The Bride Wore Red Boots (16 page)

“Of course not. Not the way we're running it. We don't have that much livestock. The acreage certainly isn't all fenced. And I admit full out that right after my father died last August, I was the first to counsel that we sell this place. Part of me still wonders the same thing you just asked.”

“But it doesn't sound like Harper and Cole would consider selling.”

“No. They never wanted to from the start. And do you know what? Today, the thought of selling it makes me so sad. I'm grateful Paradise Ranch was here for me to come back to.”

“You seem . . . relaxed?”

“Maybe. Oblivious may be more accurate. I suddenly seem to be able to get lost in my thoughts. I try to be upset about the job, and I am, really, if I can think about it. But I haven't had to think about it here.”

“Let's see.” Gabriel held up a hand and ticked off on his fingers. “Surgery consulting, clandestine cow kick injuries, wild horses, rescue missions, playing tour guide.”

“Rescue missions?”

“Crazy guys calling you for help.”

“Oh, that.” She smiled. “Yeah, that was a huge time suck.”

She pulled out the container of brownies and waved it under his nose. “Here's the penalty.”

“Oh, jeez, how am I supposed to get back on a horse if I eat any more?”

“He won't notice.”

“Oh, but I will.” Gabriel took a thick brownie square and bit a solid third of it off without fanfare. “Man.” He mumbled through the mouthful.

“So what did you really think about Cole's ideas for the mustangs?” Her question came out equally garbled through her own mouthful of brownie.

“I've been spending a lot of time the last hour and a half trying to form my proposal to the guys so they can't refuse.”

“It's not for everyone,” Mia admitted. “It's also not without risks. And they won't make much money.”

“Half of them are living on disability for the moment. They'll continue to get their paychecks, but if they get paid anything, it will fulfill their requirement to find meaningful employment. Ranch work? Doesn't get much more meaningful, and I mean in the hard labor sense of the word.”

“I hope a couple of them will want to try it. I won't even be here to watch them progress. But I could plan a trip or two back . . . ”

“Why, Dr. Crockett. It almost sounds like you care.”

“I didn't think I did, but the whole idea is very addicting.” She shrugged. “Maybe I'm changing my mind.”

“What's the deal with the tough act you put on sometimes?” He licked the last of the chocolate off his fingers and leaned back, bracing on his elbows, crossing his long, long legs at the ankles. “Not that I've seen much of it this trip.”

“It went the way of your arrogant act. You've controlled that pretty well yourself.”

“Arrogant?”

“You'll tell me anything I want to know this trip. I couldn't get Joely's room number out of you when we first met.”

He studied her as if assessing how blunt he could be. With a wry little lift of his lip he closed his eyes and lay all the way back onto the blanket, hands behind his head. “Honestly? You were just so much fun to get a rise out of. You'd turn all hot under the collar, like you couldn't figure out how anyone could dare counter you—the big-city doc coming to Hicksville with the answers.”

The teasing tone of his voice was clear, but the words stung. Funny. They wouldn't have bothered her at all a week ago, she thought. Now it hurt that he would ever think of her as so conceited. She hadn't been that awful—she'd only wanted to put order to the chaos and bring a little rationality to the haywire emotions after her mother and sister's awful accident.

“Hey.” She turned to find him sitting upright beside her again. “Amelia, I know better now. I know you. I'm not judging you—then or now.”

Pricks of miniscule teardrops stung her eyes, the result of extreme embarrassment—and profound relief. She had no idea what to make of the reaction. It was neither logical nor something she ever remembered experiencing.

“I know.”

To her horror, the roughness of her emotions shone through her voice, and Gabriel peered at her, his face a study in surprise. “Are you crying? Amelia, I'm sorry—I was just giving you grief, I wasn't—”

“I'm not crying.” It wasn't a lie. No water fell from her eyes; it just welled behind the lids. “I'm not upset. I'm . . . relieved. I . . . it was nice, what you . . . said.” She clamped her mouth closed before something truly stupid emerged and looked down at the blanket, picking at a pill in the wool's plaid pile.

A touch beneath her chin drew her gaze back up. Gabriel's eyes were mere inches from hers, shining with that beautiful caramel brown that suddenly looked like it could liquefy into pure sweetness and sex. Every masculine pore of his skin caught her attention and made her fingers itch to stroke the texture of his cheek. The scent of wind-blown skin and chocolate tantalized her.

“Don't be anything but what and who you are, Amelia Crockett.”

