The Bride Wore Red Boots (12 page)

S
HE
'
D ONLY HAD
one glass of wine all day, but she still had to be drunk. Why else would she be in a stranger's car on her way to a stranger's house to see a stranger who should be in a hospital ER after being kicked by a stolen cow?

Anyone who knew Mia would describe her as logical—to a fault—and someone who followed the rules of common sense if not every social constraint. She knew this about herself. She counted those traits among her strengths. And yet the familiar landscape of western Wyoming passed in a blur, carrying her in the opposite direction of Paradise Ranch where she so badly wanted to go. Home, to sleep.

There was the exhaustion of course. Some formula equating sleeplessness to high blood alcohol levels was clearly exacerbated by adding one glass of wine—

“I really can't thank you enough for this.” Gabriel broke into her tipsy-like musings.

She waved a hand at him. “Paying you back for the hot towel treatment today. That was pretty epic.”

He laughed and they settled into silence. Oddly enough, it was the first truly quiet moment she'd had since arriving. It had been frantic races to reach Joely and Dr. Landon before surgery, then the adoring welcome from her family, and then constant conversation for five hours. And through it all, there'd been the persistent tension caused by the man beside her. Instead of their teasing banter annoying her, she found it . . . stimulating. In more than one way.

She rubbed her eyes. Yeah. She really did have to be intoxicated.

Rory's sad-hopeful face drifted into her mind, and she closed her eyes. She'd only been able to talk to him before leaving New York. He was living temporarily with a foster family of five kids where he was the youngest, and he didn't like it either. She'd had to disappoint him with the news that they couldn't visit this weekend. Jack still couldn't stay with him, since the new foster house had two large dogs, who were very friendly to people but very lethal to cats. Jack would be staying with her friend Brooke.

“She'll help you visit him, and I'll be back soon.” she'd promised. “And we can text if you want.”

Some perceptiveness in his character had heard her sadness. He'd wheedled the truth from her about her job interview and had become one of very few people who knew. Instead of telling her he was sorry, he'd sent her a hug over the phone.

“I'm glad you won't be the boss,” he'd said. “You'd be too busy to be a good doctor.”

If any of her adult friends had said such a thing, she'd have considered it condescension. Out of Rory's mouth it felt like a compliment from the angels.

“Almost there.” Gabriel broke into her thoughts again, before she could sink into gloom over the job failure. She didn't do failure well.

“So you're right in Wolf Paw Pass then,” she said, swiveling her head to take in the main street of the oldest small town in the area.

In a way, coming into town was as good as reaching the ranch. Her great-grandfather and uncles had helped found Wolf Paw Pass. There were a couple of Crockett-era buildings left, and Mia and her sisters had haunted the ice cream shop, the local diner, and the homes of their “city” friends their whole lives.

“Couple of blocks from here,” Gabriel said. “It's an apartment building from the seventies. Four floors of eight apartments, a little retro, but nicely renovated. I was already living there, and the VA negotiated fantastic rents for eight more apartments.”

“The more I think about it, the more unlikely it seems that you pulled this project off.”

“I know. It
was
unlikely. There's a reason they called me Slick in school.”

“I am riding to the scene of a crime with a comedian named Slick?”

“I was not the upstanding citizen in high school that I am now,” he agreed. “But I promise I'm completely reformed. Makes me such a great parent for those alien octuplets.”

“I have no choice but to take your word for it.”

“That and wait for me to prove myself.” He grinned without looking at her. “So, this project is set up for one year only. If I have success with these guys, the concept will continue but probably not the physical parts of this pilot program. My goal is for it to be a specialized service vets will apply to get into. I'd like to have had three years, but I took what I could get.”

She watched the tight, precise motion of his jaw as he spoke, saw his knuckles whiten and relax on the steering wheel as his passion flowed and ebbed through his words. He was every bit as Hollywood gorgeous as she'd remembered, but that wasn't what drew her. His intensity reminded her of herself, but the fact that he could exude such fervor without sounding angry both impressed and intimidated her. She knew she didn't possess his kind of quiet self-control.

