Cowboy's Caress. Victoria Pade

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ across the lawn in pajamas and bare feet. No more consoling each other at the end of a bad date. No more double dates—good or bad. No more filling each other’s lonely hours with company. No more shared bowls of popcorn over tear-jerker movies on videotape to occupy empty Saturday nights. No more impromptu shopping trips or makeover sessions. No more battening down the hatches together in snowstorms. No more working together. No more just being there for each other when either of them needed it for any reason.

      But Carly didn’t want to think about the downside of leaving town. Instead, she did what she’d been doing to keep herself from dwelling on it since she’d finally decided to do this two months ago: she thought about San Francisco and New York. About seeing Vermont in autumn splendor. About the Alaskan wilderness. About Hawaiian beaches. About London and Paris and Rome and Brussels and Athens and Vienna and Madrid.

      About how much she’d always wanted to see it all for herself…

      “I still wish you’d come with me,” Carly said because that was true, too. She’d tried as long as she’d known Deana to infuse her friend with her own enthusiasm for seeing the world. Short of meeting the man of her dreams on the Orient Express in the middle of her travels, the only other thing that would make the trip perfect would be if Deana had the same wanderlust and they could do it together.

      But Carly could see Deana shaking her head even now.

      “There isn’t anything I want that isn’t in Elk Creek.”

      “Mr. Right,” Carly reminded.

      “He’ll show up one of these days,” Deana said with certainty. “And when he does, I don’t want to be somewhere else looking at bridges or mountains or leaves or churches or ruins or pyramids.”

      For as much as they were like two peas in a pod, this was the one area where they differed—Deana was a hometown girl through and through.

      And Carly wasn’t.

      Or at least Carly didn’t want to be.

      They headed into Elk Creek without fanfare just then. The small enclave’s main street—Center Street—was still deserted as Deana drove all the way to where it circled the town square. She turned at the corner taken up by the old Molner Mansion that had been converted into the local medical facility and stopped at the first house behind it. Carly’s house. The house her mother had left to her after her father’s death, when her mother had decided to move in with Carly’s two maiden aunts.

      It was a moderate-size yellow clapboard farmhouse with a big front porch, a second level slightly smaller than the lower and a man and a little girl at the oval-glassed front door.

      “Looks like you have company,” Deana observed as she drove around the station wagon parked at the curb and pulled into the driveway.

      “He’s not supposed to be here until the middle of the morning,” Carly groaned.

      “Apparently he arrived ahead of schedule.”

      “And I’ll bet I’m a mess.”

      Deana reached over and flipped down the visor on the passenger’s side so Carly could get a glimpse of herself.

      Carly sat up straighter and saw the unruly ends of her straight, shoulder-length auburn hair sticking up every which way at her crown. To get it out of her face she’d twisted it into a knot at the back of her head and jammed a pencil through it.

      The blush she’d applied for the party was a thing of the past, although luckily her skin had retained enough color of its own not to leave her looking sickly. Her mauve lipstick was history, too. Her mascara was still in place on longish lashes over topaz-colored eyes, but on the whole she knew she was the worse for wear.

      “Not much I can do about it now,” she muttered to her reflection as Deana put the idling car in park and got out.

      “If you need Carly Winters, I have her right here,” Deana called to the people on the porch. “Just give her a minute.”

      Then Deana opened the rear door and went around to the trunk for Carly’s crutches while Carly slid to the end of the seat to wait for them.

      “Hi,” she said feebly to her guests.

      Both the man and the little girl, who looked to be about five or six, had moved from the door to stand at the railing that edged the porch with turned spindles.

      The man raised one large hand to acknowledge her greeting.

      “Wow,” Deana said under her breath as she returned with the crutches, nodding over her shoulder only enough to let Carly know the exclamation was a commentary on the man himself.

      As if Carly wouldn’t have guessed.

      He was tall, no less than six-two, and he looked much more like a muscled, ranch-rugged cowboy than the town’s new doctor she assumed him to be.

      His hair was a pale, golden brown he wore short all over. His face had the distinctive McDermot lean angles and rawboned beauty Carly knew only too well since his brothers were residents of Elk Creek. His nose was long and thin and perfectly sculpted. His jaw was square and strong. And his lips were thin, kind and slightly sardonic all at once, not to mention way, way more sexy than Carly wanted to notice.

      “Need some help?” he asked when he noticed Carly’s dilemma, coming off the porch on long, thick legs that were bowed just enough to look as if they’d spent more time straddling a saddle than standing at an examining table.

      He wore faded jeans that rode low on narrow hips, and a plain white T-shirt that stretched tight across broad shoulders, powerful pectorals and bulging biceps that made Carly’s stomach do a little flip-flop when she got a closer glimpse of them as he joined her and Deana.

      “I think I can manage,” Carly said, trying to remember what she’d been taught at the hospital about maneuvering the crutches when her brain was really in a haze due to the man’s head-to-toe staggeringly masculine glory.

      “You must be Baxter McDermot,” she said feebly on her way onto the crutches.

      “Bax,” he amended.

      “Doctor McDermot,” Deana said with a hint of flirting in her tone that, for some reason, rubbed Carly wrong.

      In spite of it she said, “I’m Carly Winters and this is Deana Carlson.”

      “I apologize for showing up so early,” he said after a confirming nod of his handsome head. “We were in a motel for the night with World War III going on in the room next to us. We finally gave up tryin’ to sleep and figured we might as well finish the trip and catch a few winks when we got here.”

      “Sure. Of course. There’s just been a little setback on this end,” Carly said, leaning her weight on the crutches and honing in on gorgeous sea-foam green eyes that stamped him a McDermot without a doubt.

      “You aren’t leaving town and don’t want to hand your house over to us,” he guessed with a glance down at her bandaged ankle.

      “I’m afraid I had an accident last night and I’m going to have to put off leaving until I’m healed up.”

      “It’s okay. We can stay СКАЧАТЬ