His kiss brushed her mouth with the weightlessness of a monarch on a flower petal. Soft, ethereal, tender, it promised nothing but a taste of pleasure and asked for nothing in return. Yet, as subtle as it was, it drove a punch of desire deep into Mia's core and set her stomach fluttering with anticipation.

He pulled back but his fingers remained on her chin. “I'm sorry. That was uncalled for.”

When his fingers slid from her skin she reacted without thinking and grabbed his hand. “No. It's . . . It was . . . Gah—” Frustrated by her constant, unfamiliar loss for words, she leaned forward rather than let mortification set in, and pressed a kiss against his lips, this time foregoing light and airy for a chance to taste him fully. Beneath the pressure, his lips curved into a smile. She couldn't help it then, her mouth mimicked his and they clashed in a gentle tangle of lips, teeth and soft, surprised chuckles.

“Crazy,” he said in a whisper, as he encircled her shoulders, pulling her closer.

“Yeah,” she agreed and opened her mouth to invite his tongue to meet hers.

First kisses in Mia's experience were usually fraught with uncertainty and awkwardness about what should come next, but not this one. Kissing Gabriel seemed as natural and pleasurable as walking along a stunning stream full of rapids and eddies and satisfying things to explore. She explored them all and let him taste and enjoy right back. When at last they let each other go, her head continued to spin with surprise, and every nerve ending sparkled with desire.

“That was unexpected,” he said, trailing his thumb down her cheek and alongside the corner of her mouth. “Did you know you have a talent for kissing?”

A grown, professional woman should not turn to hot goo over sophomoric compliments, she knew that. But goo turned her into a puddle while warmth crept up her neck and into her face.

“I've never thought about it,” she said, closing her eyes to soak in his touch. “Kissing wasn't on the medical boards.”

“Had it been, you'd have aced the section.”

“Do you always have such a silver tongue?”

“Always. I've only recently started using it for good, though. It mostly only ever got me into trouble.”

She frowned. “I find that hard to believe, I think.”

“Oh, believe it. I was not always the suave, debonair, arrogant professional you see before you. I was the class clown, Doc. Voted ‘most likely to do a pratfall at a funeral.' It's a true story. I told you I was funny.”

“No way. What happened to you?”

“Iraq, I suppose. Not that Mr. Pratfall isn't still in there. I still think they're funny.”

She thought a moment and reached for his free hand, contemplating the sinewy fingers, intertwining hers with his. “I guess it explains a few things. Like why you're so tolerant of the men you're working with.”

“I understand using ridiculousness to avoid stress. I think I probably made two mistakes with this program—I picked men who seemed to have innate senses of humor, and I shared all my stories of prewar antics. I probably justified the behavior in their minds.”

“On the other hand, you told me they didn't start out this way.”

“That's right. They started out angry, hurt, defensive. For them to be laughing is, to me, a huge step toward healing. The next step is to channel the behavior and turn it into productivity. A couple of them are already making that change. Brewster is a hard nut. Finney is even harder. But it's in there.”

“Have you always fought so hard for the underdogs?”

His only reply at first was a squeeze of her hand. The bright brown of his eyes sparked with deep thought. Finally he shrugged. “I don't know. I don't think so. I was pretty self-centered when I was in school and college—it was all about looking for the laugh because then I knew I wouldn't ever have to walk through life unnoticed. Even when I got to Iraq, hanging out with Jibril and his cousins and friends wasn't about them, not at first. But, I've never wanted anyone to be picked on—my best pranks were always for the bullies.”

“And now here you are, pulling out all the stops for a band of misfits you created yourself. And not a prank in sight. You are a mysterious guy.”

“I'm not mysterious. I just put one foot in front of the other and try not to be too big a part of the problems. Lately, though, it's been backfiring. Like I said, my bosses don't see these guys as funny, much less improving.”

“Let's get them those mustangs.”

The words flowed so adamantly from her lips they surprised her. Suddenly it seemed like the most obvious solution in the world, despite the enormous logistic complications. “I'll help you talk them into the idea.”

Surprise on his face blossomed into a huge smile and a shake of his head. “I think you're the mysterious person, Amelia. I fully admit, six weeks ago a day like this was beyond my wildest thoughts. Now? I just want to kiss you again.”

She released his hand and put both of her palms on his cheeks, allowing herself to explore the skin texture she found so intriguing. Her fingertips slid over the smoothness beside his nose and traveled to the very beginnings of stubble on his jaw. The coarser surface sent tingles through her own skin.

