Spurs and Lace (Lonely Lace Series Book 1) Read online

  But Becky’d been with Ronan willingly and maybe even as a business venture.

  He didn’t want to answer the bastard. But he had to say something, otherwise the jealousy eating at his gut would be evident and R.J. would hold it over him. Slate raised his eyes to his ex-friend and calm as a pond replied, “Making sure you’re not taking advantage of any more women, James.” He nodded his head at Becky and tilted the brim of his hat her direction. “Ma’am.” A touch more sarcasm than he’d intended but what the hell?

  The little witch was fine. A distant memory of her body pressed to his flashed in his mind when she twisted on the seat to watch him. She stood but Slate didn’t wait for any denials. He pivoted and walked toward his truck.

  “Wait. Slate – Mr. MacAllister. I’ll walk back with you.” Becky’s voice followed him. Her steps crunched through the snow.

  He didn’t look back but her presence heated the air behind him, undeniable even with his anger pushing him forward. How could she be so annoying and adorable at the same time? Considering she’d just about committed to selling out Slate’s nephew, he didn’t know how he could see her as the latter. Dang, girl-doctor-chick, grrr, he was so pissed he couldn’t even insult her right in his head.

  Thud. “Ow. Crap.”

  Slate stopped and turned, expecting to find Becky grabbing her elbow, and instead finding… nothing. What the hell?

  Fear tingled at the back of his neck. “Dr. O’Donald?” He retraced his steps and stopped beside a large Ponderosa Pine. “Becky?” He glanced over his shoulder, but Ronan hadn’t followed them. Yet.

  “Help. I’m stuck.” In the pocket pit surrounding the trunk of the sixty-foot tree, Becky struggled against the snow drop-off which slanted down toward the base at a sharp angle. The moment would have been funny, if her path down hadn’t been littered with bright red blood.

  Slate forgot his anger and disillusionment. He knelt down and reached for her hand. “Here.”

  Becky grasped his fingers. Her green eyes met his. “I can’t climb. Something’s wrong with my leg.” Her pale face hinted at nausea, but she was a doctor and blood didn’t bother her, right?

  “I got you, don’t worry.” She-Doc weighed less than a foal. Slate pulled her up without any strain. Sitting on the cold ground, he pulled her onto his lap. “Let me see.”

  The skin of her lower leg poked from beneath the ripped pant leg. Bright red blood decorated her pale skin.

  Becky avoided looking at the abrasion as Slate probed the area around it.

  He ripped her jeans to get at the wound easier. “Are you okay?”

  She swallowed, a red flush giving away her embarrassment. “Of course. I just don’t like blood.”

  Slate grinned. The vulnerability made her previous toughness more… what was the word? Cute, maybe? “You’re a surgeon who just cut up my nephew. Are you serious?”

  “Mine. I don’t like my blood. Stupid, I know, but I can’t help it. The sight of my own blood, well, it’s my undoing. I fainted the last time I got a paper cut. It was ugly.” Becky stopped talking and watched Slate.

  His grin catapulted to a full out laugh. Of course, she would be the one woman with the ability to make him laugh even in anger. She was still annoying. Slate reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief. “Let’s put this on until I can get you back to town.”

  She-Doc rubbed her knee. “I can’t walk.” A small groan escaped. “Crap, it hurts like hell.”

  He couldn’t determine how much blood seeped from her flesh in the shadows of the forest. The sooner he got her to the truck, the sooner he could ascertain the extent of her injury. “Come on, Doc.” Slate tucked a hand under her knees and wrapped his other arm around her back. Becky locked her hands behind his neck and tucked her face into his shoulder.

  She smelled of exotic fruit mixed with pine where she’d fallen into the loose needles beside the trunk.

  Standing, Slate lengthened his stride. Her scent wouldn’t help him keep a clear head or hold onto his anger. At the moment, with her soft body in his arms and her smooth cheek close to his, he had to admit, being angry wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Hopefully, he’d regain his senses when he emptied his arms. If he emptied his arms.