He turned his head unexpectedly and caught her staring. The resulting smile in the dim light of the car drove through her like a million little sparks.

“What?” he asked.

“Absolutely nothing.” She snapped at him and then looked away, her skin hot. She hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but this was why he irritated her so easily. He bested her emotions without even trying, and it was usually an ability to control the emotions around her that was
her
stock in trade.

She couldn't control anything about him. She'd never been able to, not without going over his head. The realization made the sparks of attraction turning into agitated quivers in her stomach all the harder to take.

He pulled into the parking lot of a nondescript, but tidy, rectangular two-story wooden building. She noticed immediately the abundance of lighting around the doors, and could see as they passed the main entrance, a full-fledged security system. She wondered why, in this town where she remembered people leaving bank drafts in their unlocked cars without fear, there was such a big precaution.

“Okay,” he said after pulling into a spot and turning off the engine. “Brewster lives in apartment fourteen, which is sadly notorious for its tasteless décor. I apologize ahead of time for the indefensible amount of thinly clad skin portrayed on the walls.”

“I've seen plenty of body skin,” she said curtly as the door opened and the car flooded with light. “I don't have time to worry about whether the person under the skin is sexist or not.”

“Very liberated of you. Or, wait,
is
that liberated? If you're a female?”

She shook her head, softening at his discomfiture. This was a ridiculous way to best
his
emotions, but it was strangely satisfying, even a little flattering. “Stop trying so hard. He's a single guy, and I've seen naked girl pictures. Don't worry about it. They don't turn me on.”

A flush crept over his ears, and his eyes locked with hers. “I sure wish you hadn't put that image in my head.”

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how to torture a US Army lieutenant, retired.”

He curled his lip. “I liked you better when you were just annoying and didn't think you were funny.”

“Really?” His teasing warmed her. She was getting used to this brand of it. “I didn't like
you
better when you were just annoying.”

“I never was.”

“Oh, right. I forgot.”

He gave a quick laugh and stepped out of the car.

They entered the building and climbed the stairs to the second floor. The hallway was brightly lit, glowing off of cool, blue carpeting. Four doors lined each side of the hall, and each door was fitted with its own mini-version of the security system outside. Again it struck her as overkill.

“Big on security here for this little town, aren't you?”

He walked silently a moment, serious again as if planning his answer. “There are lots of what you might call boogie men threatening these doorways. The locks keep away some of them.”

His words held no chastisement, only a tinge of wistful regret, but Mia felt the sting of embarrassment. She should have connected the dots herself. Even she wasn't so insensitive she didn't understand emotional injury to some war veterans. Gabe had told her himself he'd hand-picked these eight for their severe traumas.

“Of course,” she said quietly. “Sorry. I wasn't thinking.”

They reached apartment fourteen and Gabriel's mood changed. He made no pretense of knocking politely but pounded on the door with a clenched fist. “Open up you pile of crap idiots.”

So much for sympathy over the boogeymen. Still, she loved the evil scowl on his face as he pummeled away.

A moment later a door opened, but not the one in front of them.

“Gabe. Down here.”

They turned to the right, and Gabriel's features hardened into disbelief. “What the hell are you doing there?”

“Damn cow musta kicked the keys out of Brewster's pocket. He's locked out. We used your emergency key.”

“You couldn't have used your own, Hauser? Or hacked in seeing as you're the electronic genius.”

“Nah. I got no food in my place.”

“Care to explain?” Mia asked, far more amused by the exchanges than she should have been.

“That's my place,” he scowled. “Freeloading jackidiots.”

“Aw,” she soothed. “C'mon. It'll be fun to see where you live.”

“And let you see all the whips and toys in my playroom? Hell no.”

For a moment, the bizarre reply struck her dumb. He turned toward his open apartment without a single wink, grin, or giggle to indicate he'd been kidding. Of course, he was. On the other hand, the response had been awfully glib.

“Man,” she said, turning with him. “I sure wish you hadn't put that image in my head.”

