The Bride Wore Red Boots (14 page)

“Welcome to Paradise.” Cole held out his hand and scanned the women as Gabe shook. “Nice to have a little male reinforcement.”

“You're a braver man than I am.” Gabe chuckled.

More hugs went around, including one between Cole and Amelia. There was supposedly a history between them, but Gabe didn't know the details. He couldn't imagine needing to know them, and yet curiosity made him study the embrace surreptitiously. It seemed easy and uncomplicated, even fond. As fond as the one between Amelia and Harper.

“You two look pretty comfortable already,” Amelia said. “I don't ever remember an atmosphere like this when I've come home before. The place actually looks . . . lived in.”

“We love it here,” Harper said. “We've moved some things around, hung a few different paintings. Mom's letting us leave unfinished books and magazines around.” She laughed. “I don't stand on the ceremony Dad did.”

“God bless him,” Amelia said. “I know there's a hole without him, but I do notice the difference.”

“Good,” Harper said simply.

Gabe's introduction to Paradise couldn't have been warmer or more impressive. Raquel and Grace sat him down with Amelia at a huge table in a dining room large enough to accommodate the entire Crockett family. Moments later, homemade potato soup and crusty slices of sourdough bread sat before them, the soup steamy, the bread warm and aromatic. Amelia sipped a glass of bright Chablis with her dinner. Gabriel was offered choices from beer to water. He took an IPA Cole recommended and didn't think about the drive home. He was hungry enough now that the combo might as well have been the mythical ambrosia of the gods.

The rest of the family didn't ignore them—they dragged chairs around the table and sat, gleaning stories from him and, less easily, from Amelia. He explained his project with the men, their penchant for sophomoric practical jokes, and Amelia's examination of the cow hoof imprint in Brewster's thigh.

The jovial atmosphere didn't change until Harper innocently asked about Amelia's time off.

“I never even asked how long you could stay this time,” she said. “I'm assuming you need to be back sooner rather than later?”

“I'm staying at least through Thanksgiving,” Amelia replied dully.

The sight of her sitting at the table, a forlorn pup instead of a tough alpha she-wolf, tugged at something in Gabe's center. He shouldn't feel sorry for her. She was fine—most people had to struggle now and then on the way to their goals, and from what he knew about Amelia Crockett from her sisters and mother, she hadn't struggled with much, ever. But her sadness was real tonight. It might have been over a first world problem—but this admission was clearly hard for her.

“Thanksgiving?” Harper set down her glass of wine and caught her with a confused eye. “What changed? I mean, that's fantastic, but I never hoped you'd stay that long.”

“Well, you know that job I was so sure about?”

“You didn't get it?” Grace's mouth dropped open like a guppy's.

“I didn't. Apparently I—”

“Have too many credentials.” Gabe couldn't stop himself from interrupting her confession. She'd been painfully honest with him, and he didn't see any reason she had to self-deprecate herself in front of her family when she was already this tired. “Didn't you say they gave it to a kid just going for his first specialty?”

“I . . . yes, that's what they told me.” She stared him down, but surprised flecks of gratitude softened her eyes.

“Honey, I'm so sorry.” Harper reached from her seat beside Amelia and took her hands. “I know you really wanted that job so you could take your certification next year. Are you okay?”

Amelia looked genuinely surprised at the heartfelt reaction.

“I'm . . . disappointed. But it's not the end of the world.”

“Bet it felt like it, though.” Harper frowned.

Amelia only shrugged, her face the slightest tinge of pink. Gabe wondered why she remained slightly aloof from the warm sympathy. She reminded him of a new pet overwhelmed by too much sudden, loving attention.

“Well their stupid decision is our gain, at least for now,” Grace said. “It doesn't make up for it, but we were all saying how glad we are to have you here. None of us understands at all what's going on with Joely. She just doesn't seem to be getting any better.”

“I . . . ” Amelia looked around the table, still uncertain. “I want to spend a little time tomorrow discussing her case thoroughly with Dr. Landon. I'll have a better understanding after that. Remember, her injuries were very severe. The kind that don't heal quickly. And Joely is pretty depressed at the moment. It's going to take a lot of time. But, this is not abnormal.”

“See?” Grace smiled. “You have the background to make us all feel better.”

“Believe me. That's about all I can do.” Amelia sighed. “I wish I were more of an expert in spinal injuries, but it's very specialized.”

“You're here—that's all we care about,” Grace said. “Thank you for coming home.”

Once again Amelia didn't say anything, but she smiled for the first time.

Gabriel pushed his chair back from the table and smiled, too. He could see the exhaustion starting to flood her eyes and slump her posture. Poor kid had to be dead on her feet.