  Slim and the tow truck were gone. Slate slowed his speed as he approached his rig. With extra care, he opened the door, pulling her closer before setting her down in the passenger side. Putting her down took more force of will than he’d planned. He gritted his teeth as he rounded the hood.

  Starting the truck, Slate didn’t know what to do. Take her to town or out to his place. She was the doctor. If it was his place, she’d have to instruct him on what to do, but he’d have the chance to ask her questions. And if it was town, he most likely would lose any answers around the other people they’d come in contact with.

  But he had to get Pig. The Roylance’s were going to feed the animal enough oats it’d make him resemble his namesake and Slate would be out a terrific workhorse.

  “I need to get Pig,” Nodding toward her leg where she held a hand over his sullied handkerchief, he continued, “and you need to get that examined, especially if you can’t look at it yourself.” Imagine, a doctor who couldn’t handle blood – correction, her own blood.

  She nodded with little enthusiasm and closed her eyes.

  The transmission popped into gear. Sitting so close to her, smelling her, and after just having her in his arms, he blinked as if he could move the fog blurring his memory of the events in the clearing. If she stayed quiet, he might be able to run over the details – stoke his ire again.

  He was righteously upset. Wasn’t he?

  Chapter 13

  Damn, her leg hurt. And the cut bled like it was deep. And what the hell had made Slate stomp off ahead of her anyway? He couldn’t actually think she would consider doing something so – so – so unethical!

  On the other hand, he didn’t know her – hadn’t he compared her to a horse?

  Pushing on the cloth he’d handed her – seriously, a handkerchief? – Becky avoided talking to him. Eyes closed, she stewed on the moment. The ease with which she fit in his arms irritated her more.

  He wasn’t that good looking. Becky parted her eyelids a mere slit and caught a glimpse of his profile. She muffled a groan and faced the window. Yes, he was that good looking.

  His voice cut through her internal agony. “Are you in a lot of pain? I’m hurrying, but the roads are real slick.”

  She shook her head. Concerned? He was concerned? Which was it? Angry or concerned? Men were so confusing. No, this man was confusing.

  The drive drew out. Becky reclosed her eyes and swore she could taste cologne on the air. In his arms, the warm scent had intoxicated her. In the cab of the truck, the aroma took on an addicting quality.

  She hoped she didn’t grow desensitized to it.

  Abruptly, the engine stopped. She hadn’t realized he’d parked the vehicle.

  Eyes open, Becky glanced at Slate. He leaned forward and studied something out the windshield. She had to get out. The clinic had the supplies she needed to clean up her leg and then she needed to get to work.

  Slate looked at her. “Sorry, doc. I don’t think you’re going in there.” He pointed at the door.

  Becky flicked her gaze at the small sign hanging inside the window on the front door. “Closed due to inclement weather.” Short, sweet but enough to make Becky break out in a sweat.

  The clinic couldn’t be closed. She needed to work. “I have keys… no, wait. They’re in my truck. Crud.” She squeezed her fingers into her palm.

  Who was she kidding? She wanted nothing more than to ask Nurse Dallan for all the details on the MacAllister situation. Nobody dished as well as Shelly. But beside Becky’s need for a good gossip session, the only thing holding her sanity in check in the small town was work. What was she supposed to do? Watch her leg bleed, apparently.

  Great, now what?

  “I’ll take you to my place after I l
oad up Pig. Is your cut okay? Do we need to stop at the Roylance’s?” Slate shifted into reverse and put his arm behind her head while he twisted to look over his shoulder.

  Go to his place? What would she do at his place besides watch him and Amelia? No matter what Ronan said, two beautiful people had to be attracted to each other. It was like a law or something.

  His gaze met hers. He shifted into drive without looking at the console and deliberately removed his arm from the seat back. “Are you staying in the barn apartment?”

  Becky broke eye contact. “I – well, yes, how did you know?” Did he know about her finances? Underwear size? Nosy man.

  He shrugged, facing forward. “Colby’s a small town, I don’t live that far outside town limits, and the apartment hasn’t been used in a while. Word travels, Doc.”

  Ah. The damnable small town. Of course. A person couldn’t sneeze on one end of the street without someone checking on the rumor she’d just had a heart attack from the other. Everyone knew everyone. She groaned in the base of her throat.