A
T FIRST GLANCE
Gabriel's apartment looked like the set of a bad movie about human sacrifice. Four figures—two in hoodies, one in a tight-fitting wife-beater that showed off a colorful tattoo sleeve, and one actually holding a knife—stood around a body on its back in a leather recliner. The only light came from one lamp in the corner of the room, the overhead fixture in a room around a corner, and a flickering flat-screen television.

The bluish glow, the macabre tableau, the weird get-ups—it had to be a set up. Or there really was a scary playroom somewhere around a corner. Mia shot Gabe a skeptical look and got rolled eyeballs in response.

“What are you doing to my chair?” he bellowed.

“They're killin' me here, Gabe,” came a moan from the body.

“Quit your bellyaching, Brewster.” The figure with the knife bent forward and stabbed the implement downward into the chair. Mia choked.

“Hey, G.” The tattooed man approached, a Tom Cruise smile spreading across his face. “Brewster dropped two Tylenol down the cushion. Hauser is fishing 'em out with a dinner knife.”

Mia covered her mouth to hold in a sputter and leaned closer to Gabriel. “You weren't worried about any playroom,” she accused in a strangled whisper. “You didn't want me to know you lived in a psych ward.”

“Oh, good, you figured that out.” He moved toward the group. “Hauser, get that knife away from my leather chair; it's four flippin' days old. Brewster, if you got blood on it, I'm charging you.”

“I'm not bleeding. And, hey, love you, too, man.”

“Oh, quit your whining. If you aren't dead I've got no sympathy. What were you thinking?”

“I wasn't,” the man said easily. “I was just cracking myself up with the picture of a cow crapping on the floor of the VA—kind of like they're crapping on us.”

Mia followed Gabe, closing in on the men with fascination. The kid in the chair, Brewster, was muscular but wiry with a long patrician face and short, mussed blond hair. The recliner footrest was extended, and on top of that, his right leg was propped on a pillow. A bag of frozen vegetables lay limp across his midthigh.

“You know this is the bullet that kills us all, right?” Gabriel said. “When did that occur to you?”

“About the time Madeline wouldn't get on the trailer,” Hauser replied.

“Madeline?” Gabe asked.

“That's what they told us the cow's name was.”

“Oh, for the love . . . ” Gabe placed his hand gently between Mia's shoulder blades. “I brought you a doctor even though I should let you suffer. I'll let her help you under one condition. You will do whatever, and I mean what
ever
, she tells you to do. No argument.”

The room went perfectly still. Five pairs of eyes raked her up and down in astonishment. Mia couldn't have cared less and wouldn't have under any circumstances. She'd held her own against gang members from South Bronx. But in this case, it wasn't the men but Gabriel's fingers against her spine that stole her focus and sent delight shimmering across her body.

“This is Dr. Amelia Crockett,” he said. “She's a highly skilled surgeon from New York. So behave yourselves or I'll let her practice on you all.”

He dropped his hand from her back, and the distracting fog over her world cleared. Every man greeted her at once, vying for her response like prep school boys who hadn't seen a girl all semester. She shook their hands, processing each name but knowing she'd need more passes through the introductions to remember them—Rick Hauser, Dan Holt, Damien Finney, Pat MacDougal. When she finally reached the leader and instigator, he was waiting for her with arm outstretched.

“Hell-ooo, Doc. I am very glad to see you.”

“I suppose you are. And you must be the famous Jason Brewster.”

He looked around to all the others, smiling. “Hear that? I'm famous.”

“You're probably about to be famous in the hospital,” she said.

“Oh, I don't think I need to go there,” he said with an exaggerated wink. “A little something for the dull ache, and I'll be good to go.”

“That right?” Mia smiled. “Glad to know I'm your second opinion. Well, maybe you're right. Can I take a look?”

“Sure.” Jason picked the bag of frozen carrots off his leg and tossed it to Finney. Beneath it, however, he wore gray sweatpants. Mia crossed her arms.

“Sorry,” she said. “Those need to come off.”