“I told my sisters after the first time you and I met that they needed to fire you and request a new advocate.” His eyes rounded in surprise. “But . . . ” She traced his bottom lip. “Now I want you to kiss me, too.”

One large hand cupped the back of her head and pulled her to him. His lips claimed hers, and her eyes closed in a rush of sparkler-like chills. The chills intensified when she opened her mouth to meet his tongue. The sigh that emerged almost turned to a groan of pleasure when a loud chirp from her cell phone made her jump and tore them apart. The sound continued—her text notification.

“That's strange,” she said, “I'm sorry. There shouldn't even be reception out here. Who'd text me anyway?”

Her pulse sped up in sudden concern. Joely? Her mother?

“You'd better check it,” Gabriel said.

The number she saw startled her. “It's from my friend Brooke in New York.”

“Is that surprising?”

“Extremely.”

Aware of Gabriel's hand at the back of her neck, kneading gently, she opened the text and read:

Mia, so sorry to bother you. Could you call ASAP? I have Rory with me. His mother has taken a turn for the worst. He wanted to be with his cat, so I got permission to bring him here. He's fine, just scared. Will explain when we talk
.

She showed it to Gabriel.

“Rory?” he asked.

Once she'd explained the story, she found her pulse pounding even harder. What could be wrong now? Monique had been doing better. Only the worst possible scenarios played through her head. The cancer had metastasized. An infection.

“I—”

He interrupted. “You need to get to cell reception. Absolutely. Let's pack up.”

“Raincheck on the—”

He leaned forward, held the back of her head again, and kissed her hard and thoroughly. “There's always time for a kiss,” he said. “Come on.”

For a moment she sat there, stunned at the sensual assault, wanting only to keep forgetting the real world and let him kiss her again. But he stood, smiled as if everything was going to be all right, and held out his hand.

She took it, believing for the first time in her life she wasn't going to have to face the potentially awful on her own.

M
IA
'
S CALM RETURNED
once the picnic had been packed up, Gabriel was safely mounted again, and they were once more on the trail. Logic kicked back in, and she realized there was nothing she could specifically do for Rory. He was best off right where he was—with his cat. Brooke was a clown for heaven's sake. What better place for a scared little boy than a clown's house?

“So this is a boy you've known a while?” Gabriel asked.

“Three years or so,” she replied. “His mother had rotator cuff surgery that was a fiasco. The procedure she had is successful about eighty-five percent of the time, but she was one of the fifteen. She never was able to manage her pain, and the drug addiction happened slowly. I did her second surgery, and it helped some. We became friends. She didn't have any other family. Her own parents were gone. She was doing okay. Then she was diagnosed with breast cancer and after more surgery, the addiction took her over again.”

“I see so much prescription addiction in my line of work. I'm sure you do, too.”

“The clinic and ER docs and internal med people see much more. I just pray this is only a scare and not really that serious.” She took a deep breath. “I'm sorry we didn't get to our mustang spot.”

“It's all right,” he assured her. “That's not important.”

“It is,” she said. “Not that I expect to see the horses, but there might be signs that they're still in the area. If we're back to the house in the next three hours, I can call New York before it's too late.”

“I don't want you to put something off because of me. I have time to come back sometime.”

“I'm torn . . . ”

“Don't be. Let's head back. Believe me, I understand wanting to know what's going on. I had to wait those long hours to dig into what happened with Jibril and his family after the attack in Baghdad. By then, nobody knew anything or they wouldn't talk. Don't wait if you don't have to.”

“I can see why you'd make a good therapist or a mentor,” she said. “You actually use your experiences.”

“Why do you think we have experiences? If we don't learn from them what good are they? That's what I'm trying to get through the guys' heads. They saw and did a lot of shitty things. It's time to put the energy from those experiences, bad and good, into making a future.”

“I know you called yourself a foster father in jest the other day, but I can see you'd make a great real dad. In ways that count.”

He snorted—scornful-sounding for the first time. “Oh no. No fatherhood for me.”

Something unwavering and resolute in his voice sent her stomach plummeting in surprise and disappointment.

“Really? Why would you say that?”

“Bring more children into this world? I don't think so. So much dysfunction, so much loss and abuse. Look at your, what's his name, Rory? A perfect example—”

“Of what? Abuse?”