  “What? You okay? Does it hurt?” Slate slowed the truck down. Turning the corner, he checked over her more than once.

  “No. It’s just… Well, don’t you hate living in a small town?” She offered a shudder.

  His glances stopped. He stared at the lane behind the small hospital which narrowed into a small drive leading up to the Roylance’s. Splitting into a Y, left to the house and right to the barn, the lane’s only marker under all the snow was the chain-link fence outlining the property.

  Slate had better not ask to come up to her place. Her leg chose to speak up with a lightning bolt of pain in her ankle and up into her hip. Of course, she couldn’t walk on her own, but whatever, she’d crawl, scoot, or stand on her head to keep him out of her apartment.

  He pulled into the U-drive, parking with the trailer beside the barn door. “Hold on, I’ll come around.”

  Becky bit her lip. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the wound on her leg. Touching it was out of the question. Instead, she unbuckled her seatbelt and clenched her hands. If she didn’t stand on her own, he’d have to take her inside and up the stairs. Absolutely not!

  The door opened. His hand reached in, then his arms, then his head. He scooped her up like an infant and pulled her close. For a moment she considered the appeal of the man caring for her who just happened to have the strength to lift her without grunting. The bulge of his biceps moved against her side. No gym bulk here – the ripples as he moved told her he earned his muscles. Becky unclenched her teeth. Her mouth dried up. Crap. It’d been so long.

  Too long.

  He tromped through two feet of snow to the door and shouldered it open. “I need to get Pig loaded. Give me a minute and I’ll help you get your stuff. Is the leg okay? Do you think you’ll make it?”

  How the heck was she supposed to know how her leg was? She was the last one who would check it out. Blood wasn’t dripping down her leg in warm rivulets anymore. Maybe it was the heat that disgusted her. Or maybe the red color. The ooey gooeyness of the thick viscous… she shook her head. And that was enough. Other people were one thing, but hell, not her own blood and guts.

  Just inside the door, Slate settled her on a saddle set up on a sawhorse. Three steps from the stairs to her loft.

  That’s it. Becky eyed the distance. She could make that. Preparation for medical school, then the schooling itself, followed by further learning taught her she could do anything. Three feet was like making a hot dog when one was skilled at chicken parmesan et al. Thank goodness, Slate jostling her hadn’t created more pain in her leg.

  He moved off down the long corridor, probably to check on his horse. Becky ignored the musty smell and the dust on every surface in sight.

  Three feet. “You can do this, Becky.” She muttered. Sliding from the old cracked leather seat, she landed on the uninjured leg. Catching her bearings, she breathed in deep. “That wasn’t so bad.” She nodded and pressed her lips together. Once at the stairs, she could turn around and crab crawl up with her leg dragging behind her. No sweat.

  Confident, she willed her leg to limp the first step. Her toe touched the ground. More weight settled onto the knee.

  And she crumpled, landing on the floor. Puffs of straw dust rose around her, drifting out like the water waves in a pond. “Unh.”

  Son of a whorish turtle. The pain hurt worse than when she got the original cut. Tears smarted her eyes. Becky glanced in the direction Slate had disappeared. Pig must be in a stall deeper inside the barn.

  She rolled to her butt away from the stairs. Fine, she’d crab crawl to the stairs and then go up. The idea had merit and for that she deserved points, but dang it, each movement proved to be harder than just thinking it out.

  Inch by painful inch, Becky tackled the distance to the stairs. Gasping.

  The stairs loomed ahead of her. Her pride demanded he didn’t see her apartment. And he’d been gone a while already. She hung her head, breathing hard. She closed her eyes at the sound of Pig’s odd familiar cadence.

  Now what?

  Chapter 14

  Tucking Pig into the trailer proved more difficult than Slate had planned. Junior had spoiled the animal so bad, the damn thing didn’t want to leave. Who fed a horse apples, carrots, oats, and alfalfa straight through without exercise – apparently Junior did. At that point, Slate wouldn’t be surprised if Pig had dined on stuffing and mashed potatoes. Pizza, anyone?

