Playing Doctor (3 page)

Gabe shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over a fragile-looking chair with a huge white bow tied to the back. He dropped onto the chair, rolled his sleeves up, and stretched out his legs. The song ended and Gabe breathed a sigh of relief, but the band segued into a rousing rendition of The Stones’
Start Me Up
, and Albert joined in for that one, too. Short of physically dragging Albert off the dance floor and attempting to pound some sense into his fool head, there wasn’t much Gabe could do except keep an eye on him and intervene should it become necessary. Keeping Albert in his peripheral vision, Gabe glanced out over the guests. The young photographer—a very early twenty-something, if that—ghosted through the crowd, capturing candid shots of wedding guests with the skill of a professional. He crouched for a shot, pivoted for another, all under the watchful eye of a possibly late twenty or early thirtyish brunette with a body that would, as the lead singer wailed, make a dead man come.

Gabe had witnessed the tender exchange between them earlier. The familiarity between them had been tangible, making him wonder just who the young man was, and what his relationship to the brunette might be. Was she a sister? A cousin? Friend? Lover? Then she’d glanced his way, caught him watching her and he’d thought, what the hell, no harm in looking.

And he’d liked everything he’d seen.

“There could be better ways to spend a Saturday afternoon, although off the top of my head, I can’t think of a single one. That’s one fine view you’ve got going on, my man.” Ian Montgomery, best man and brother to the groom, chose the chair one over from Gabe and carefully sat down on it, wincing when it gave an ominous groan of protest.

“My thoughts exactly,” Gabe agreed.

Ian shifted and the little chair wobbled under the strain of his weight. “You’d think they’d put out chairs a grown man would feel safe sitting on,” he grumbled, handing Gabe a Heineken.

Gabe looked over at Ian and tried his damnedest not to laugh. Ian wasn’t your typical example of most grown men. Standing at six-three and carrying around two hundred-plus pounds of solid muscle, the Navy SEAL made a comical sight perched on the little bow-backed chair. Gabe started to tell him so, and then remembered they were pretty close to the same size, give or take an inch or a pound. Taking a cheap shot at your buddy when you probably looked as dumb as he did sucked all the fun out of the jab, so Gabe backtracked, held up his beer and made a toast.

“To the bride and groom,” he said, and clinked bottles with Ian.

“And to the photographer’s assistant,” Ian added with a wink.

Grinning, Gabe inclined his head. Then he waited. Waited for the guilt to crawl in, the shame to rise up and beat him down as it had countless times in the two years since Rita’s death. To remind him how careless he’d been with her, how building his practice had taken precedence over her, and all he’d lost because of it.

How he didn’t deserve to even look at another woman.

Hell, he knew he wasn’t worthy of a second chance. Wasn’t looking for one. He had all the responsibility he needed or wanted working in the ER.

His family and friends were always there to help him get through the rough days, but there had been so many times when he felt overwhelmed and lost without Rita at his side. Especially at night when he’d turn, reach for her, only to find his arms empty.

His body had eventually demanded release, craving the warmth and succor of a woman’s touch. Finding a willing woman was never a problem. He took what she offered and made sure she left his bed with a satisfied smile on her face and the knowledge that he wasn’t looking for anything more than the moment. He had yet to be tempted otherwise.

Oddly enough, as he tipped the longneck and watched the brunette over the bottle, his old pals Guilt and Shame didn’t pound on him today, or at least not for the moment, and it felt fucking great.

When the kid moved, she moved, as did the lush curves under the tailored, royal blue business suit. The slim skirt ended just below mid-thigh, displaying long, shapely legs. The kind that would wrap around a man, pull him deep, and hold him there while she came around him.

His gaze dropped to her feet. An appreciative grunt slipped from his throat. If that man were lucky, she’d be wearing those ball-tightening BDSM shoes while she did it. Tall heels with a network of straps and buckles crisscrossed her feet, ending just above her ankles. The shoes said,
come get some,
but the confident angle of her chin, the way she carried herself, said the woman wearing them could kick your ass with them if she wanted to.

From behind him, someone in the crowd called out, “Beth!” She turned, a graceful twist of her body that accentuated the generous swell of her breasts and the enticing curve of her ass. Her gaze skipped past him, then swung back and traveled over him with a smoldering, sloe-eyed appraisal that lingered on his crotch a little too long to be an accident before drifting back up to meet his eyes.

