Millionaire M.D. (12 page)

She took a breath, but Hell's bells…there was no way to
get a question answered if you didn't ask it. “Were you thinking about a house big enough for a family when you bought it?”

His head shot up. For a moment, she forgot how tired he was. The look of awareness kindling in his eyes seemed as electric and wide-awake as a charge of lightning. “If you're asking if I can imagine you and our kids living here—yes, I can. And yes, I have been. Although imagining you and I practicing how to make those kids is mostly what's been on my mind.”

She was a cop. Too old and too life-smart to blush, but blast the man if she didn't feel warmth surging up her cheeks. No matter how close they'd become—no matter that there was a marriage proposal between them. She still couldn't seem to believe that he wanted her. Or that she hadn't realized how much fire had been simmering between them for so many years without her knowing. “Justin, I wasn't asking about us—”

He grinned, but he also quit teasing. “Yeah, I know, you were asking me why I bought the house. But the truth is…I don't know, Win. At the time, I just liked the place. It wasn't that practical a decision. I fell for the two fireplaces and the unbeatable pool table in the game room. And the two trees in here.”

There were. The two fringey trees in his great room stretched at least ten feet tall. He flipped on switches as they walked through. Recessed lighting immediately softened the darkness, illuminating the picture windows and vaulted ceiling, the hardwood floor, the giant furniture—couches, chairs, cushions—all upholstered in a thick, white cotton duck. Most of the color in the room came from true-life greens—not just the trees, but also bushy plants in tubs.

Her gaze swept from the plants and white furniture to the occasional splashes of contemporary art on the walls. “Did you choose all this yourself?”

“Are you kidding? Mostly the house came this way. All
I had to do was water the plants and pick out some stuff for the walls.”

“Men,” she murmured dryly.

“Hey.” Still headed for the kitchen, he pushed on more switches. A gas fire suddenly sizzled in the great-room hearth, adding warmth and light. They passed a hall table heaped with mail. A door opening onto his office. The downstairs bathroom looked more like a sitting room for a sultan than a practical john. She only caught a fast glimpse of the lapis lazuli tile, the square tub with whirlpool, the blanket-size towels in cobalt.

“I've got that color blue, too, but somehow it doesn't look quite the same at my budget level.”

“I keep telling you to marry me, don't I? Then you could get your hands on all my money. Doesn't that sound good?”

Getting her hands on him sounded good. Too good. Particularly for a woman who had never considered herself sex-obsessed before—but just then she had other priorities. Justin was barely walking straight. He was weaving-tired, groggy-voiced tired, his teasing even sounding slurred.

When they passed by the game room—right before the kitchen—she flipped on the light switch herself, because she strongly suspected they'd end up in there. It was so obviously Justin's nest. Between floor-to-ceiling windows were floor-to-ceiling bookcases, all crammed to the gills with dog-eared volumes. The pool table sat in the room's center, and the hearth in here wasn't gas, but had real wood stashed in bins by the side. The old Oriental rug under the table was as thick as a sponge, and the far couch was red leather, a dark cranberry, as warm as the lantern lamps on the mantel top.

The look of that room lingered in her mind as she walked into the kitchen. Without giving Justin a chance to start talking, she promptly pushed her sleeves up and put her hands on her hips. “Okay, you, it's your lucky day. While you get a chance to shower and put your feet up, I'm volunteering to cook. I'll make anything you want—as long as it's no
tougher than melted cheese sandwiches and potato chips. No, no, don't thank me. I realize you're used to Myrt making you riff-raff gourmet stuff, but out of the goodness of my heart, I'll even add Oreos for dessert—”

“Um, could I change my mind about loaning you Myrt and get her back?”

“No.”
She used the royal pointing figure to motion him toward his bedroom and bath. She didn't want Myrt touching the conversation. Or even teasing hints about marriage. Not until the damn man had some food and rest. For Pete's sake, he had bags under his eyes bigger than boats. “Go. Get cleaned up.”

“Did I know you were this domineering and abusive before?” he asked plaintively—but he obeyed and left, even if she did hear him chuckling all the way down the hall.

