Reckless Promise (14 page)

When Poppy helped Alice into the empty
waiting room, a nurse rushed over, calling over her shoulder for
the doctor. "Mrs. Bailey. What happened?"

"A rock came down and almost hit us, and
there was a truck. We ran off the road," Poppy explained, since
Alice didn't seem to be answering. "I guess her arm got caught in
the steering wheel. And she hit her head."

The nurse spared a glance at Poppy. "You
hurt?"

When she shook her head, the doctor and nurse
whisked Alice into another room. This must be one of the blessings
of a small town. They would have waited for a couple of hours for
attention at Massachusetts General. Poppy had been through that
with Jase the time he'd broken his arm trying to learn to
skateboard for a new play.

She sank into an uncomfortable turquoise
plastic chair and rested her head against the wall. Someone should
call Tom, but she didn't have the number, didn't want to think
responsible things right now. She wanted someone to tell her she
was brave and wonderful.

She wanted Mac. In her imagination, he
cuddled her close and— The bell on the door jingled and two women
came into the waiting room. From the worn jeans and cowboy boots on
the taller one, and the housedress on the plump one carrying a
baby, she assumed they were locals, and they looked so much alike
they must be sisters. "Hey there," Boots-and-Jeans said. "Is Doc
in?"

Poppy nodded, the motion making her aware of
the stiffness in her neck. In a few more hours she'd feel like that
truck had hit her instead of scaring her out of a dozen lives.
"He's with a patient."

The nurse poked her head in to see who had
arrived. "Hello, Grace, Karen. You come to show Doc the new baby?
Have a seat, he'll be out in a bit. I know he wants to see that
sweetie pie." She went back down the hall.

"You're new here," Grace said.

Poppy swallowed a sigh at Grace's expression,
the usual pokered-up one that most women got when they saw her.
"Just visiting. I'm staying at Bailey's Ranch." She grimaced at the
twin looks of relief. But she had no reason to be rude, so she
explained about Alice, assured them she would recover, and admired
the baby, at first dutifully, and then with pleasure.

About a century later, the doctor pushed a
groggy-looking Alice into the room in a wheelchair. Her glance
passed over Karen and Grace and she closed her eyes.

"A nasty sprain," the doctor told Poppy. "And
a bump on the head. Nothing serious according to the x-rays, but
we'll keep her overnight for observation. I've called Tom, and he's
on his way. At about two hundred miles an hour, would be my guess."
He smiled. "Since there's no hospital here in town, I keep a room
for times like this." He gestured at a partly open door on the
other side of the waiting room, and Poppy saw the corner of a
hospital bed. "Tom can stay with her."

Poppy nodded, and winced at the protest from
her neck.

His gaze sharpened. "Let's take a look at you
while you're here."

She tried to protest, but he handed her over
to the nurse. "I'll be right with you," he said, and turned to
admire Karen's baby.

"Alice, you poor thing," Karen said.

"I'll be okay," Alice said, her voice slurred
and indistinct. "But I don't think I'll be holding the baby today."
She almost managed a smile.

"I was going to call you this afternoon. Doc
just told me yesterday and I couldn't wait to tell you." Grace
paused, swelling with the importance of her news. "I'm
pregnant!"

Poppy stopped in the doorway and turned just
in time to catch a flash of utter desolation on Alice's face as her
gaze lingered on her friend's flat stomach. She followed the nurse
to an examining room wondering what that meant.

"You're going to be pretty sore for a few
days," the doctor told Poppy after he'd given her a thorough check
over. "You can go home. I recommend ibuprofen, hot packs, and a lot
of relaxing."

She lay back on the examining table and
closed her eyes. Relaxing sounded good. No acting. She'd make a
pathetic bombshell...black and blue and zonked on painkillers
couldn't be very seductive.

"Here you go." The nurse returned with a
couple of pills, a glass of water, and blanket.

Poppy raised herself on one elbow, wincing as
sore muscles protested, and swallowed obediently.

"Now you just lie back and rest. You can
leave whenever you feel up to it, but you might want to nap a bit
first. I'm going to make sure Alice is all settled."

