Millionaire M.D. (16 page)

“Okay, I'll quit teasing you,” Pamela said. “If you don't want to talk about your doctor hunk, I won't press. And I promise, I'll keep my ear to the ground on anything I might hear about Angel's mother.” She motioned to the baby, and hesitated. “You want to keep her, don't you?” she asked softly.

“Yeah.” Winona could feel her eyes burning. “I already feel like she's mine. But what matters is that we know what happened. It's the best way to protect the baby's future long-term. The truth. Not just wishful thinking.”

“I'm afraid that's true of life, too. Unfortunately.” Pamela suddenly pressed a hand on her abdomen. “I'm sorry. I have to go.”

Winona saw the gesture. “Are you ill? Do you need some help?”

“No, no, I'm fine. It's just that ever since that darned plane crash, nothing seems to sit well on my stomach. Maybe it's a little post-traumatic stress or some silly nonsense like that.
It's only been a couple of weeks. I figure I'll be patient a little longer before throwing in the towel and seeing a doc. Anyway…” She stood up, pressed Winona's hand and kissed the baby's forehead, before heading for the door.

Angel seemed to finish the bottle at the same time. Winona lifted the baby to her shoulder, patting her, burping her, still smiling a goodbye as Pamela left…but the smile slowly faded from her face. She snuggled the baby close.

She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something troubling Justin that she didn't understand. Before, it hadn't mattered. Before, it hadn't been her business, her right to know or ask or help.

But now it was.

And now her heart was hanging out there, at risk in a way she'd never risked her heart before. For a man who was worth it. But a man she suddenly wasn't sure really needed—or wanted—her.

W
hen Justin picked up Winona for dinner, he was so close to a shambling mess that he wanted to laugh at himself. He'd never been a nervous type. Couldn't be. In his work, he had to do hours of intricate surgery without hesitation or allowing emotions to fluster his judgment. Yet tonight, his stomach was flip-flopping, his heartbeat galloping like a clumsy colt's, his palms sticky-damp, and the extremely small package in his suit pocket seemed to weigh five tons.

He counted on feeling better when he saw her—only it didn't work out that way.

For a few minutes she stood in the doorway, giving Myrt instructions and talking about the baby. And while she was standing there, she tugged on a coat, which she was definitely going to need, since the January night was frigid, the stars colder than diamonds against a black felt sky. Still, he'd caught a look at her in the black silk and heels. Even when Win dressed up, she never wore show-off clothes, nothing to toot her figure or draw attention to herself. But something
had gotten into her. Something dangerous. Something worrisome. He didn't know what to make of it all—the dipping-to-trouble bodice and the smoky thing she'd done to her eyes and the subtly lethal scent she wore.

His blood pressure had been in trouble before he picked her up. Now it was threatening stroke levels.

He was tugging on his tie even before he'd parked and walked her into Claire's. The restaurant was on Main Street, past the bustling new town, past the shopping district, past the old, historic Royalton Hotel. Possibly five crystal snow flakes fell from the sky—no more, just enough to add atmosphere and magic to the night—and they stepped inside.

Although Royal was a wealthy town because of its oil, the town's personality had never been formal. Claire's was the exception. Just inside the door, there was almost an audible hush. The tables were decked with white linen, each center-pieced with a fresh rosebud. No prices showed up on the menus. The carpet was a luxurious wine, the wallpaper some type of velvet flocking in ruby-red. In the far corner, a piano player wearing a tux played muted love songs.

Once he'd taken her coat, Winona half turned to whisper in his ear, “All right. This is scary. I've been here before. You know how it is. The Gerards used Claire's for special celebrations like everyone else does—at least everyone who can afford it. But I always wondered…exactly what happens if someone trips? Or burps?”

In spite of the five-ton weight of the package in his pocket, Justin started relaxing. How could he have forgotten? Win was as natural to be with as his own heartbeat. Even if that dip in her dress was affecting said heartbeat with drumroll enthusiasm. “It's okay,” he assured her. “Nothing bad is allowed to happen in here, so you don't have to worry about it.”

“Ah. Is that how it works? I always have the feeling that I'm going to get a run in my stocking the minute I walk into
this place. Or, more to the point, that I'll be the only woman in Claire's with a noticeable run.”

“Well, that could be. But if that happens, you could take off the stocking and hand it to me to hide—along with anything you're wearing under that slinky black dress.”

“Justin! This dress is not slinky!”

“It sure is. On you.” Again, he yanked on his tie. “Maybe we should go straight home. You're not that hungry, are you? I am. But not for food anymore.”

