell of the hospital was overpowered by Jordan’s own clean scent. Soap, pure male and…what else? Words like woodsy and musky came to mind, but that wasn’t right either. Jordan didn’t strike her as the musky type.

      No. His scent was more like fresh squeezed limes and—

      Tequila, the imp prompted, inspiring images of body shots and salt and…good grief, she’d hit her head all right! And lost her mind in the process.

      Jordan frowned in concentration and gently touched the lump on her forehead.

      “Tender?” he asked.

      Darci winced. “Very.”

      She felt raw and vulnerable sitting there with his wonderful, strong and capable hands on her…and aching for more.

      It had been way too long since she’d enjoyed a man’s touch, or even a simple date for that matter. The threats Christopher had made at his former school in Northglenn had taken over their lives, consumed Darci day and night for the past several months.

      “Looks like you could use a couple of stitches,” Jordan said, jarring her from her thoughts. “Or maybe we can put some butterfly clamps on the laceration. Less scarring that way.”

      “Sounds good,” Darci said. She tried not to flinch as he tended to her wound.

      “There, that should do it. Don’t get it wet for a few days, and let me know if you notice any heat or further swelling. If the pain gets bad, take some Tylenol.”

      “What—not two aspirin and call you in the morning?” Darci blamed her head injury on the lame quip. Just because he’d eyeballed her a little when she’d first come in…or had he? Maybe she’d imagined it. But it didn’t matter anyway. Just didn’t mean a thing. For all she knew there was a Mrs. Cowboy Boots in the picture.

      So why couldn’t she quiet that damned imp in her head?

      Jordan studied her as he peeled off his gloves, then reached for a pen and notepad. He scribbled something, and Darci spoke quickly. “I don’t need a prescription. It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

      He handed over the scrap of paper and Darci looked at it and nearly choked. He’d jotted down a pair of phone numbers in a neat, looping scrawl unlike the stereotypical hard-to-read doctor’s handwriting.

      “Call me if you have any complications—excessive headache, vomiting, that sort of thing,” he said. “Either Dr. Samuels or I will be on call.”

      “Thanks.” Darci folded the slip of paper and put it in her purse.

      She could’ve looked up the hospital number in the phone book. Had he given her his home number?

      Don’t be silly.

      Maybe she could ask him to write out a prescription for her after all. One for a woman who’d been too long without a date. An anti-man drug. Maybe an antihistamine. Inwardly she snickered at her own lame humor.

      Lord, she’d had no idea a head injury could turn her into a ditz.

      CALL ME?

      Jordan put his key in the front-door lock and opened the dead bolt. What had he been thinking? There was no reason to have given Darci Taylor his home phone number in addition to the one at the hospital. At least it wasn’t his cell. He didn’t need to be bothered day and night with minor medical emergencies.

      But then, she probably wasn’t the type to do that anyway. Darci seemed like a strong, confident woman who took matters into her own hands.

      You want her to call.

      The voice inside his head taunted him as he deactivated the alarm and called out to Michaela that he was home.

      Darci had looked vulnerable as she sat in the exam room with a head injury, though. She obviously wasn’t cut out to work in the E.R. admittance. Maybe she’d get a job elsewhere and then he could stop thinking about her.

      Besides—he hadn’t been interested in a woman since Sandra had died. No point in starting now.

      “Mac!” he called again, using the nickname his daughter preferred.

      “In the kitchen, Dad.”

      She was at the table, eating a frozen yogurt and working on her laptop. The way her head was tilted, with her long, light brown hair caught up in a ponytail, she looked so much like her mother.

      Jordan’s chest tightened.

      “Is that homework?” She was allowed online, but with limited access.

      He had to protect his daughter.

      Michaela nodded. “I’m writing a report on the opening chapter of a book we’re reading.” She rolled her eyes. “Why do teachers always make us read boring things instead of something we’d actually like?”

      “Good question.” He bent and kissed the top of her head. “One that kids asked even in my generation.”

      “They had books back then?”

      “Very funny. What’s this?” He picked up a piece of paper from the countertop. A flyer about parent-teacher meetings and an open house being held at the school a week from Tuesday.

      “It’s a welcome-to-the-school-year thing,” Michaela said. “Sorta lame, but I guess we’re supposed to go.”

      “They’re serving refreshments,” he said. “At least we can score some cookies.”

      Michaela returned his grin. “You’ll like my homeroom teacher. She’s cool.”

      “Awesome. Can’t wait. How about we go out on the boat this weekend?”

      “Cool! Can Jenny come? We want to check out some new horse magazines.”

      The cabin cruiser slept four, and Michaela’s best friend often came along on overnight excursions as well as day trips.

      “We’ll СКАЧАТЬ