Poppy didn't want to think about having to
drive that monster car back to the ranch, so she didn't argue. The
slamming of a car door wakened her, and she glanced out the window
to see Tom jump out of the big black ranch truck. She tottered out
into the hall in time to see Tom at Alice's bedside, wild-eyed and
panicky, and looked away, feeling like a voyeur. A slightly
battered, very lonely voyeur. She staggered back to the hard bed
and slept.

A few hours of napping later, full dark had
blanketed the countryside. She climbed into Tom's pickup. Once the
doctor had assured him she wasn't hurt, Tom had had no hesitation
in letting her drive herself back to the ranch. "I'll keep the
Suburban. It'll be more comfortable for Alice going home," he said.
"I'm glad it's you instead of a regular guest. I know you'll be
okay."

She wished she had the same faith in the
truck, in her driving, in that killer road. She crept along the
rocky stretch, alternately watching for trucks and attack
rocks.

Finally she pulled up in front of the ranch
house and went about the problem of getting her stiff, bruised self
down out of the mile-high-off-the-ground truck. Before she'd done
more than get her seat belt unfastened, Mac burst out of the ranch
house and jerked the truck door open. "Where's Alice? What the hell
have you done now?"

Groggy with fatigue and adrenalin aftermath,
she tried to focus on his face. "What?"

"Tom said Alice got hurt." Mac reached up and
grabbed her arm. She swallowed a cry of pain. "What did you do to
her?"

"She's all right." Poppy looked down at him,
bleary and aching and miserable. Of course, he must be half out of
his mind with worry, but that didn't give him any right to assign
blame to her. Her face felt like stone as she gave a police-blotter
summary.

His face went white.

"Now please let go of me," she said.

He didn't.

"Take your hand off me." She let her anger
flood her, using it to stifle the hurt and give her the energy to
move. "Haven't you figured it out yet, you jerk? You've had to come
slinking back with an apology every damned time you’ve blamed me
for something."

"I know. I—"

"Didn't you hear me? I saved Alice. Blaming
me because she's hurt is the last, ultimate, absolutely final
insult of a rotten day. If you have one grain of sense, you'll step
away from the truck and leave me alone tonight."

He stepped back. "Are you hurt?"

"Nice of you to ask. No." She inched to the
edge of the seat and eased her feet toward the ground, which looked
to be about ten feet away. She paused to gather her courage,
anticipating the pain of landing.

He put his hands on her waist and lifted her
down. "Poppy—"

"Not now." She ignored the way his hands
turned her blood to warm honey. "Go away."

"I had no right to assume—"

"No, you didn't." She took a few stiff,
hobbling steps toward her cabin. It seemed very far away but she'd
make it. An hour or two in a hot shower ought to help.

"You are hurt. I'm sorry," he said.

"Fine. Very noble of you. Now leave me alone.
Don't look. Don't touch. And especially, don't talk. Not tonight,
dear, I have a headache." And a backache and a leg ache and an arm
ache and a chest ache. But worst of all, a heartache.

"That's probably not all that hurts," he
said, and gathered her up in his arms. "And I know just what to
do." He carried her up the stairs, through the house, and out
toward the pool.

She should protest such cavalier treatment.
Instead, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

He set her on her feet and switched on the
jets in the hot tub, sending the water frothing. Moist heat
enveloped her, and her whole body clamored to be in that lovely
water.

Deftly, he unbuttoned her shirt.

Chapter 8

Poppy swatted at his hands. He'd just accused
her of attacking his sister and he thought she'd fall into his
arms? He'd better think again. "Stop that. This is a public
place."

"Everyone's gone to bed. Anyway, I didn't
turn on the lights. No one could see you even if they were here."
He unfastened her jeans and pushed them down over her hips.
"Sit."

"No."

He pushed, and she folded into a chair.
"That's better."

"Didn't you hear me? I'm not in the
mood."

"I'm helping you. You need this. Relax and
let me take care of you." His hands were gentle, soothing, and
curiously impersonal as he stripped off her boots, socks, and
jeans.

She wanted to melt into the comfort he
offered. She made one last stab at being strong. "You can't just
take over and—"

"Hush." He pulled off his own boots and
jeans, picked her up as gently as if she were a new-born baby, and
carried her into the hot, foaming water.

