Undercover Bodyguard. Shirlee McCoy

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      THREE

      No way was Shelby ever going to let Dr. Jarrod Estes sew her up. She’d dated the man for about two minutes after she’d found Andrew and Stephanie kissing outside of Andrew’s apartment building. One date with the most sought-after bachelor at Grace Christian Church, because Shelby had wanted to feel as if she wasn’t the biggest loser on the planet. One date had been plenty. Jarrod had spent more time checking his text messages than talking to her, and Shelby had decided there and then that she was done with the dating scene.

       Done.

       Finished.

       No more men.

       Ever.

       She’d made some lame excuse about leaving an oven on at the bakery and excused herself halfway through the entrée. Now the man she’d ditched on their first date was coming at her with a needle.

       “Really, Jarrod, I don’t think stitches are necessary.” She eased off the exam table, her bare toes curling against cold tile, the acrid scent of smoke wafting from her hair.

       Smoke from the explosions and fire that had killed Maureen.

       Tears clogged her throat, but she’d already cried so much that her eyes were hot and dry.

       “Shelby, I know you’ve had a tough morning, and I know you’re anxious to get out of here and take some time to grieve, but you do need stitches.” Jarrod dropped the needle back on the tray, glanced at his watch and sighed. “Tell you what, why don’t I call Dottie and have her come to hold your hand?”

       “Do not call Dottie.” That was the last thing Shelby needed.

       “How about one of your friends, then? Someone from church? Jasmine or Faith?” He leaned forward in his chair, a hint of impatience in his tone.

       “I wouldn’t want them to drive all the way here. Besides, I’m opting out of the stitches. I’m sure my head will heal just fine.”

       “It’s going to scar,” he warned.

       “I can think of worse things.” She scooped up her clothes and the jacket Ryder had thrown over her shoulders. Since Jarrod didn’t seem keen on leaving the room, she’d find a restroom and change there. Sure, Ryder had said he’d bring Mazy to the hospital, but Shelby had seen the look in his eyes, and she figured he was about as likely to follow through as she was to let Jarrod stitch her up. She hadn’t even bothered calling someone to come get the dog.

      The only good man is a dead husband with a good life-insurance policy.

       Another one of Beulah’s truisms. One Shelby’s mother and sister wholeheartedly believed. Shelby had tried to believe something different. She’d opened herself up to love, tried to create what Beulah and her mother had insisted was impossible—forever with a man who loved her for who she was.

       Tried twice times, actually.

       Once in college.

       Once with Andrew.

       Both had been disastrous.

       She didn’t plan to try again.

       “Thanks for everything, Jarrod. See you at church Sunday.” She yanked the door open, colliding with a rock-hard chest.

       “What’s the hurry, Shelby Ann?” Broad hands grabbed her waist as she caught her balance.

       She knew the voice, the hands, the dark chocolate eyes that stared into hers.

       Ryder.

       Her heart jumped in acknowledgment, her body humming with an awareness she knew she shouldn’t be feeling. “You came.”

       “I said I would,” he responded, frowning slightly. “Is your friend around here somewhere? That dog and I aren’t getting along, and I want her out of my car ASAP.”

       “Mazy gets along with everyone.”

       “She’s not getting along with me. So, where’s your friend?” He glanced at Jarrod, at the otherwise empty hospital room and then turned the full force of his gaze on Shelby again.

       Yep. Dark chocolate eyes. Only they weren’t sweet, they were hard and intense.

       “I…didn’t call anyone. I didn’t think you’d actually come. You can just leave her…”

       “Where?”

       “Well…” Where could he leave her? “Just give me a minute to get changed and I’ll get her.” She tried to step past him, but he blocked her path.

       “It’s going to take more than a minute to get your head stitched up.” He edged her backward.

       “I’m not planning to have it stitched up.”

       “Shelby, will you please just let me get this done?” Jarrod asked, exasperated and not even trying to hide it.

       “Fine.” She walked back to the exam table, dropped her clothes and the coat on the chair beside it.

       “Don’t worry. You’re going to feel this first stick, and then you won’t feel a thing.” Jarrod leaned toward her, the needle pointed straight at her face, and she felt every bit of blood drain from her head.

       “You’re not going to faint, are you?” Ryder put a hand on her shoulder.

       “That would be preferable to the alternative.”

       “Which would be?”

       “Staying conscious for the entire horrifying procedure.”

       Ryder laughed, the sound rusty and gruff. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

       “I guess that depends on which side of the needle you’re on.” Shelby winced as Jarrod shot her with the anesthetic.

       “That’s the worst of it, Shelby. Let’s give it a minute to take effect. So—” Jarrod turned his attention to Ryder “—were you at Maureen’s, too?”

       “Yes.” Ryder didn’t offer more than that, and Shelby wondered if Jarrod would take the hint and stop СКАЧАТЬ