“I need to get back. I have an early meeting tomorrow morning. You can tell them about our sighting and head for bed yourself.”

A ridiculous dart of attraction shot from his gut to his groin. He imagined crawling into bed with Dr. Amelia Crockett and easing the exhaustion from her shoulders, from her back, from her eyes. It seemed sexist and clichéd to imagine anything more, but he did anyway. She suddenly seemed like a woman made not of ice and confrontation, but of sensitivity and vulnerability—one who'd always give as good as she got in all the best ways. The intrigue was sexy as hell.

And he must be exhausted, too.

She walked him to the door after everyone else had reiterated their thanks and said good-bye. She stood in the doorway, and he turned on the porch to face her. Sometime during the evening she'd pulled every comb, pin, and holder out of her hair, and it swung in dark waves past her shoulders. He jammed his hands in his pockets to keep from finding out what it felt like.

“I just . . . wanted to say thank you,” she said. “You saved face for me in front of them, and you did not have to do that.”

“I figured one full confession a night is all anyone needs to suffer through.” He laughed. “You didn't tell on me either, so I'd say we had each other's back. You can tell them the truth later, or don't. There's nothing to be gained by putting yourself down in front of them. They think you walk on water.”

“I hope that's not true.” She rubbed her eyes. “Oh, how I hope they think no such thing.”

“Why? We all need to feel powerful sometimes.”

“Because—” She stopped herself and set her mouth firmly. “This is silly. I don't want to discuss deep philosophical human nature. Let them worship me—it's their problem.”

He thought she was kidding—but Amelia's joking wasn't always easy to spot. “Go get some rest.”

“Fine. But thank you again. You went above and beyond for us today.”

He started to turn away and then spun back. “Would you like to repay me?”

“Excuse me?” Her dark eyes now held smoky flecks of amusement. “Didn't know this was a quid pro quo.”

“I'm just a mercenary at heart.”

“That's so comforting.”

“But I'm serious. I'd never been here before, and now my interest about the famous Paradise Ranch is piqued. Would you show me around the place sometime? Give me a personalized guided tour? I'd like to see what kind of land and operation attracts a band of wild horses.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He shook his head, suddenly fully enamored with the idea. “You pick the time and tour format. I'll take care of food—pay you back for being just as big a help to me today.”

“Gosh, Lieutenant Gabriel Harrison, are you actually proposing a more serious truce?”

“Think we could handle it?”

“I can't imagine.”

He laughed and her cute, tired giggle mingled with it. Another lance of attraction nailed him. “Let's try anyway.”

“It's Thursday, how about this weekend? Meet here Saturday or Sunday, wear your iron britches—when's the last time you spent a day on a horse?”

“Horse? I was thinking maybe my Jeep . . . ”

“Hah, city boy. You can't see the landscape in a Jeep. You
have
ridden?”

“Like a pro,” he scoffed, hoping the lie was transparent.

“Saturday, then.” Her eyes sparkled beneath tired, half-mast eyelids.

He fought with himself a moment, the urge to bend and kiss her almost overwhelming. But that would be an idiot's move. He held out his hand instead, and she took it without hesitation. With her fingers curled around his palm, he forced down the urge one more time and gave a firm shake.

“To the start of a beautiful truce,” he said.

“A
ND THAT
'
S IT
. From what I can see, we definitely cleared away those bone fragments and left the spinal cord untouched.” Perry looked up from a paper printout of Joely's latest MRI and handed it to Mia. “Only time will tell if it makes any difference to your sister's prognosis.”

“Amazing work.” Mia had seen the images straight from the imaging lab, but she still nodded with appreciation at the photo in her hands. “Thanks for taking such care.”

It was awkward to be on the family side of a surgical consultation and rare to be the one giving praise rather than receiving it. She hoped her gratitude sounded as sincere as she intended.

He shook his head to ward off the compliment. Again, something she wouldn't do. He deserved the praise—he should take it.

“What's next?” she asked. “I'd love to hear how you think Joely should go forward with rehab and your private thoughts on the medical aspects of her case. You must have some body of experience you're drawing from.”

He grinned. “I can't think of anything more stimulating than discussing a case with another brilliant doctor. Joely has given verbal and written permission to share all aspects of her care with you, so what would you think of taking our discussion to lunch? The Basecamp Grill in Wolf Paw Pass has a pretty good lunch menu.”

She considered his eager invitation, which matched his eager eyes, and wasn't sure what to think. Did the idea of lunch with a new doctor simply stir his professional juices? Or was he actually asking her—Amelia, not Dr. Crockett—out to lunch under the guise of work?