For a moment, Gabe thought he’d need a defibrillator to jump-start his heart, but then it kicked back in gear and jackhammered against his ribs. Life, as potent as the stoutest Kentucky bourbon, coursed through his veins, as heady as the burning need swelling his cock. The way her breasts lifted on a hitch of breath and her bright-as-bluebell eyes widened suggested she’d felt something, too.

When she glanced past him again, smiled at whoever had summoned her, Gabe lowered the bottle. His breath came out with a grunt.
What the fuck?

A blur of silver satin and tanned flesh briefly obstructed Gabe’s view of the brunette. He straightened in his chair, hooked an ankle over his knee and dropped his arm over his lap.

Eve Winters, maid of honor and sister to the bride, planted her shapely bottom on the chair between Gabe and Ian and looked covetously at Gabe’s beer. When she reached for it, he did as he would have done for his own sister—he held it out of reach.

With a delicate huff, Eve turned to Ian and batted her lashes with exaggerated coyness. She got the beer and a low curse. It amazed Gabe how easily Eve had always managed to irritate Ian, ever since they were kids, and the perverse amount of pleasure she garnered from doing so. It was also interesting that, for all his cursing and grumbling, Ian always came back for more.

“So, who’s the brunette shadowing the kid with the camera?” As he was looking at thirty-six in a few months, Gabe felt justified in tagging the photographer a kid.

Eve took a sip of beer, sighed appreciatively, and handed it back to Ian. “The
kid
is Drew Roberts, an absolute boy genius with a camera.” She searched the crowd until she spotted him. “He’ll be attending University of Kentucky next year after he graduates to major in photojournalism.”

“Graduates?” Frowning, Gabe took a closer look at the photographer. Eve nodded, waving to someone in the throng of milling guests. Gabe waggled the beer to regain her attention. “What do you mean, graduates?”

Eve ducked back from the bottle swinging in front of her face. “High school. Next year.” She flicked him on the side of the head. “Pay attention.”

He strove for patience. “So…what’s the relationship? Brother? Cousin?”

Her head tipped to the side. “Why do you want to know?”

Gabe’s molars clamped down as he made a choking motion with his hands at Eve’s slender throat. Ian sent him a weary look over her sunny head and said, “It’s like herding cats on crack.”

Eve turned her nose up at Ian and gave Gabe a cheeky grin. “The brunette”—she paused for pure annoyance, he was sure of it—“is his mom.”

It wasn’t often that Gabe found himself rendered speechless—he pretty much had a smart-ass comeback for anything tossed his way, but damned if he had one now.

His mom?
Hell, she must have been in puberty when she’d given birth.

The band hammered out the final notes of AC/DC’s
You Shook Me All Night Long
and announced their break.

The air suddenly filled with the lively wheeze of an accordion.

Women cheered and rushed to the dance floor.

Men groaned and tried to sneak away.

Eve sprang to her feet, threw her arms up and shouted, “Chicken Dance!” Completely ignoring Ian, she grabbed Gabe in a surprisingly strong armlock and dragged him onto the dance floor.

It wasn’t easy to keep his rhythm, make beaks, and flap wings when his attention was focused on searching the crowd for the gorgeous woman. Gabe decided that locating her son, as he was roughly a foot taller than his mom, would be his best bet at finding her. When he spotted him, the kid was digitally immortalizing one of the female dancer’s tail feathers in full swing.

Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap!

When he spotted Beth, he thought,
damn
, and lost his rhythm again. She stood, as he had expected, a few yards away from the kid, in a patch of spring sunlight that caught and brightened a tumble of rich mahogany hair—which she was quickly pulling back into a ponytail.

Beak! Beak! Beak! Beak!

With her movements hurried, Gabe hardly had time to appreciate the way the fabric of her jacket caught under her breasts when she lifted her arms, unhooked a camera strap from one shoulder and dug into the purse hanging off the other. She came out with a pair of blue exam gloves and what appeared to be a—pocket respiratory mask?—and leapt onto the dance floor.

What the hell?

Gabe broke off in mid flap and quickly scanned the dancers. A piercing scream rent the air, followed by the urgent command, “Drew, call 911!”