Winona crackled the menu. “You are a bad, bad man and an even worse influence,” she said severely, and then smiled like a saint for the waiter.

“I think we want to start out with the most decadent bottle of wine you've got in the cellar,” Justin said, only to have Win bat her eyes at him.

“You mean those grapes went out and misbehaved? Created a scandal on their own?”

“You bet. You just can't trust those grapes. Some of them grow up just praying for a chance to raise hell….” And to the waiter, he said, “Don't mind us. We're out of our minds. And in the meantime—we want the best steaks you've got in the back—and I don't mean the ones you shipped in from Kansas. We want Texas steaks or nothing—and cooked more rare than a politician's promises.”

“Yes, sir.” The waiter had a hard time not cracking up, but then he was gone.

“Slip off your shoes, Win. You're just with me. We're going to do the gluttony and decadent relaxing thing tonight or die trying. No thinking about work or babies or worries or anything else, okay?”

Her smile was so sweet he was damn near tempted to sing her love songs. In public, yet. She raised a hand, matching his, touching fingertips to fingertips as if there wasn't another soul in the restaurant. How he'd lived without her this long confounded Justin. And that he could help ease her nerves
made him feel sky high…although that moment of private peace didn't last, unfortunately.

Her soft smile suddenly seemed to wax still. “Darnit, Justin, I was really hoping to talk to you…but there are two men sitting over at a corner table by the window. They can't be local, because I'd have seen them before, and there's something a little odd about their clothes. The thing is, though, that they keep staring at you….”

Justin didn't glance over his shoulder. He'd already noticed the two men when they'd first been ushered in. “Yeah. Their names are Milo and Garth. Quite a pair, aren't they? They remind me of a poodle and a pug.”

“A poodle and a pu….” Again, she glanced at the two men, and then her soft mouth worked as she tried to control a giggle. “Justin, that's terrible!”

“But true, isn't it?” Once the waiter brought the open bottle, Justin motioned him away and poured the pinot noir into her glass.

“Well, I take it you know them? Oh shoot, they're coming this way.”

Well, hell. There were only two human beings on the planet Justin really wanted to see tonight—one was the baby, and the other—the only one he really wanted—was Win. But now he was forced to look up. And as Winona had warned, bad news seemed determinedly bearing down on them.

Milo, the tall one, really did resemble a standard poodle. He was ultralean, with fairly broad shoulders but no butt or body and reedlike legs. A head full of springy, wiry curls framed an angular face with small eyes and a long nose. His sidekick, Garth, was a total contrast. Built short and squat, he had a pug's flat nose and ornery expression. When Justin had first noted them eating, Garth had been shoveling in food as if he feared never getting another meal.

Both now approached their table with courteous smiles. “Doctor Webb, it's nice to see you again. We don't want to
interrupt your dinner, but when we recognized you across the room, we thought we should say hello.”

“I'm glad you did,” Justin lied smoothly, and promptly introduced Win—although there was a limit to manners. There was no way he was asking the two boys to sit down. “Milo and Garth are here from Asterland, Winona—”

Milo turned an extra-watt smile on her. “Yes, we just arrived yesterday.”

“—and they're here to investigate the difficulties with the plane. Hopefully, by pooling American and Asterland resources together, we're going to find some solid answers soon, right, gentlemen?”

“We all hope.” Milo bobbed his head. “Since you happen to be here, Dr. Webb, Garth and I have been going over the passenger list. Do you happen to be familiar with a Ms. Pamela Miles and a Ms. Jamie Morris?”

Justin felt Win's gaze leaping to his face. His ankle brushed hers, hoping that she would pick up the message that he wanted to handle this alone. “Yes. Both young women live locally. Although I would certainly hope that you would be studying the entire passenger list, and not just the two individuals who happen to be American.”

“Of course, of course. It was just that, naturally, the Americans are the ones who are the least familiar to us.”

And it would be far handier to find an American to blame for the plane crash than one of their own countrymen—although Justin took care not to voice that thought. “Well, to be truthful, I am in no position to answer any personal questions about either woman. And neither will Ms. Raye. But both Ms. Miles and Ms. Morris have lived in Royal their whole lives, and I believe you'll find there's no problem with them in any way.”

“I'm sure. Thank you for your time.” Garth's flat, shiny eyes acknowledged first him, then Winona.

When they'd finally walked out of earshot, back toward
their table, Winona turned to him with a frown. “The little guy gave me the willies, Doc.”