She prowled his kitchen for the ingredients for their makeshift dinner. By the time he emerged from the shower, rubbing a towel in his hair, barefoot, wearing clean jeans and a loose, long-sleeved T-shirt, she had a tray of food set up in the game room. A small fire hissed and snapped in the stone hearth. She'd lit the lanterns on the mantel, and the glow shone on the cheese-and-bacon sandwiches and chips.

“Hell. This is almost as good as fast food. Myrt's always making me eat nutritional kind of stuff.”

“I had a feeling that you really suffered regularly with her cooking.”

“She bosses me around worse than…” he yawned as he plopped down on the leather couch, “…my mom.” He glanced at her with an owlish expression. “Man, I'm sorry, Win. I should probably make some coffee. I know I'm lousy company.”

“Forget the coffee,” she said gently, thinking that if he made a move toward caffeine, she just might have to sit on him. “Just eat a little, okay? Then lean back. Watch the fire for a while. It won't kill you to take ten, will it?”

“No, but I have to talk to you. About something important. Really important.”

She figured this talk was about marriage—and really, she agreed. It was time they settled that wild proposal of his. He deserved an answer. And tonight was one of the first times in a blue moon she'd had him alone to talk privately—but not right then. Darn it, he was beyond exhausted.

He wolfed down two sandwiches and a glass of iced herbal tea, leaned back with a sigh, and just like that, he was out. His eyes closed, and he dropped off faster than a worn-out baby.

With a quiet triumphant chuckle, she scooped up their few dishes, took care of those, then tiptoed back to the game room. She spotted a throw on a chairback, and gently tucked it around him, then curled up in the red leather chair at his side.

She had no intention of staying more than a few more minutes. Even if Myrt was all settled to take care of Angel, she wanted to get home, get back to the baby. But first she wanted to make sure that Justin was sound asleep, and that there was someone to field the phone or any other noises that could interrupt him for a while.

In a half hour, max, she was leaving.

For sure.

 

She woke up feeling disoriented. For a few moments she couldn't fathom where she was or how she'd come to be here, but gradually the details came into focus. She saw the yellow fire still sizzling in the hearth, recognized the rich Oriental carpet and the fancy pool table, finally realized that, of course, she was at Justin's…but then she felt it.

His gaze. On her face. Justin was sitting up, wide-awake but as silent and still as a secret, his dark, soft eyes on her face as if glued there.

She suffered through it again. That feeling. That feeling she never got with anyone else…of wanting to let go, of
wanting to be abandoned. Not the dread-sick sensation of being deserted and alone, but the other meaning of abandoned, the kind that was a choice—a fierce desire to abandon everything familiar and safe and just feel. Him. From her toes to her chin. From deep in her belly. To explore and discover everything she might be with him if the lights were off—under the sheets.

Her throat was suddenly arid, her pulse suddenly pounding. Swiftly she tried to say something normal. “Hey, Doc. I take it we both fell asleep?”

“Uh-huh. You set me up, didn't you?” he accused her. “That's why you volunteered to come here. Because you knew I'd fall asleep the first chance I had to sit down.”

“Yeah, I did set you up. But I'd heard you were up all night with that boy in the car accident. It wasn't going to kill you to be taken care of for a change.”

“Yeah, well, two can play that manipulative game. I called Myrt earlier so she'd know where you were, said you'd fallen asleep. She said she already knew where you were, and the baby's fine and to stay put.”

“What time is it?”

“A few minutes after two. Are you awake enough to talk about something serious?”

“Um…give me a five-minute time-out, okay?” She hightailed it out of the room, washed her hands, brushed her hair, slapped on lipstick, and came back with two mugs of instant coffee. “Now I'm ready,” she said, but as she sat back down, she felt stiff with worry. What she wanted to do as far as Justin's marriage proposal, and what she thought they should do were two different things. While she was trying to marshal her thoughts into something tactful and coherent, though, he started talking.

“Win…I need to tell you about some jewels.”

“Jewels?” She asked blankly.