Oh, shit. He’d been so focused on the brunette he’d totally forgotten about Albert. Gabe shoved his hand in his trouser pocket, fished out his keys, and gave them to Eve. “Tell Ian to get my bag out of the car. Fast.”

Gabe reached Albert in time to see Beth help Albert’s girlfriend lower him to the hardwood dance floor. He dropped to his knees, made a quick assessment and then gave an equally quick introduction. “Gabe North. Got a pulse?” Without waiting for a reply, he ripped open Albert’s shirt, peppering the dance floor with tiny pearl buttons.

There was no response from Albert as Beth checked his carotid artery for a pulse. Albert’s sweat-soaked chest twitched with ineffective, gasping breaths and Gabe gave up silent thanks that he was still alive.

“Beth Roberts.” Her own introduction was short and terse, her eyes intent on Albert’s face as she pulled her fingers from his neck. “No pulse, agonal respirations,” she deduced, confirming his own observation of Albert’s breathing pattern. She was all business. Professional.

Nodding, Gabe laced his fingers hand-over-hand, placed the heel of his right hand on Albert’s sternum and began compressions. “Come on, Albert. Come on back, so I can beat the shit out of you,” he muttered under his breath.

That got her attention. Gabe counted off the compressions, noting Beth’s brief, wide-eyed glance before she ducked her head, resumed assembling the pocket mask and then fitted it over Albert’s face.

Ian slid in beside Gabe. With a quick glance at his uncle, he dropped the medical bag on the ground, unzipped it and rolled it out. Grateful for the SEAL’s calm, especially as it was a member of his family lying there, Gabe released the last compression as Ian applied the electro pads to Albert’s chest and a mechanical voice advised, “Analyzing rhythm, do not touch the patient.”

Everyone moved back as two hundred joules of electricity screamed through the tiny wires to jump-start Albert’s heart.

Chapter Three

“Oh, my gosh, you were so calm,”

“That man was dying and you brought him back.”

“It was like watching a scene from Grey’s Anatomy!”

“And we had our very own Dr. McDreamy…”

Beth graciously acknowledged the comments from the wide-eyed wedding guests and excused herself when she spotted Dr. North speaking with the Montgomery family. Albert had stabilized after one shock from the defibrillator and while being loaded into the ambulance, refused to allow his brother to accompany him to the hospital, demanding he remain at the wedding with his son.

After accepting a handshake—which evolved into an emotional hug from the father of the groom, Dr. North walked onto the dance floor where he stepped up to the microphone and called for everyone’s attention.

“I just spoke with the ER physician taking care of Albert and he’s in stable condition and doing fine. The EKG was negative for a heart attack”—he paused for the applause and comments of relief to subside before going on—“and they’re waiting to get the results of his blood tests. He’ll be in the hospital a few days for more extensive testing and asks that everyone continue with the wedding celebration and to drink one for him!”

Reassured of Albert’s wellbeing, the crowd began to disperse and the excitement of the medical emergency began to fade. The band was once again in full swing, drawing guests back to the dance floor. Caterers and wait staff circulated through the crowd with food and drinks, and the attention returned to the bride and groom. Summoned by the bride, Drew was taking some last-minute, impromptu shots.

Taking advantage of the quiet moment and the opportunity to get off her feet, Beth chose a table under one of the huge white reception tents and took a seat, then immediately wished she had stopped at the bar for a bottle of water. She pulled the band from her ponytail and gave her hair a quick finger-comb as she glanced around, hoping to catch one of the wait staff. Instead, she saw Dr. North, his long legs quickly eating up the distance between them with a sexy, loose-hipped stride that made her mouth water and start up a whole different kind of thirst.

He had a drink in each hand and an expression of pure male determination on a face that was melt-your-thong handsome, and yes, a faint cleft bisected his chin, as if his maker had reached out and gently tapped him with a
let him be a hottie
finger.

He stopped at her table and grinned, the same sex-you-up grin he’d given her earlier that shifted her hormones into high gear all over again.

Beth bit back a groan.
Ground, just open up and swallow me whole.
What in the world had she been thinking, doing that eye flirty-thingy with him? It was just a game, payback for the sizzling once-over he’d given her earlier. He wasn’t supposed to follow up on it for crying out loud, and he definitely had a follow-up-on-it look in his eye. There had been no time for embarrassment while working on Albert, but now here he stood, larger than life and twice as sexy.