Okay. He could just take over. She lay back
against him, dizzy and floating into the warmth. Bubbles tickled
along her skin, soothing nerve endings she hadn't realized were
complaining. She'd go along with anything that felt this good.

"Doc give you any medication?"

"Mmm." She didn't want to make the effort to
answer, but he'd probably insist. "Just ibuprofen."

"Good." He eased out from under her and she
muttered a wordless protest. "I'll be right back," he told her.
"Don't move."

No problem. She might never move again
anyway. Resting her head on the edge of the pool, she pondered
Alice. No wonder she'd been so glad to see Mac if he'd taken care
of her like this all her life. Poppy closed her eyes and floated,
letting herself drift between the ice-bright stars and hot,
bubbling water.

"Here." He stood on the deck, holding two
wine glasses and a bottle. His shorts gleamed white in the
starlight as he walked through the steamy, chlorine-scented air,
down the steps and into the bubbling water.

"What's that?"

"Tom's best chardonnay," Mac said with a
wicked grin. "Ought to be better than a sleeping pill." He poured
wine and handed it to her, then raised his glass. "To successful
apologies." He took a deep swallow, then looked up and met her
gaze. "Won't you drink to that? I really am sorry I yelled at
you."

She hesitated, too relaxed and cosseted to
say no, but remembering how awful it had felt when he'd accused
her.

"Please?"

She lifted her glass to him and tasted the
wine. It rolled over her tongue, rich and golden. "To successful
apologies," she repeated. His gaze touched her like an angel wing,
and every nerve ending in her skin went on full alert. "It's all
right to worry about someone you love." If only she inspired that
kind of loyalty in someone. Her head spun with the release of
stress, wine, and fatigue—and Mac.

"I know I'm too protective of Alice. I've
been her only family for too long, I guess."

"She's a very lucky woman to have you. But
she does have Tom now."

Mac leaned forward and looked into her eyes.
"And you? Is there someone who makes you lucky?"

He hadn't asked her anything that personal
before. "Friends," she said after a pause. "Not family." She gazed
at him over the rim of her glass. He lounged back against the side
of the tub, eyes shadowed in the dim light. She lowered her gaze
and sipped at her wine. The excitement that sizzled through her
didn't have a lot to do with the hot water or the wine. Mac could
make her feel lucky. Very lucky indeed.

He lifted her feet into his lap and ran his
thumbs down the arches. Pleasure curled through nerve endings all
the way to her scalp. "Special friends?"

"All my friends are special," she murmured,
lost in a fog of bliss.

Mac went rigid. His hands stilled on her
feet.

She opened one eye. "What?"

He resumed rubbing. "Nothing."

"Mm."

"You're going to sleep." He murmured.

"Mm-hmm." No. A coyote howled in the distance
and she shivered. The lonely sound reminded her of the other night,
of Mac's arms around her, pulling her against his hard, yearning
body. How strange everything had seemed that night, the land, the
ranch, the people. Now... "Such a pretty night," she said dreamily.
"Like crystal in the moonlight, and he's out there, singing all
alone."

Just like her. Poor me. Poor Poppy. All
alone. But she wasn't alone now. Deliciously warm water purled
around her, spreading memories of Mac's hands on her.

He shifted through the churning water to sit
next to her. "Turn your back," he said, and when she did, put his
hands on her shoulders, gently kneading her knotted muscles. She
set down her glass and relaxed into his touch. His hands wrapped
around her shoulders, warm and soothing, and skimmed down her back,
expertly loosening the tightness, soothing the aches, until she
couldn't tell his fingers from the touch of the water, until she
could have sworn his hands were everywhere, and an aching heat
settled between her legs.

He cupped her shoulders again, let his
fingers drift up her neck, explored that so-sensitive place where
neck and shoulder joined. Her mind floated in the bliss of his
touch.

She wanted more. "Mac," she murmured,
stretching against him so that the hand that had been gliding down
her side settled over her breast. "Mac."

He went completely still, and it seemed as
though all her nerve endings had clustered under that one hand. The
water beat around her, she heard the splash of it, felt sharp
mountain air and hot bubbling water, but they faded in comparison
to his touch.