  She-Doc had disappeared. But with his hands full, Slate didn’t have a chance to check on her. Stubborn as hell, Pig had an unerring ability to fart when he was frustrated and Slate somehow always ended up downwind – even in the barn where there was no wind.

  Junior was going to pay.

  Positioned at the door into the trailer, Pig jerked his head from the opening.

  “Get in there, you dumb animal.” Slate slapped Pig’s hindquarters with loving affection. No heat or real energy behind his swing. Pig stepped up the ramp and into the quarters.

  Slate slammed the door on a thunderous blast of gas. “You’ll smell that one in a minute… alone, buddy.” Each rod snapped into place to hold the door closed. The horse snorted in response.

  Hands tucked into his jacket pocket, Slate covered the cleared path from Pig’s recalcitrant steps. Inside, he stomped snow from his boots and looked around. Where had she gone? Her injury hadn’t been superficial enough to walk away. Around the saddled sawhorse, Slate stopped cold.

  She-Doc sat slumped against the stairs at a very uncomfortable angle, the edges of the stairs bracing her back. Her loose clothing hid the curves and angles of her slight form well. Holding her in his arms, had been a juxtaposition for his senses – what he saw countered what he felt. The alien sensation disturbed him, but he didn’t mind recounting the moments over and over.

  Kneeling beside her, he shook her shoulder. “Dr. O’Donald, would you like me to get anything in particular or do you want me to take you up with me?”

  She groaned and muttered something.

  He leaned his head lower. The unmistakable scent of some feminine flower – lavender? – assailed him with the movement of her hair. “What? I missed that.”

  She shook her head again. “No. I don’t want you to go upstairs. Is there any way you could get me up there while keeping your eyes closed?” Lips twisted in a derisive-yet-hopeful smile, Becky peeked at him through her auburn bangs.

  Slate watched her with a mixture of suspicion and doubt pinching his eyebrows together. “Have you lost more blood than I thought?”

  A shrieking laugh escaped her, closed off with a snort. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and studied her lap. Through her flesh, her laugh resembled a sob. “No, I guess that is crazy. We’d most likely fall to our deaths because you couldn’t see and I’d want to push you or jump myself.” After a moment of uncomfortable silence, she met his gaze. “I don’t need to go to your place. I can stay here.”

  “No, you’re comin
g with me.” He didn’t want to deal with stubbornness. The last thing he wanted to do involved scaring her, but the wound’s ugly edges shocked him.

  “But why am I going to your place? I have stuff upstairs I can bandage my leg with. There’s no reason for you to check in on me, you know. I understand the whole gentlemanly thing, but seriously, I got this.” She avoided the sight of her leg.

  Crap, she was going to be either hurt or pissed or an expected combination of both. “It’s not just you I’m checking on.” Her lowered eyebrows told him to continue. He did, but with halting progress. “I… Well, a couple things. Mac needs to be watched. Amelia and I aren’t quite sure what to watch for. And she’s going to need rest. Then there’s the matter of Ronan.”

  Becky’s mouth opened and Slate held up a hand to hold off her comments. “I know we haven’t talked about it, and I don’t want to. Suffice it to say, I’d rather not take the chance Ronan could contact you again without supervision. You don’t have a valid argument. The clinic is closed which means you won’t have anything going on for a day or two – at least until the snow clears. Most people around these parts can handle medical emergencies as basic as a cut and as complex as a break on their own. Surgery follow up is a bit more complex.” His words sped up and then slowed. “I’ll even contact the Roylances and let them know where you can be reached in case of any real emergency.”

  Oh, she was pissed. Her jaw tightened. Of their own free will, her lips pressed together. Cheeks pinkened. Her eyes narrowed, She-Doc growled. “I don’t need supervision, you jackass. What Mr. James suggested is not only unethical it’s illegal and how dare you suggest I can’t be trusted. I’m a doctor. And if you don’t trust me, get someone else to work on your nephew. My measure of trustworthiness didn’t hinder your capabilities to allow me to slice into his small stomach, did it?”

  Slate shook his head. Completely unreasonable wom—