The room erupted in hoots and whistles, all aimed this time at Brewster. “Come again, Doc?” he said and looked around at the repeat of the snickers.

“Okay.” She smiled sweetly and squatted next to the arm of the chair. “The sweatpants need to come off.” She repeated in a sing-song voice. “So you need to tell me whether you can stand up and remove them yourself or if you need
moi
to sacrifice them by cutting them up the front.”

“Oooh, not my favorite sweats, Doc.” He grinned at her again, but from this close, she could see the pain shimmering in his eyes. The tough soldier was doing his job.

“Okay, Mister Brewster. Then get your buddies to help you up and strip to the boxers. Or tighty whities. Whichever form of undergarment you prefer won't be a secret much longer. And one more thing. If I
don't
see a pair of boxers, briefs, or that weird boxer-brief combination thing some guys like, then you won't be coming tonight or any other for a while. You'll be on a fast track to the ER.”

She stood and kept his eye with a smile. He smiled back, but something else had joined the emotion in his eyes—respect. Snark didn't always work on narcissistic guys—especially if they were truly that into themselves. But when it did work, she rarely had problems afterward with sexist and sometimes even threatening sarcasm.

With surprising gentleness, two of his friends helped Brewster out of the recliner. Once he was upright, Mia held up her hand.

“Can you put weight on the leg?” she asked.

He rocked his weight onto the injured side and winced mightily, but he stood steady. “Yeah,” he said. “Once I'm on it it's not so bad.”

“Point to where the kick site is,” she asked, and he placed four fingers over the spot.

“Let me feel first,” she said and purposely looked him in the eye. He opened his mouth and then shut it over a grin. She pointed at him and winked. “Very intelligent man. I like that.”

“Haven't I always said?” He looked around for approval again.

Mia made her exam quickly and had him take just the one leg out of his sweats. The injured thigh was not bruised yet, but it was red and quite swollen. In the end she didn't really think it was broken, but she had no way of knowing for certain without imaging equipment.

“I can't make you go to the hospital,” she said, when Brewster was dressed again and back in the chair. “I don't think it's broken, I think she—Madeline—kept it to the muscle. But that doesn't mean there isn't a crack or a chip. I really would feel a lot better if you got it X-rayed.”

“Nothing is a secret around here, Doc,” Dan Holt told her. “We go in, we get nailed by more than a hoof.”

“Nobody really wants them to pull the plug on our little experiment here,” MacDougal added. “Jason's sorry. Aren't you, honey?” He made kissing sounds.

“Oh shut up,” he retorted. “I shouldn't have considered the cow. I knew that before we went after it. But we have no recourse about anything, do we?”

“We'll find one,” Gabriel said quietly from the side. “But for what it's worth, I understand.”

Mia studied him. Two months ago she'd found the man an arrogant, self-serving, by-the-book stick-in-the-mud. How many times had she asked him for access to Joely's insurance information, her eligibility for services, about the information he'd gotten in conversations with others, and he'd refused? Now here he was herding these damaged men like the foster father he'd compared himself to, helping them get out of hot water they almost deserved to face, and making it clear he understood why grown men broke rules in certain cases.

She tried to break rules, too, with the colleagues on her teams, but clearly none of them—as her failed job interview proved—would follow her to trouble and back like this group followed Gabe Harrison. She was just the bitchy female doctor. Not tough. Not focused. Just bitchy.

And bitchy didn't win jobs.

The weariness that had left her temporarily during the distracting examination settled back over her as the men broke away for their respective homes. She prescribed ibuprofen for Brewster's pain, told him in no uncertain terms what signs and symptoms should send him to the emergency room, and accepted his now-heartfelt thanks without hesitation.

“Lie if you feel you need to, but don't stay away from the hospital if something changes.” She issued the warning with more gentleness now.

“You found a cool one, G,” he said as he hobbled out the door flanked by Gabriel and Finney.

“I guess I did.” Gabe winked at her. “I'll be right back.”