“I don't know—maybe. But certainly of loss and dysfunction. And his mother might be the most wonderful woman in the world, yet she still abandoned her child because of her choices. Not the cancer, of course, but there are so many kids like him in the world. Take care of them before you add more to the mix.”

“But . . . ” She had no idea what to say. In many ways he was absolutely right. Still, something was missing from his argument—something personal and meaningful he was hiding away.

“I'd adopt five kids before I'd have one of my own.”

Her heart sank further. She'd always looked forward to having children—to raising them to be good citizens of the world. Good stewards. What had dashed Gabriel's instinct for fathering this thoroughly?

“It's a worthy sentiment,” she said.

Her sadness confused her. She wasn't marrying this man. He had no claim on her future. Why did she care what he thought?

“I don't think it's fair to bring a child into this messed up world to try and eke out a place among so many millions of others.”

For a man who'd professed to be a class clown, this was such a jaded point of view. All because he'd lost track of one small boy in a country so far away?

“But what about the chance to raise people who can change this messed up world?”

“Influence the ones who are already here.”

There was no point in arguing with him. No anger colored his arguments, just that same resoluteness he'd borne from the start. The catalyst for his belief was no longer important. This was now a deep-seated philosophy. She rode beside him in silence, unsettled for the first time since they'd started off that morning with Cole.

Stupid. It's just a conversation. Don't over analyze this
.

“This bothers you,” he said.

“No,” she said, too quickly. “I mean. I get what you're saying. For you. I . . . I . . . ” She gave up again. Something happened to her brain around the man. “I don't really know what to say, I guess.”

“It's okay. I don't expect any response. You aren't required to deal with my crazy rantings.”

“I just . . . the thought of no biological children.”

“Look. I like kids, too. They're just a trigger, that's all. I know this about myself.”

“Don't deny yourself a future because of an accident from eight years ago. What if Jibril's mother had never wanted children? You'd have lost out on so much.”

“So much trauma, you mean. Listen, Jibril was a beautiful mistake, and yes, he's the root of a lot of my crazy. But I understand what happened, and I don't dwell on him most of the time anymore. But it sounds like you've got a Jibril, and I just want you to have the chance to do right by him for your sake. If I get a little off base, just ignore me.”

He was a little off base, she thought. But it was in the most sincere kind of way.

“I won't ignore you,” she said. “But you should not give up on him. Or on your future.”

He didn't say anymore, but his smile relaxed just a little.

G
ABE PRIDED HIMSELF
on being in control—of himself, of his emotions, of those around him. He'd learned the art in Iraq, and it served him well. He didn't let people throw him off course. He didn't let people make him angry. He didn't take shit from anyone, and he knew how to throw it back without pissing anyone off. Amelia Crockett had undone all his careful self-discipline, as if she'd pulled an emotional ripcord and deployed his parachute before the right time.

The kiss had been one thing. That kind of unplanned pleasure he could deal with—especially since she'd clearly enjoyed the surprise as much as he had. The rest of the afternoon, however . . . that had him reeling.

The child in her life.

The compliments about his potential for greatness as a father.

His bombast about the righteous need to have no more children in a terrible world.

Her stunned reaction.

His babbling idiocy afterward.

She turned him into someone he didn't know. What confused him the most, however, was that he didn't even mind the guy he was around her. But he sure didn't know him very well. He was an idiot who'd told a single female that having children was irresponsible, but if she was selfish enough to want them, she should stay far away from him. On the crassest level, that was cutting his own throat. On the most intellectual level, it was just hard-assed and maybe a little cruel.

And maybe a faux pas from which there was no recovery.

They reached the barn in a much quieter mood than they'd left it that morning. Gabe flexed his thigh and seat muscles, already knowing he'd be sorer than he'd been in a very long time, probably the moment he dismounted, but the ride had been eye-opening. Paradise Ranch was truly a small kingdom, with land wealth he could barely fathom even after having seen the landscapes that represented a fraction of the whole.

Amelia had been surprisingly proud of her childhood home; not arrogant in the least, but almost reverent, as if she'd been reminded of how impressive it was. He no longer saw anything of the cool, efficient doctor he'd once met. He couldn't for the life of him find the tough, emotionless doctor who'd lost out on her dream job. All he was seeing these days was a warm, caring woman—one who could put any beautiful creature to shame and kissed like she'd been created just to fit with him.

And he'd blown it.

“Four hours, Lieutenant,” she said, using the old nickname he'd thought she'd given up. “And we didn't kill you. You did great.”

