Critical Care (12 page)

At any rate, it wasn't the best time to ask her if Claire was here.
Not even a smart idea in the first place, considering the hospital's
eager gossip mill. Logan grimaced, remembering how the painful
stories of his divorce made the rounds in Reno, details morphing
with each repetition like that grade school telephone game. Then
he thought of Beckah's wedding invitation lying still unanswered
on his dresser at the condo. What did a guy give his ex-wife for a
wedding gift? A gold medal for finding a better man?

But for tonight he'd simply be careful, or everyone at Sierra
Mercy would think he had a thing for the educator, and-whoa
there! Logan moved back quickly as the door opened from the
inside and Claire stepped out to stand in front of him. His breath
caught and warmth flooded through him. She was gorgeous.

"Oh, sorry!" She looked into his face. "Logan?" Her eyes widened with recognition, long lashes blinking quickly.

"You're leaving?" he asked, not caring if she could hear the
regret in his voice. He didn't want her to go, not unless it was
with him.

Claire smiled, brushing her fingers through her hair, and he
caught a whiff of her perfume. Kind of spicy and sweet. He suddenly wanted, more than he'd wanted anything in a very long
time, to be close enough to smell it on her skin.

"Just a little cowboyed out, I guess." Her gaze dropped and she
chuckled, and Logan knew she was teasing him about his denim
jacket, big-buckle Western belt, and tooled cowhide boots. In the
distance, behind the doors, the band was playing Willie Nelson's
"Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain."

"Cowboy-doctor," he corrected, resisting the urge to take hold
of her hand. All at once he needed to know how it would feel in
his. "Big difference. Honest."

She opened her mouth to speak, then hurried to move as the
door opened and a trio of preteens barreled out, pelting each other
with popcorn. They giggled apologies as Claire sidestepped to avoid
them and stumbled in the process.

Logan reached out to take Claire's arm, steadying her. He
couldn't let her go home. Stay with me. "Come back inside," he
said, hearing the plea in his voice.

Claire hesitated, and Logan remembered how she'd leaped
away when he got too close at Daffodil Hill. She'd come within
millimeters of squashing a chicken. He needed to be careful with
this woman.

"Just for a little while. Let me buy you a root beer. Yeah." He
nodded, pleased that at least she'd begun to seem amused. "Consider it a mercy thing. For a man who wrestled a drunk and got
called on the carpet by administration all in the same day."

"Hmmm." Claire peered at him out of the corner of her eye.

Logan could tell she still wasn't convinced. He'd give it another
shot. "Okay, a celebration then. For two people who saved Jamie's
life today."

Her brows drew together for a moment, almost as if his words
were troubling somehow, but then she smiled and he knew he'd
finally said the right thing.

Behind them, through a crack in the door, he heard the band
begin a rendition of Patsy Cline's "Crazy." Very appropriate, considering his current state of mind. Logan grinned at Claire and
waited.

"Okay," she said slowly, taking a step toward the door. "I think I can deal with one more mug of root beer, Doctor. For that kind
of celebration."

Logan opened the door, and Claire led the way inside and
walked toward the tables. He smiled with appreciation. She couldn't
know it, but the privilege of following her was something to be celebrated in itself. She wore a lace-trimmed T-shirt above trim black
jeans, a silver concho belt, and soft leather boots. Her glossy dark
hair brushed her shoulders with each subtle sway of her stride.

He shook his head. Rumor mill or not, the truth was he did
have a thing for this educator. Now what?

Erin sighed. She should've taken her chances on the mechanical bull; that situation ended in eight seconds or less. You either
vaulted off the top with a big "Yahoo!" or fell flat on your behind.
A blessing compared to endlessly second-guessing relationships.

She crossed her arms and rubbed the sleeves of her rhinestonestudded Western shirt, fighting shivers that had nothing to do
with the night air. Things were so new with Brad. How could she
make him understand her responsibility to the ER crew? Hospital
teams were a lot like a family; not everyone understood that kind
of closeness. But it was vital. Especially after the shifts they'd had
lately.

Brad leaned against his car, a festive swag of overhead bulbs
splashing color like pirates' jewels over his close-cropped blond
hair and undeniably handsome features. A boyish smile teased his
lips. "So, are you coming with me or going back in there for more
root beer?"

"I reminded you about this fund-raiser. You didn't want to
come, but if you've changed your mind, I think they're still selling
tickets at the door."

"No thanks," Brad said. "And I don't get why you need to be
here." He counted, bending his fingers back one by one: "Five work shifts this week, an extra hour every day to put that hospital prayer
group together, half your day off in a disaster meeting, and ..."

Bible study class? Erin's jaw tensed, wondering if he'd include
something so important to her in his list. She'd heard it often
enough from previous boyfriends, hadn't she? Still, she'd met Brad
at church. Surely he could understand. But they'd been dating
barely three months now, hardly time to know each other. Could
she really expect him to honor what was important to her?

Before she could find words, Brad stepped forward and drew
Erin to him. His arms closed around her until her cheek lay against
his shirtfront. She breathed in scents of shampoo and soap. "Look,"
he said, nestling his chin against her hair, "I'm only trying to figure
out where I fit in, you know?"