“Yes. You know the old town legend? How back in the War with Mexico, one of our Texas boys, Ernest Langley,
came across a wounded soldier and tried to save him. The man died, but our Ernest found three jewels on the old guy, brought them home to Royal, planned to live high on them—but the way life worked out, he didn't have to, because oil was discovered on his land. So he quietly donated the jewels to the old mission to secure the future of the town. Basically that was how the Texas Cattleman's Club came to be. The original founder, Tex Langley, grandson of Ernest, brought a group of men together who were charged with protecting the jewels, using them to keep the town prosperous and for the town's greater good through the generations. They built the Club right next to the old mission.”

“Um, Justin? I was raised on that legend. Everyone in Royal knows it. Except for the part about the Texas Cattleman's Club, anyway.” She was wide-awake now, but of all the things she was tensed up to discuss with him, old legends weren't remotely on the list.

“Just bear with me, okay? Those three jewels were an emerald, an opal and a diamond. Only, each of them were extraordinary jewels of their kind. The opal was a black harlequin, of a size and color that made it especially rare. It was an old tradition for judges to wear amulets of opal, because the stone was said to give the wearer the power of justice and healing.”

“Um, Justin—”

“The emerald was a particularly big sucker, and through history, emeralds were considered the stone of peacemakers. Those first two gems were priceless to a collector, because they were so unusual in themselves, but the third stone was a red diamond. You see one, you'll likely never see another, because they're that rare, that precious. And red diamonds, of course, were symbolically the stones of kings, likely because only the most powerful men could possibly own them. So that's how we chose the sign for our Texas Cattleman's Club—Justice, Leadership and Peace. Because of those stones.”

“Uh-huh. Justin—” she started impatiently.

“They were stolen.”

“Ju—
What?
”

“The stones—the ones in the legend—were always real. So was the legend. It all happened. It was never just a story, it was always the truth. The soldier dying, our Texas boy finding the jewels, his grandson deciding to use them to secure the future of the town by forming the Texas Cattleman's Club. And over the years, the group has slowly, quietly taken on other kinds of protectorate roles. I'd like to think that there's always someone willing to stand up to protect the innocent. To step in when no one else wants to—or when there is no one else—to help someone who needs it.”

Winona weakly waved a hand. “How about if you let me catch my breath for a second and a half? You just gave me a lot to take in. This is all related to where you disappear to sometimes, isn't it? The times you've let everyone think you're some kind of playboy doc, taking a spur-of-the-moment luxury cruise with your latest woman—”

“Nah. I don't do cruises. Every once in a while, maybe I do something for the group. But back to the theft of the jewels—”

“Yes. For God's sake. Let's go back to the theft—”

He hunched forward, looking serious again. “Someone on the flight to Asterland stole the jewels. We didn't know they were gone until four of our Club members went to examine the plane a few days ago. There was a reason we were included in the investigation. The Texas Cattleman's Club was involved in helping Princess Anna, had a leading role in getting those two countries talking again, so we were more familiar with their diplomatic problems and the personalities than any other outsiders—”

“Yes, that's why you had the whole party a few weeks ago.”

Justin nodded. “And so far, no one has uncovered an explanation for the plane's mechanical problems—whether the
problems were accidental or sabotage. Because there's been so much friction between the countries, obviously sabotage was, and is, a serious concern. The point, though, is that when we started searching for evidence on the plane, instead of finding clues to the mechanical problems—by complete accident, we found two of our jewels. The opal and the emerald.”

“My God.” Her head was starting to reel from the implications of everything he was telling her.

Justin nodded again. “But we didn't find the red diamond. It's still missing. When the men went back to the Club—to the safe where the jewels were kept—we found the safe wide-open and Riley Monroe dead. Murdered. Apparently by the jewel thief.”

“Holy kamoly. I don't understand—”

“Neither do we, Win. That's why I'm telling you all this. The situation has gotten more touchy by the day. The group mutually determined that we need someone on the police force that we could absolutely trust…and naturally, you're it. As soon as I said your name, the others clicked with it.” He scalped a hand through his hair. “I realize you're not directly part of the investigation related to Monroe's murder, but that's not the point.”