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“Who says I do? Mother keeps me informed about Flat Fork’s favorite son.”
Holding still under her ministrations, he nevertheless managed to look astonished that Joycelyn Holt, Flat Fork’s preeminent society matron and wife of the Honorable Judge Jonathan Holt, might deign to notice a lowly cowboy. “You don’t say?”
“Certainly. You’re a bona fide celebrity. By all accounts, you lead quite a life.”
“Yeah, I’ve got the world by the tail, all right.” Somehow his answer seemed too hearty. “The traveling is murder, though. You know what they say—if the rodeo doesn’t kill you, the commute will.”
Mercy frowned over the last series of knots. To a healer like her, Travis’s jocularity was disturbing. She had proof right before her eyes of the hazards he faced every time he entered a rodeo chute. Not to mention certain other questions that had her professional intuition raising red flags where Travis King was concerned.
“Travis, have you ever had problems with—?”
Sandy, even more breathless than before, burst into the cubicle, cutting off the question. “Dr. Holt, we need you now. This mother isn’t going to make it to Maternity!”
“Oh, Lord. Finish up for me, will you?” She passed needle and clamp to the nurse. Mercy was peeling off her gloves, already halfway to the door, throwing an apology over her shoulder. “Sorry, Travis. Sandy will take good care of you. And don’t you go anywhere until I see you again. You got that?”
“No, ma’am, I won’t.” Flat on his back, waiting for the nurse to finish, Travis’s voice was grim. “You can bet on it.”
Mercy hesitated at the door, already regretting her unaccustomed sharpness, regretting... everything. “For what it’s worth, Travis, it is good to see you again. I’ll be back.”
One ulcer, a broken arm, a set of twins and a case of pneumonia later, Mercy snatched up Travis’s X rays from the pile on the admitting desk and hurried toward his cubicle.
Weariness sat on her shoulders like a heavy overcoat. Thankfully it was nearing the end of her shift, but she doubted that she’d be allowed to get away on schedule. Not that she was in any rush to get home to an empty apartment. She felt restless, unsettled; and the thought of facing another frozen dinner and then falling into her unmade bed, as was her routine, held no appeal.
She stifled a tired sigh. Well, it was her life. She’d chosen it, worked damned hard to get it, and she wasn’t complaining. No, she loved the work, the challenges, the rush of adrenaline that dealing with a multitude of life-and-death decisions every night entailed. Only the rigors of it left precious little time for anything or anyone else.
She thought briefly about losing Kenny, her first love, and about her disastrous marriage a year later. Despite the society wedding of the season, Rick Hulen hadn’t wasted much time before he’d left for greener pastures in the arms of another woman. Just as well she’d concentrated on her profession since then. Relationships obviously weren’t her thing.
Mercy shook her head. She wasn’t usually so morose. It had to be seeing Travis again that had brought on this melancholy. But before she could go home and put this mood behind her, she had to deal with this visitor from her past. It wasn’t as though they had anything in common any longer. For all his success, Travis was still a Texas tumbleweed, risking his life blowing around the rodeo circuit. Considering everything, the sooner the devilish wind that had blown him into her E.R. tonight blew him back out again, the better.
Drawing the X rays from their manila folder, she bumped open the cubicle door with her hip. Travis had pulled on his shirt again and was sprawled in a chair, brawny arms across his chest, long legs outstretched in loose-limbed elegance, black hat tipped over his face.
Mercy couldn’t repress a smile. During their early rodeo days, she’d contended that he and Kenny could nap anywhere, even on a bale of barbed wire. Both sons of ranchers, it was a part of the rodeo life they loved, weekend to weekend, hitting every competition they could, earning points toward the big time. They’d put thousands of miles on Kenny’s old truck before that fateful night.... Her smile faded.
Travis stirred, tilting his hat back to reveal the neat white bandage gracing his temple, watching her as she shoved the films into the viewer. “Back so soon, blue eyes?”
“Sorry about the delay.” Chewing her lip, she studied the X rays. “This looks okay.”
“Great.” Stretching, he stood. “I’ll be glad to get out of here.”
“Not so fast. I’m going to admit you overnight for observation.”
He scowled darkly. “The hell you will! I feel fine.”
“From what I can see, you aren’t fine.”
“Hey, my head’s harder than it looks—”
“It’s not your head I’m worried about. It’s the area of numbness in your leg and back that concerns me.” She rattled off a technical explanation about nerve injury and spinal compression. “I’ll schedule some tests first thing in the morning and then—”
“Forget it, Mercy.”
She exhaled slowly, fighting exasperation. “Who’s the doctor here? Be reasonable.”