Her smile left him with dazzling hope. She didn't look angry. Or disappointed.

“I'm not trying to walk yet,” he said.

“I admit. It'll feel funny.”

“I think you're just trying to soften the reality.”

“You're the only one who can find out.”

She swung her right leg over the saddle in a graceful arc, her sweet butt flexing prettily beneath her jeans, her booted foot landing on the ground with easy lightness. She pulled her left foot out of the stirrup and stood beside her mare, graceful and curved in all the right places, looking nothing like one of New York's best doctors, but like a sexy, wind-kissed cowgirl.

He had no right to be thinking of her that way.

Not after just a few kisses.

“All right, you can't sit up there scared to move all day.”

He looked into her teasing eyes and grinned back, feeling like the uncoordinated kid in phys ed who couldn't climb the rope or make the basket. Or get off the horse without damaging something—like his own head.

“Who said I was scared?”

“Maybe you aren't. But you have to prove it before I'll believe it.”

This was where they were most comfortable—teasing.

“Watch out then. Here comes proof.”

He tried to emulate her effortless dismount and managed to get his right leg over the saddle and halfway to the ground before muscle control abandoned him. For an awkward second he dangled, his left foot shoved as far into the stirrup as the boot heel would allow, and his balance thrown forward onto the saddle horn while his right leg probed the air. Finally he twisted his uncoordinated self backward enough to get his foot on the ground. Hopping like a trapped flamingo, he grasped the stirrup and yanked it off the toe of his boot, getting the second foot to the ground, but barely, before his ass hit it first.

“I think I did it better the first time.”

“You did fine. It's just timing now—one more ride and you'll have it.”

He groaned and shook out first one leg then the other. “Not too soon.”

“Not too soon.”

He enjoyed the process of untacking Mitch and rubbing him down, then giving him treats and letting him into the pasture. There was something fulfilling about taking care of an animal that had worked hard for him without complaint or expectation. To be in control of such a massive creature was both powerful and humbling.

“Thank you,” he said, as he and Amelia leaned against the pasture fence once both horses were ambling back to their mates.

“For?”

“The tour. The company. The patience. It was . . . well, fun.”

“It was.”

In a moment of boldness he faced her and grasped her gently by both upper arms. Turning her in place, he stared at her earnestly. “I'm sorry for the weirdness coming back. I'm pretty sure I ruined something unexpectedly special.”

“No!” She faced him with no embarrassment or awkwardness. In fact, a little bit of the efficient, analytical doc was back. “You didn't. I don't begrudge anyone an opinion. We have a little time to spend together, and then I have to be out of here. What you and I have to say to each other should be interesting, not polarizing. We're past that, I hope.”

He wanted to kiss her again—to see how pliable he could make her in his arms and test her claim that they were past the animosity that had colored their first encounters.

He didn't.

“When can you call your friend?”

A wisp of apprehension flit through her eyes. “Anytime now that we're here. There's signal strength throughout the ranch yards. We have a tower within a mile.”

She was babbling, and for the first time he understood that she'd been procrastinating since first receiving the text message.

“Get it over with,” he said. “The longer you wait, the worse the imaginings.”

She sighed. “You're right.”

“I'll go—”

“No. Please stay. I might need a therapist after this.”

She led him past the barn to the yard in front of it, while she scrolled through her contacts for the number she needed. She raised her brows but didn't say anything as she pressed the call button. It didn't take two seconds for someone to answer. Gabe leaned against a support post and watched the ground, listening as unobtrusively as he could.

“Brooke?” Amelia said, the trepidation clear in her voice. “What's going on?”

She listened a long time.

“Oh shit,” she said, her voice a near whisper. Gabe's eyes shot up. He'd never heard a single vulgarity from her, and this one made his heart lurch in his chest.

She caught his eyes, her cheeks drained of color, and she shook her head. “What are they doing for her? Does Rory know all of this?”

After another long silence she said a simple “all right,” and it was clear when she spoke next it was to the child.

“Hi, sweetheart. Are you and Jack all right?”

He might never have heard her swear, but he was even more taken aback by the softness in her voice now. He'd have given anything to have his parents talk to him the way she greeted the boy she'd only known a few years.

“Rory, honey, they're doing everything they can for your mom. I know you're scared, though . . . Yes, it's a really stubborn kind of infection, and she's very sick . . . I know you want me to come back, but, sweetie, the doctors there can take better care of her than I can. I'm not the right kind of doctor for this.”