He stepped back, holding her away so he could look into her
eyes. "I understand work pressures. I may not be saving lives at
the dealership, but I put in plenty of long hours. Especially on
the days my uncle's hanging around, trust me. Because it's a family business doesn't mean they make it easy for me." He touched
a fingertip to Erin's chin. "But I also know how to play. And
what I'm saying is, I want you to come play with me. That's all."
Dimples appeared as his smile widened into the grin that would
set hearts aflutter in a hefty percentage of the nurses at Sierra
Mercy. "Come on. What's the point of living an hour from Tahoe
if you don't go enjoy it?"

"The lake? Tonight?" Erin considered the ER group. How many
of them had come? Brad was asking her to take off when it was her
idea to get everyone together in the first place? She'd given Claire
a ride.

"Yes!" Brad's eyes glittered. "We could make it there by ten,
catch a late show at South Shore, and maybe hit the seafood buffet." He stroked his thumb gently along her jaw. "I know you
don't gamble, but you could browse the gift shop for a few minutes
while I duck into the casino and roll the dice. Maybe I'll win some
cash for that charity of yours. Wouldn't you like that?"

Cash. Erin's stomach lurched and she looked down, scraping
the toe of her boot in the gravel. She still hadn't found the Little
Nugget Victim Fund envelope. The donations for Jamie and his
mother. She hadn't admitted it to anyone at the ER yet, let alone
Brad. It was probably not a great idea to tell a guy you're just getting to know that you can't be trusted with money. She'd have to
use part of her paycheck to reimburse the cash.

Brad took hold of her hand. "In case you're worrying, I'm not
making moves to get you to stay overnight. I'll drive you back
home. Scout's honor." He raised two fingers and grinned. "So that's
the plan. What do you say?"

"I don't know. It was my idea to put this evening together. My
crew's been having a tough time lately...."

"So am I." Brad's smile vanished. "Ever since I started dating
a woman who can't make time for me. Where do I fit in? Tell
me that."

What was that, an ultimatum? Erin's teeth clenched as she
fought a familiar urge to turn and walk away. The same way she
had in so many other relationships. But then she'd promised herself she wouldn't do that this time. That she'd try harder to make
it work and not be so judgmental. She took a slow breath, telling
herself that plenty of women would find this dilemma flattering
and wouldn't think Brad's spontaneous-if ill-timed-offer of fun
was ... what? A red flag that he shouldn't be trusted? A sign he
was too slick, too smooth, insincere-destined to hurt her, just
like ... ? Am I ever going to trust any man?

"Brad, it's just that . . ." Erin glanced toward the doorway to
the Denim and Diamonds event in time to see Claire step inside.
Followed by ... Her eyes widened. That's Logan.

Claire walked under strings of colored lights and across sawduststrewn planking, passing the foolhardy volunteers for the mechanical bull and entire families thumping their boots to the chaplain's
finale of the Boot Scootin' Boogie lesson. She had absolutely no idea
where she was going or, for that matter, even why she'd accepted
this invitation. The only thing she felt certain of was that Logan
Caldwell's eyes were glued to her back. Which gave a whole new
meaning to Merlene Hibbert's cryptic warning, "I'd watch my back
if I were you." Claire chuckled, then grew thoughtful. Logan said
tonight was a celebration. "For two people who saved Jamie's life."

She tensed, remembering her anxiety during the toddler's
emergency, how nearly impossible it was to keep her hands from
trembling. And the way the flashback about Kevin caused her
to hesitate over starting Jamie's IV. When, in a critical moment,
she could have stalled out. Claire's stomach sank. Was that why
she'd agreed to come inside with Logan, to find out for sure if he'd
noticed her moment of hesitancy?

"How about over there?" Logan asked, stepping up beside her
and pointing at a couple of empty chairs.

Squeals of delight and laughter rose from children gathered at
the air rifle shooting gallery and whirling cotton candy machine
just beyond.

"Um ... sure," she said, fighting a new wave of ridiculous paranoia. If Logan had a problem with a nurse's work, everyone knew
it-stat. He wouldn't be offering a critique tonight. Just a silly root beer. And nothing more. She reached the table and pulled out a
chair when Logan stopped her.

"Whoa, cowgirl." He nodded toward the dance floor. "They're
starting a two-step. C'mon."

"What ... you mean, dance?" Claire scanned the square of
wooden planking crowded with dancers of all ages-a father with
a daughter in his arms, her tiny pink boots dangling; two elderly
women in cowboy hats, laughing as one gingerly twirled the other;
a young couple wearing matching Western shirts. The band-in
hospital scrubs and cowboy hats and made up of three OR techs, an
anesthesiologist, and the chief of pediatrics-belted out a familiar
and lively Alan Jackson tune. Claire looked helplessly at Logan. "I
don't know...."

"One dance." He motioned to a volunteer passing a hat among
the people gathered around the dance floor. "Remember, this is for
charity."

Before she could protest, Logan draped his jacket across a chair
and reached for her hand. He threaded his way through the tables,
leading Claire, then stopped in front of the dance floor. He smiled
at her. "And now," he said, taking her into his arms, "watch your
toes. They don't teach this in med school."

Claire reminded herself to breathe. When was the last time
she'd danced?

Logan took hold of one of her hands and slipped his other
hand around her waist as they merged into the one-way stream
of dancers, following the still-giggling senior cowgirls. His dark
brows furrowed, and Claire saw Logan's lips move silently. She
remembered with a quick tug of her heart how Kevin counted the
cadence aloud when he'd taught her the two-step before her first
dance at middle school. "Quick-quick, slow, slow. Quick-quick, slow, slow. You're doing fine, Sis. And try to smile, would ya? You don't want
to scare the guy."