Travis hooked a thumb in his belt loop and gave her a wry look. “The only thing’s the matter with me is I’ve got a hole in my belly that only a twenty-ounce sirloin can plug. When do you check out of this place ? We can get you one, too.”
“I rarely eat red meat anymore.”
“Maybe you should. You could use a little padding on those bones.” His grin under his mustache was persuasive, tempting. “I know this terrific little place out on Rosemont. Great steaks, mushrooms in wine sauce, the works.”
“Travis, this is important. These tests—”
“Can wait, can’t they?”
She hesitated. “That wouldn’t be wise.”
“I mean, I’m not liable to keel over on the sidewalk, am I?”
“No, but—”
He nodded. “There you have it.”
Feeling frustrated, she tried again. “I can’t emphasize enough the need to follow up on this as soon as possible. I don’t want to alarm you, but the ramifications could be serious.”
“Darlin’ I’m not spending the night in this hospital, for one very good reason.”
“And that is?”
With a conspiratorial glance from side to side, he leaned close, whispering in her ear. “Those little gowns they give you. Too drafty.”
She shivered at the warmth of his breath and the faintest touch of velvety mustache brushing her earlobe, then stepped back to glare at him. “This isn’t a joking matter.”
He inspected the fatigue in the set of her shoulders and his smile died. “Maybe not. Look, I’ll make you a deal. You let me buy you some dinner tonight, and we’ll discuss it further.”
A distant tremor of consternation tickled Mercy’s spine. Travis was a part of her past she’d put behind her a long time ago. It wouldn’t pay to resurrect it. “I don’t need dinner,” she said firmly. “And you do need the tests.”
“Even doctors have to eat.”
“I’m not good company after a busy shift. Besides, it may be another hour or two before I can finish up.”
“I got no place to be.”
“But—”
“Come on, Mercy. Quit giving me a hard time. Unless there’s a boyfriend waiting in the wings?”
“No.”
He gave her a hooded look. “I heard you were married.”
“Old news.” Her words were flat. “It was over a long time ago.”
His voice dropped, became husky and persuading. “Then for old time’s sake.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said honestly, and was surprised at the swift flicker of something almost like pain behind his dark eyes.
“You’re a hard-hearted woman, Mercy Holt,” he said, joking again, whatever she’d witnessed disappearing so quickly she thought she’d imagined it. “All right, you drive a mean bargain. Have pity on a lonesome cowboy tonight, and help me feed the inner man, and I’ll see to those tests in a day or two.”
Her teeth clicked together in annoyance. “That’s blackmail.”
Unrepentant, his expression bland, he said, “It’s up to you.”
She gave him a suspicious look. “You won’t weasel out on me?”
He crossed his heart. “Scout’s honor.”
What harm could it do? She was a grown woman, capable of spending time with an old friend without letting the past jumble up her emotional landscape. She didn’t have to make a federal case out of a simple dinner, even if her nerves were shot and she was as skittish as a newborn filly. At least she’d have the satisfaction of knowing her bullheaded patient was going to receive the care he needed.
“All right, then,” she said slowly.
“Gee, such enthusiasm could really go to a guy’s head.” His tone was dry.
“Never satisfied, are you, cowboy?”
His dark eyes gleamed. “Not often, darlin’. That’s what makes me a winner.”
No doubt about it. He was losing his touch.
Travis parked his custom, ebony pickup truck with the World Champion logo on the door and the PRCA—Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association—bumper sticker on the tailgate in front of Mercy’s town house. The building complex sat in an unpretentious neighborhood not far from the Ft. Worth Botanical Gardens. At three o’clock on a cold Halloween morning, there wasn’t much activity anywhere. In fact, nothing stirred, including the blond head resting on his shoulder.
He stifled a rueful grin. Lord, he would take a hell of a ribbing if his rodeo buddies could see him now! “Love‘em and Leave’em” King—who could squire his choice of luscious rodeo groupies, who had them lined up by the eager dozens to take their chances with the champion bull rider and ladies’ man—had bored his companion into a sound sleep. And after all the trouble he’d taken to change his shirt and clean up in the hospital rest room, too!
Of course, Mercy hadn’t drifted off until after he’d plied her with a steak dinner, a little red wine and a lot of cowboy blarney. Sipping his own iced tea—the hardest thing he drank these days—he’d been pleased to watch her across the candlelit table and see the tension in her lovely features melt away.
But what had she thought? That after taking unmerciful advantage of her concern for him, he would insist on plunging into some sort of postmortem of their aborted friendship? He had a greater instinct for self-preservation than that.
So he’d kept it light, and she’d actually laughed a time or two, something Travis had the feeling was all too rare for a gal who worked as hard and saw as much wounded humanity as she obviously did Still, he didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered that she’d dozed off on the way home.