Justin shrugged. “I'm not surprised the Asterlanders sent someone to investigate their plane trouble. I don't think there's anything weird about that. But they hit on me for information right after they got here. I had a feeling they thought they could get more from a doctor than the law. Which just struck me as off base, not the normal chain of questioning…but it's not like it matters. We're going to completely forget about them now, okay?”

“Okay.”

“How's my baby today?”

“Your baby started out this morning by charming the entire juvenile court. I swear, the only time she ever fusses is when she's alone with me. In a crowd she never fails to live up to her name.”

“Myrt's going to be really unhappy to hear that. She was counting on you needing a nanny more during the day, couldn't wait to baby-sit for us tonight…” They both kept up a light chatter over dinner. The waiter served steak with Béarnaise sauce, snow peas and whipped potatoes. When he got around to taking those plates away, he showed back up offering crème brûlée, which was enough to make Win moan.

“Honestly, I can't.”

“Sure you can.” He motioned to the waiter to bring two servings.

“You don't understand. I have a weakness for certain desserts. I can't give into it or I'll be fat as a tub.”

He heard her protests, but when the dessert arrived, all he heard was “Oh, my,” followed by more “Oh, my, my, mys.”

He said, “I'm not positive, but I'm almost sure that they generally discourage customers from having orgasms in front of the other restaurant clientele.”

“Tough. That's their problem.” Now that she'd quit being nervous, Win was back to being herself. Full of devilment
and fearless—at least fearlessly diving into his dish of crème brûlée. She'd finished her own. “You
did
bring a wheelbarrow to cart me out of here, didn't you?”

“No. But I did happen to bring something else.” He pushed a hand in his right pocket, and geezle beezle, realized his dad-blasted fingers were shaking again.

“Justin…” Maybe Win sensed that something momentous was coming, because she suddenly launched into a nonstop talking fest. “Let's talk about some problems, okay? I don't know what might be bothering you, but it occurred to me that one thing could be the house. You know what I mean. Which house we're going to live in? And it doesn't really matter to me, but my place is so small that your house seems to be obviously the best choice.”

“Well, your house is too small for the three of us, but that doesn't have to limit us, Win. If you don't like my place, we could either go house shopping or build from scratch.”

“Do you really want to do that?”

“I want to do whatever works for you. And the baby.”

“Well…I love your house. So unless you actually want to move, I think it's ideal. Although…”

It wasn't going to work. Trying to talk about anything normal. Not while the box in his pocket was burning a hole in his mind. So when she lifted another spoonful of crème brûlée, he slipped the small black box on the table. When she lowered the spoon, she saw it.

Even though she hadn't leveled all of his dessert yet—and was obviously still hungry for it—she dropped the spoon. She dropped her hands, too. Her eyes met his, softer than lake water and more vulnerable than a spring night.

“Can I…open it?” she asked softly.

“You're going to give me a heart attack if you don't. Not that you have to like it, Win. I wanted to give you a surprise, but in the long run, I want you to have something that you really love and want to look at every day. The best jeweler
I know is in Austin. We could fly up there, and he could either make you something specific to—”

Since she was paying no attention to his monologue, he quit talking. By then she'd opened the box. It was just a ring. Not a diamond, because once he'd become part of the Texas Cattleman's Club, he'd become exposed to the value and meaning of certain gems. The sapphire not only matched her eyes, but a sapphire was supposed to be a stone for a woman who valued her individuality, a one-of-a-kind, as she was. And because he couldn't choose a huge gem, because Win was mightily against ostentation, he'd opted for a priceless one. The hue was unusual for a sapphire, not the dark blue of midnight, but the clear, deep blue of her eyes, the limitless blue of…love.

He'd prepared a speech to communicate all that, partly because he wanted to tell her…but also because he was desperate to have something to say so that she couldn't change her mind. But as it happened, he never had a chance to worry about any of that.

She hurled herself at him. Arms raised. Head tilted. She knocked over a spoon, then a saucer, making enough of a clatter to have heads swiveling from all over the restaurant to witness her throwing herself in his arms. He saw her eyes glistening and almost died to realize she was crying.

And then she kissed him.

Or he kissed her. By then, who could tell? The only thing that mattered was meeting her exuberant kiss halfway…and then more than halfway. Lips touched, and all that rough, fast hurling around was suddenly over. The kiss turned soft and silent and secret. Reverent.

The whisper of her taste was a promise. The texture of her lips a vow. God, she won his heart all over again. Every time she came to him, he felt this horrible melting from the inside. A changing. An instinctive understanding that his life could be bigger with her, his heart could be stronger, the whole universe richer—if she just loved him.