His Motherless Little Twins. Dianne Drake

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      CHAPTER THREE

      “WHY, I do believe you’re flustered, Dinah.” A smile crept to Angela’s face as Dinah paced back and forth in the tiny hospital waiting room. “He is handsome, though, isn’t he? Nice man. Smart. Good doctor, too.”

      “But is he married?”

      “Oh, my…I guess you wouldn’t know, would you?”

      “Know what?”

      “That he’s a widower. I don’t know the circumstances, except that it happened a long time ago, before he moved to White Elk.”

      Horror heaped on humiliation. She’d kissed him then accused him of something terrible. “He wears a wedding ring.”

      Her sister raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “I guess it’s hard for him to let go. Is there something you want to tell me, Dinah?”

      She shook her head, too upset to speak. From the moment he’d run into her on the road until now, nothing had been right between them except, perhaps, the way they’d worked together. Admittedly, that had been brilliant. A perfect medical union. Rare, especially for two strangers.

      The kiss had been perfect, too. More perfect than she’d known a kiss could be. But she couldn’t tell her sister because that kiss had been a huge mistake. Had meant nothing. After all, she’d been kissed before, and no kiss in her life had ever meant a thing. So, why should this one?

      “Well, for what it’s worth,” Angela said, breaking into Dinah’s thoughts, “I’ve hardly ever seen him come up to Pine Ridge, so once you’re settled in there, and working, you probably won’t run into him again. If that’s what you want. At least, until I have my baby and you have to come to the hospital and visit me. And maybe you can work that out so you won’t be here when he is.” She laughed, and a wide grin spread over her face. “Unless you want to be where he is.”

      “I’m not interested,” Dinah insisted.

      “I didn’t say you were.”

      “But that’s what you were thinking.”

      “What I was thinking was that you’re a little too…” She faked a frown, pretended to think. “What’s the word I’m looking for? Is it…preoccupied? You’re a little too preoccupied by the man. Or obsessed.”

      “Am not!” Dinah argued as yet another good, firm, and very telling blush spread over her cheeks on account of Eric.

      “Whatever you say.”

      “I say I’m not preoccupied. And I’m not obsessed, either.”

      “Whatever you say.”

      “I said I’m not!” Dinah protested again, yet the heat kept rising in her, along with the timbre of her voice. OK, so she’d never been a very good liar. As a child, that little trait had been the bane of her existence, like when she’d tried to explain away the missing candy from the bowl on her grandmother’s coffee table, or when she’d been late to school. “And I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Even though, avoidance was a good plan. If she avoided Eric, there would be no more hostilities, no more humiliation. No more kisses. The problem was, she wanted to see him. Bad problem. Bad, bad problem. Because she didn’t know why. Which caused the heat in her cheeks to positively flame.

      What the hell had that been about? Eric kicked the trash can next to his desk, knocking it over, spilling out the paper contents. It had been about a kiss, that’s what. And now he felt as guilty as hell. Sure, he was a red-blooded man. He hadn’t been without certain desires all this time. But desiring and acting on those desires were two different things, and he wasn’t ready to act on them. Had never come close to acting on them, and suddenly, that was the only thing on his mind.

      Five years was a long time—a lifetime of feeling married yet not having his wife here. But that’s what his life had turned into. And he didn’t regret it, because he truly wasn’t ready to change things. The girls needed their mother’s memory kept alive, and he was the only one who could do that. They were so young, and all they knew were the things he told them, so how could it be time to move past that point?

      Swallowing hard, Eric looked at Patricia’s picture on his desk. God, he missed her. His friends, even Janice kept telling him it was time to get on with his life, but he didn’t feel like it was time. He was waiting for…well, he wasn’t sure. Maybe a sign? Or, a push?

      But not a kiss. That had been a mistake. Still, it had been a nice kiss, one that had reaffirmed the fact that he still had passions, albeit buried pretty deeply. Big mistake, though, because the feelings that had come immediately after…Then practically being accused of cheating on his wife when, in fact, that’s exactly what he felt like, pounded him hard. He hadn’t kissed a woman other than Patricia for ten years. Hadn’t ever wanted to. So what was it about Dinah that had caused that to happen? And make no mistake, he’d been the one to step up to her and pull her into his arms. His initiative, his kiss.

      He felt like hell for it. Pure hell.

      What’s more, he didn’t trust himself not to do it again.

      Bending down, he righted the trash can, then stood back up and studied it for a moment. Then kicked it again.

      “You’re stirring that sauce like a woman possessed.”

      Dinah spun away from the stove and almost bumped into Eric. She’d thought about him a thousand times these past few days, thought about the kiss, too, and would have called him, ostensibly to check on Bryce, even though she’d been kept up to date with the baby’s progress via her sister. Which left her no reason to call Eric and stir things up between them again, except she did want to apologize for what she’d said. She’d even considered driving down to White Elk to set things straight with him. But how could she face him when she’d practically accused him of being a liar and a cheat?

      Avoidance was easier, she decided. She and Eric didn’t have any kind of relationship going, they owed each other nothing, had no expectations. So, for her, this was the best thing to do. She was good at it, had had a lifetime of practice. “You’re not supposed to be in the kitchen. Didn’t you see the sign on the door?”

      “I did.” He stepped a little closer, looking into the saucier on the stovetop. “Hollandaise sauce?”

      “Bordelaise. And you can’t be in here, looking at my Bordelaise.”

      “Actually, I can. I’m one of the on-call county health inspectors. It gets me into pretty much any place I want to go. Including your kitchen.”

      His brown eyes twinkled so brightly СКАЧАТЬ