Cowboy at the Crossroads. Linda Warren

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      There was a long pause. “Nicki doesn’t do well in an office environment. I was hoping I could persuade you to come out to the ranch and see her.”

      This time Becca was the one who was startled, but it didn’t take her long to decide. “I can do that. As a matter of fact, I have the afternoon free. Why don’t I drive out there today.”

      “Thank you so much,” he said earnestly. “Do you remember where we are?”

      “Yes. But Cord…you have to understand that I treat the body. Nicki may need a psychologist. I’ve had courses, but it’s not my specialty.”

      “Just see her, that’s all I ask. Colton says you’re a very good doctor—and I trust his judgment.”

      “Fine. I’ll be there around four o’clock.”

      As Becca hung up the phone, she wondered what else Colton had told him about her. She shook her head. What did that matter? Nicki Prescott needed help, and she had to do everything she could.

      CORD REPLACED THE RECEIVER with a long sigh. He remembered how comforting Becca had been the day of the funeral. He’d been so overwhelmed by anger, disillusionment and pain that he didn’t remember much, but he remembered Becca. And she would help his baby. She had to.

      He hurried down the hall to the kitchen. Della, the housekeeper, was sitting on a stool, peeling potatoes. At sixty-five, Della was a high-strung woman who never seemed to tire or lose energy. She’d been with the Prescott family since Cord was a young boy. Her hair was now gray and her blue eyes not as sharp, but in other ways she was unchanged.

      “What are we having for supper?” he asked.

      “Roast. Why?” She didn’t look up, just kept on peeling potatoes.

      “Because Dr. Talbert’s coming to see Nicki, and I’m going to invite her to eat with us.”

      “Dr. Talbert?” Della raised her head, frowning. “Isn’t that Colton’s…friend? Becca, right?”

      “Yes.”

      “Does Colton know she’s coming?”

      “No, and what difference does it make?” There was a note of exasperation in his voice that he couldn’t hide. He hadn’t called Colton because he didn’t want a lot of people around. He wanted to keep this as private as possible, for Nicki’s sake.

      “None whatsoever,” Della replied, returning to her potatoes.

      “Becca will be here to see Nicki, that’s all.”

      “It’s time someone helped that child. She can’t go on like this much longer.”

      “I know. That’s why I want this evening to be special—calm and quiet—so Becca can interact with Nicki.”

      “Does the queen of the house know you’re having a guest for supper?”

      “I don’t give a damn what Blanche thinks.”

      “Your mother doesn’t like it when things are done without her knowledge.”

      “You can tell Blanche—” He stopped and took a breath. “Never mind, I’ll handle Blanche. Just prepare an extra-special meal.”

      Della glanced at him. “You’re very excited about this.”

      “I am. My daughter’s life depends on it.”

      AS BECCA WAS TRYING TO DECIDE what to wear, she thought about Nicki. The child should have adjusted to her mother’s death by now, but it was hard to judge with children. Trauma affected them differently. Becca could still hear her saying in that pitiful little voice, “I can’t find my mommy.” Death was so hard to explain to children, and Becca wasn’t convinced she could help Nicki. However, she’d certainly try.

      She dressed in a tan pantsuit and brown blouse, then brushed her long brown hair and let it hang loose down her back. Working or at school, she always wore it pinned up or clipped at the nape of her neck. As a teenager, her hair was much longer, an unruly mane that used to drive Emily crazy. But these days Emily never complained about Becca’s hair. Considering everything that had happened in their lives, they got along exceptionally well.

      Becca stared at her brown eyes and olive complexion in the mirror. Everyone said she was looking more and more like her mother. Becca had always thought Emily was beautiful, but she didn’t feel she was. Emily had a grace and sophistication that Becca felt she lacked. Becca was more down-to-earth in both temperament and appearance. She had far less patience than Emily and often lost her temper. Emily never did, and Becca envied that about her. Becca envied everything about her wonderful mother; maybe that was her problem.

      She applied lipstick and forced herself to stop thinking. All this free time, all this soul-searching, was making her feel confused. And she wasn’t confused—she just needed to get her life and goals in perspective and then everything else would fall into place. Like her social life. Gin said she didn’t have one, but Gin was wrong. She’d dated several interns, and each occasion had proved to be an exercise in restraint. They thought sex was the normal conclusion to a date. She didn’t. She wanted love and passion—not just sex. Emily had told her when she was a teenager that sex without love was just an act and she would know when the time was right. So far, that time hadn’t happened for her. In high school, her boyfriend Tommy had pressed her continually for sex, but she’d never taken that step. Not with him or with any other man.

      When she’d found out about her birth, her world had been turned upside down and she rebelled, dating guys Rose and Emily disapproved of. Still, she couldn’t degrade herself by sleeping with boys she didn’t care about merely to punish her family. Later she was so busy with her studies that love eluded her, and she refused to have sex without it. Her feelings on the matter had to do with her upbringing and with Emily’s influence. Now she was older and knew more about sex and life, but her standards hadn’t changed. She was waiting for the right man…and love. Any nice guys left out there? One came to mind and she quickly grabbed her purse. She didn’t want to keep a nice guy waiting.

      BECCA HEADED FOR INTERSTATE 10 and drove out of Houston toward Beaumont. The city gave way to farmland and ranchland. Soon she saw the stone and wrought-iron entrance. The sign—Triple Creek. Prescott Ranch—appeared on a high arc above the cattle guard. She drove through, between wood rail fences, watching the grass sway gently in the breeze and the cows and horses grazing. The land was mostly flat with creeks and valleys; here and there she noticed some beautiful old oak trees.

      The white stone ranch house came into view. Sprawling and roomy, it had a long front veranda with stone pillars and a wrought-iron fence that enclosed the backyard. She parked in front, grabbed her medical bag and walked to the door. She rang the bell, which she heard resounding throughout the house.

      Cord opened the door, and for a moment Becca was speechless. He had on worn boots and jeans with a blue cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled up. His dark blond hair was combed neatly and curled onto his collar. His mustache and honed masculine features told Becca that here was a true Texas cowboy. That wasn’t an idle impression. She knew from what Colton had said that Cord’s appearance was a true reflection of his personality and his calling.

      His mustache moved slightly as he said, “Come in, please. СКАЧАТЬ