Vestiges of jet lag still made it too hard to analyze his hopeful demeanor.

In the interest of expediency she decided she didn't care what his motivations were. “Sure, I'd like that.”

“I'm ready anytime.” He stood.

“Let's go.”

Perry chatted easily all the way to the lobby, telling her without being prompted about his move to the Jackson Hole area three years before. How he'd come to love the area after growing up in Cincinnati, and how satisfying he found the work at the VA. He'd never served in the military, but he wanted to give back to his country and the service men and women somehow. This seemed like the best way he could contribute.

She listened with amused interest. He was an unusually talkative man, answering questions more than willingly, sometimes before they were asked. In some ways she didn't mind—it kept him from digging too much information from her. In other ways, however, she couldn't help but compare him to—

“Why, Dr. Crockett, as I live and breathe.”

She looked up as they reached the middle of the lobby. “Gabriel!”

He strode toward her from the direction of the hospital clinic hallway, grinning irrepressibly, wearing dress pants and a crisp white shirt under a gray wool coat with a classy red-and-black tartan lining. A hyper swoosh of oxygen left her brain, and the world bobbled a little.

Not fair. It should be illegal for you to sneak up on people.

She'd definitely have to add “distinguished” to his list of physical attributes, a list topped by “killer handsomeness.”

Then she noticed Brewster behind him, swinging awkwardly on a pair of crutches.

“Jason?” she asked.

“Hey, Doc. Surprise.” He looked like a petulant boy ready to pick up a rock and throw it at someone.

“What happened? Is everything all right?”

He softened slightly. “A spot in the middle of where I got nailed turned black last night. Gabe forced me to take your advice.”

“And thank God he did. Have you already seen somebody?”

“Yeah. Just coming from urgent care.” Sheepishness didn't play kindly with the tough-guy persona he wanted to project. “They dug out some dead muscle, and I've got an ass-ugly, see-through bandage on it.”

“Right,” she said. “To promote the granulation of new tissue. I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be sorry.” Gabriel shot Brewster a quelling look. “The jig is up on this one. Part of the deal with this project is that all medical consultations get recorded and evaluated. He's already been called to the boss's office.”

“Boss?” She turned the question on Brewster.

“He's more like a damn warden.” Resolute hardness returned to his face.

“He's a zookeeper.” Gabe's dimmed smile barely registered, but she saw his concern. “Aw, hell. We'll figure something out; we always do.”

“Where are you headed now?”

“To the pharmacy and then to my boss's office.”

“For The Meeting? About this incident?” she asked.

“The very one.” Gabe nodded.

“What did you tell the doctor today?”

“That I needed to get the cow from point A to point B, and she didn't want to go.”

“And that was good enough?”

“Hell no. But I told them the ‘why' wasn't anyone's business.”

Mia couldn't stop a laugh, even though she knew how painful Brewster's injury would be for the next few days. “Personally, I salute you. I guess I'll wait to hear what the boss says.”

She met Gabriel's eyes hoping to share the camaraderie of the moment and found him studying Perry with suspicion.

“Heading out?” he asked. “Sorry we're keeping you.”

“Lunch date,” Perry agreed. “To discuss Joely's case.”

“Have a great time.” Gabriel raised his eyebrows at her.

She scowled, not understanding. He stared almost like a jealous suitor, and it made no sense. She and Gabriel might have a truce, but their relationship went no further.

“Let me know what happens,” she said.

“Of course.” He fired up his smile again. “Our best hope is if Brewster the Mouth here can keep from making the powers that be angry.”

Mia leaned toward Jason Brewster. “I'm the last one to talk because I tick people off all the time, and I hate BS,” she said. “So my only advice is, seriously, don't act like I do. Nod and smile.”

Brewster looked at Gabriel and knocked him lightly with an elbow. “Why can't she be my doctor? We'd be done and outta here.”

“Good question,” Gabriel replied. “See if you can get her to work on that.”

“I'm not that kind of doctor,” she replied. “I could crack you open and fix your insides, but I'm no good in a clinic.”

“Bummer.” Brewster shrugged.

“Holler if you need anything,” Gabriel added, as Mia and Perry turned. “I'm at your service.”

“I'm sure we've got this part,” Perry replied. “But thanks.”

Amelia couldn't help the smile that crept onto her lips. She thought of the little band of mustangs she and Gabriel had watched last night. She'd picked out the stallion with no problem—he'd been the one slowly circling the herd, popping his head up at the slightest disturbance, snorting out warnings and directions that had carried across the still night air. Here she had two would-be leaders—their slight wariness equal to a stallion's warning snorts. The brand-new attempts at posturing quite humorous.

