Doctor For Keeps. KRISTI GOLD

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СКАЧАТЬ courtyard where every word we say bounces off the swimming pool. We’ll be out of Redneck’s earshot, and you can run if you get the urge.”

      “Are you saying you’re going to give me a reason to run?”

      His frown didn’t detract from his gorgeous face. “Do I look that threatening to you?”

      Yes, he did. In a too-sexy-for-his-clothes kind of way. And the way she was feeling right now… “Maybe.”

      He leaned forward, allowing her another good whiff of his cologne and a search of his dark gaze. The moonlight danced off the blue highlights in his hair. His olive skin looked smooth and touchable above the slight shading of whiskers on his jaw. Miranda had the strongest urge to find out how touchable it was. Her hands actually itched at the prospect. She clamped them together to keep from doing just that.

      “I promise I’ll keep my distance,” he said, “if you’ll promise to join me. I’m just in the mood for company. Besides, it’s too nice a night to go to bed.”

      Miranda half expected him to add “alone.” When he didn’t, she considered his request for a moment. What could one drink on a porch hurt? A little adventure? Her instincts told her to take a chance. After all, that’s what she had done by moving here and accepting a new job, determined to start a new life. She had built a cocoon around her world for most of her twenty-five years. It was high time to slowly unravel it.

      “Okay, one drink.” She pointed at him. “But just one. I have to be up early.”

      His smile lit up the night. “Good.”

      When Rick held out his free hand, Miranda stared at it for a moment, then curled her fingers around his and allowed him to help her up. Once she was standing, he let her go. For some reason that disappointed her.

      She trailed behind him and waited outside until he returned from the apartment with two spindle-backed dining-room chairs, sans saxophone.

      “So what will it be, milk or orange juice?” he asked. “Or I have beer.”

      “Beer,” Miranda blurted out. Lord, why did she say that? She didn’t even like the stuff.

      “A beer it is. I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, then disappeared into the apartment.

      Miranda took the chair near the boxwood hedge, farthest from the door, and closest to the walkway. Just in case.

      She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs from her common sense. She must be nuts for agreeing to this. For heaven’s sake, he was a stranger, albeit a beautiful one. But she had to admit she was more than a bit curious about him. For instance, why on earth had he extended the invitation to her when the man could have his choice of women?

      Okay, so the complex wasn’t buzzing with buxom blondes this time of night on a Sunday. Obviously Musician Rick had invited her—thistle-thin with waist-length, straight-as-a-two-by-four, mousy-brown hair—because she was the only woman available.

      “Here.” He handed an amber bottle of beer over her shoulder. She studied the dusting of dark hair that extended up his arm. She found his strong square fingers fascinating. She found every inch of him fascinating.

      Miranda finally took the bottle and held it up to the porch light. “I don’t recognize the name.” Not that she would. “Import?”

      “Domestic.” He dropped down into the chair next to hers. “It’s a small brewery from the Hill Country. My friend’s favorite. If you don’t like it, I’ll bring you something else.”

      “It’s fine.” She wasn’t fond of any kind of beer, so it didn’t matter if it was made with Rocky Mountain spring water or well-water from Amarillo. But she didn’t want to be rude.

      He took a long draw from his beer, then asked, “How long have you been living here at the complex?”

      She thought a minute. The past two weeks had gone by in a whirl of planning and unpacking. The first few steps toward true independence. “Fifteen days, almost sixteen.”

      He stretched his long legs out in front of him with a panther-like grace. “Are you from here?”

      “Actually, no.” She stared off at the twinkling Dallas skyline, so unlike the rural horizon she had grown up with and eventually taken for granted. “I’m from a small town near the Louisiana border. Far-east Texas.”

      “You’re a long way from home.” As he took another drink, Miranda watched his Adam’s apple contract and followed the path below where she glimpsed a gold chain and another shading of dark hair peeking out from his open shirt.

      She dragged her gaze back to his face and tried to concentrate on polite conversation. “How about you? Where are you from?”

      “San Antonio.”

      The two times she’d been to San Antonio, she’d loved its romantic ambience. Not that she’d ever traveled there with a man. She had always dreamed about it, though. “That’s a beautiful place.”

      He tipped the bottle toward her. “I bet you like the downtown area. Alamo. River Walk.”

      “How did you guess?”

      “Easy. You have romantic eyes.”

      She laughed. “Define ‘romantic eyes.”’

      Rick inclined his head and locked into her gaze. “Wistful. Wise, like you’ve seen more than most people your age.”

      She hadn’t traveled much, hadn’t even left Texas to obtain her nursing degree, but she had seen a lot of heartache. More than she cared to admit. And somehow he knew that. Maybe in reality he was an undercover FBI agent. Maybe he was psychic.

      Maybe you need to get a grip on the imagination, Miranda Jane.

      She smiled nervously. “I’m just a country girl who’s moved to the city. I suspect I’ll see a lot more of the world in the next few months.”

      “What do you do for a living?” he asked.

      “I’m a registered nurse.”

      He pulled his legs in and sat forward in the chair, seemingly interested in the revelation. “No kidding? Hospital or doctor’s office?”

      “I work for a group of doctors.” Or she would as of tomorrow, a reminder of why she needed to go home. But right now her cluttered apartment didn’t seem as appealing as the man sitting next to her.

      He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Tough profession. Why’d you choose it?”

      It took great effort for Miranda to mask her surprise over his intuitiveness. “Does there have to be a reason?”

      “I’ve found that most health-care professionals have some motivating life experience that affects their choice.”

      She did have one very prominent motivating force, but she didn’t want to go into that with a perfect stranger, no matter how perfect he seemed to be. “Actually, I wonder sometimes what possessed me to do it. I don’t like most doctors.”

      He СКАЧАТЬ