Shifting his weight, he settled Mercy more comfortably under his arm. A wavy cloud of honey-colored hair drifted against his cheek. Her fresh floral scent enveloped him, evoking a deep quiver of something basic and male. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad deal after all. In the plain slacks and cotton shirt she’d worn under her physician’s coat, she looked slight and feminine, not at all the forceful, take-charge doctor who’d bowled him over earlier in the evening. Quite a transformation.
The reflected glow of the streetlights illuminated the interior of the truck. Carefully Travis used a callused fingertip to pull the lock of hair back from Mercy’s face. He could be forgiven if he took this minor advantage to study the heart-shaped countenance, the high cheekbones and delicate nose. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Yes, sir, he’d been thrown caboose over teakettle plenty of times in his career, but never as badly as the spill he’d taken at his first sight of Mercy Holt in fifteen years.
And he ached. Not just from the pounding Sidewinder had given him, either. No, it was regret. God help him, he’d give anything if things could have turned out differently.
She gave a little murmured sigh, and he immediately felt lower than a snake’s belly. She’d worked a full shift, plus some, and despite his shearling jacket and her wool cape, the Texas night was getting colder by the minute. As much as he was enjoying the sensation of holding a beautiful woman, he couldn’t take advantage of the situation any longer.
“Mercy? Honey, wake up. We’re home.”
Her lashes fluttered, revealing eyes as indigo as a field of Texas bluebonnets. Languid, sleep flushed, she smiled up at him in the dim light, then ran a fingertip over his mustache.
“I can’t get used to this.”
Her fleeting touch electrified him, and he caught her hand to stop the unexpected pleasure/pain. His voice was rough. “Kinda my trademark now, blue eyes. I’d feel naked without it.”
Something akin to horror widened her eyes, and she jerked upright, blushing in embarrassment. “Oh. What time is it?”
“Late.”
She placed a hand against her burning cheek. “I can’t believe I fell asleep. I’m so sorry.”
“No problem.” He was already out of the truck, walking around to open her door. “Must be past your bedtime. Come on, I’ll walk you in.”
“That’s not necessary.” She dug in her bag for her key. “I’m perfectly all right. But thank you for the meal and everything—”
He arched an eyebrow at her, cutting her off. “No use arguing. You know my mama raised me the old-fashioned way.”
He could see her hesitation, but he took her elbow and lifted the key from her fingers. Within minutes he was standing inside the doorway of her town house as she turned on lamps. Somehow it wasn’t what he’d expected.
The apartment was spacious, but austere. Pale vertical blinds graced the windows, and even paler modular furniture sat on an oatmeal carpet. Stacks of unopened mail and unread magazines littered the tabletops. A laundry basket of scrubs and lab coats perched on an ottoman. A stethoscope dangled over a lamp shade.
The breakfast bar that separated the living area from the kitchen sported a litter of used bowls and teacups and a cellophane-wrapped bunch of supermarket flowers that had never been placed in water and now lay limp and brown and forlorn on the alabaster counter. There were books everywhere, but no personal pictures. Only a wall display of award plaques for distinguished service for several inner city clinics and a home for troubled youth indicated that the person who lived here had an outside life at all.
“Don’t look. The place is a mess,” she said, shoving the laundry basket behind the sofa. “I don’t have much time for housekeeping or anything else but work.”
“Don’t apologize. Considering I spend a lot of my time perusing the inside of motel rooms, it looks okay to me. And I know what you mean. I’m on the road so much, there’s no time to smell the roses, much less for someone special.”
“Don’t tell me you lack for company.” Her voice was skeptical. “I’ve had a sample of that potent cowboy charm of yours tonight, and I won’t believe you.”
He smiled, pleased at her admission. “Glad you enjoyed yourself, darlin’.”
She tugged off her cape, looking willow slender and pale and suddenly uncertain. “Ah, I’d offer you coffee, but it’s so late....”
He twirled his hat between his hands. “I should be going.”
“It’s been wonderful seeing you again. Where are you heading from here?”
“Oklahoma City next week. Got to see a man about a bull.”
She grimaced. “Travis—”
“No, really,” he protested with a deep laugh. “Sam Preston and I are running rodeo stock together now. King & Preston Stock Company.”
“Sam? Kenny’s brother?”
Her astonishment was plain, and he didn’t blame her. He and Sam were unlikely partners.
“Heck of a thing, huh? We’re working hard at it I’m the front man, and Sam runs the operation in Flat Fork. Could pan out pretty well, I guess. You know Sam married Roni Daniels a few months back?”
“No, I hadn’t heard. That’s nice.”
