What The Cowboy Prescribes.... Mary Starleigh

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СКАЧАТЬ 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. СКАЧАТЬ