Alone in his apartment, Mia took her first chance to really look around. With the lights up and the men gone, the living room no longer looked dark or macabre. It was, in fact, nicely appointed with rich leather furniture, pale blue walls, thick beige carpeting and plenty of pictures and books. She wandered to an open-shelved bookcase and studied the framed snapshots on each shelf. She could surmise that some contained family members and others army buddies, but one image stood out. A boy with Middle-Eastern features and two piercing brown eyes, smiled from four or five photos. In one he wore an Arizona Diamondbacks baseball cap and held a flat length of wood on his shoulder like a bat.

“I'm back.”

She turned in place and met the genuine warmth of Gabe's smile. For the first time she let the phenomenal good looks he bore so effortlessly sink in. She'd never let anything, from his thick brown hair to his classically angled cheeks to his sexy beard stubble, penetrate more than surface deep. But once she gave herself permission to ogle, his hot, hot . . . oh-so-hot face, voice, hands, and body, her exhausted female hormones thanked her with liquid hot sluices of pleasure that dove for all her feminine places.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“No,” she said, dreamily. “I'm so tired I could be standing on an empty corner hallucinating you. But I've decided it's okay. I don't think we dislike each other for the moment.”

His laughter rolled, easy and comforting. “You are tired.”

“Why, am I wrong? You dislike me?”

“Lord, no. You saved my ass, Dr. Crockett. I am so in like with you. For the moment, of course.”

“For reasons I will not bore you with, it seems I totally needed weird tonight. And believe me, this fit the bill. I don't normally do weird.”

“You do it well.”

“I—” She frowned and tried to dissect the compliment, but it didn't make any sense. “How can I do it well if I don't do it?” She giggled.

“It's time to get you back,” he said. “I think jetlag has hijacked you.”

“Wait. One thing.” She turned back to the shelves and pointed to the picture of the boy. “Who is this?”

He couldn't have shuttered up faster if he'd been planning for a hurricane. Immediately the warm roll to his deep voice cooled and tightened. “Why?”

“He's cute.” And he made her homesick—his deep brown skin reminding her of Rory. “And he's here five times. I just wondered.”

“He's nobody. A kid who lived near the Green Zone in Baghdad. He reminded me while I was there that the war was always about people. That's all.”

It wasn't all. Nobody got that upset over a random child. But she was too tired to pursue the question. “Ahh. Well, I'm sure he's a great kid. Reminds me of a boy I know.”

“Kids remind us of kids,” he said. “Nothing magical about that.”

“That's a little jaded.”

“Yup.”

He offered no more, but when she moved away from the shelf and the pictures he relaxed, and once they left the apartment, his humor slowly returned.

“I can't believe how well you handled Brewster,” he said, as they settled into his car for the drive back to the hospital. “He's a good man, but he never lets anyone see it. It was like you spoke his language.”

“The language of no BS. Most people don't like that about me,” she admitted. “I'm supposed to learn to blow smoke up peoples' butts even when they're being idiotic.”

“In the medical world, especially, there's a fine art to smoke-blowing. It's not easy to give people bad news and make them think they're happy about it.”

“Games.” She sighed. “I thought I'd learned very early on in life that if I had something to get done or a goal I wanted to meet, there was no time for game-playing and no substitute for honesty and hard work. What good does it do to cater to egos or lie?”

“Like I said. A fine art.”

When they'd pulled onto the highway that connected Wolf Paw Pass with Jackson to the north and the VA Hospital and Paradise Ranch to the south, Mia took out her phone and checked it for the first time since leaving the hospital ninety minutes earlier.

“Ach, I missed a message from my mother.”

“I'm so sorry. Everything okay?”

She dialed the voice mail number and listened with trepidation until the reason for the call became clear.

“Everything's fine,” she said. “Joely's awake and a little restless, so Mom wants to stay at the hospital. I'm supposed to pick up the car and take it home. Cole will come get her when she's ready to leave.

“It's silly to strand her,” Gabriel replied. “Tell her I'll take you home, and she'll have her car whenever she wants it.”

“I can't ask you . . . ”

“You do remember the huge favor you just performed for me, right? This is nothing.”