They probably didn't have a clue they were doing it, but it was crystal clear to her. And even though neither had a single claim to dominance, her ego, which New York had so thoroughly wounded, loved every minute of the silly display.

F
OUR HOURS LATER
, still stuffed from a delicious steak salad at lunch, Mia presided over Joely's slow efforts at eating her dinner. The food at this hospital was better than most, but Joely insisted, nonetheless, that she didn't want a single drop of soup or the smallest spoonful of pudding.

“It's only been a day since the surgery,” Mia said in her best bedside voice. “You need to take a few bites just to keep your system working, but I know you aren't hungry.”

“At least you aren't harping on me like Mom does. She's turned into an old grandma over all this.”

“She's a mother. You might as well just nod and smile because you'll never stop the fussing.”

Mia gave a little inward snort at the words she'd used to advise Jason earlier. Nod and smile—in fact, she'd done a fair amount of that at lunch today with Perry. The man was fascinating and had stories enough for a book. He was also as nice as the food was delicious. But he could talk like three women in a coffee shop—truly an unusual male.

“Yeah,” Joely sighed. “But it's still irritating.”

Mia smiled. “Eat, Joely, eat. You're wasting away to skin and bones.”

“Aaaack.”

“So, I should tell you what Gabriel and I saw when he brought me home last night. Actually on Paradise land, live and beautiful. A little band of eight or ten mustangs.”

For the first time, Joely drew out of her funk like an uncertain kitten being enticed out to play. “Really?”

Mia described the scene with as much romance as she could—not her strong suit. Joely listened, rapt.

“Gabriel said it was a funny coincidence,” Mia said. “That he'd just had a conversation about mustangs with you. Kind of cool, don't you think?”

“It sounds beautiful,” Joely said. “And it is weird. I've had them on my mind for a week now. Deadlines for the Mustang Makeovers around the country are hitting everywhere. It's hard, because even though I don't want to ride, I hate thinking I can never do that again.”

“First of all, I don't know why you'd say that. You're a long way from being done with your healing. Second, if the loss of movement in your leg happened to be permanent, think how impressive training a mustang would be. Forget it, sis. No sympathy. You fight for your next chance at this.”

“Sometimes I think you're just a little too optimistic.” Joely's voice crossed a sulk with depression. “You don't have to have a fake happy bedside manner with me.”

“Take it while you can get it.”

Mia's cell rang from a side pocket of her purse, and she pulled it out. Her stomach flopped at the name and she held up a finger to Joely as she answered.

“Gabriel?”

“Hi, Amelia.” He sounded sluggish, heavy, as if his words weighed a ton each.

“Everything okay?” She knew it wasn't.

“Just wondering if you still happen to be with Joely.”

“I am.”

“Do you by any chance have time to stop by my office sometime?” He hesitated—an unusual phenomenon from him. “I'm looking for a completely unprofessional brainstorming session. And I need you to bring self-righteous, kick-ass, warrior Dr. Crockett with you.”

If she'd been truly vain, she'd have thought he was getting back at Perry for lunch. But too much resignation and weariness came through the phone for her to believe he was thinking of such things. This was, as they said, not a drill.

“When?”

“I'm here a good while yet. Anytime.”

“Well, I'm kind of sick of watching my sister chow down her food like a big pig.” She kissed two of her fingers, flicked the kiss at Joely, and grinned. “How about in fifteen minutes?”

She almost heard his sigh of gratitude. “That would be great.”

“See you in a few.”

When Mia hung up, Joely met her eyes with impish accusation. “I sense a pretty big change in the air around you and my patient advocate.”

“I know,” Mia said. “It's disturbing.”

“He's adorable, you know. I say grab him.”

“That's totally absurd. We live and work more than two thousand miles apart and have nothing in common. He's just turned out to be not quite as big an ass as I originally thought.”

“You always were slow when it came to anything but facts and figures. Of course he's not an ass. Any more than you are.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“Go. I don't know what he wanted. I don't want to know. Just go see him.”

“Fine.”

“I want details when you're done, though.”

“Forget it. No dessert for little girls who don't eat their supper.” Mia pointed to her sister's dinner tray.

“Maybe you are an ass.”

Mia bent over and kissed her forehead. “We already knew that.”

I
T HAD TO
be something about the Brother to Brother program. She'd seen Brewster today, seen the concern in Gabriel's eyes although he'd brushed it off. Even when they'd first met, when she'd barely been able to tolerate his constant cheeriness, he'd never been without that jaunty, bright personality. The near-depression she'd heard in his voice could only mean something dire had happened.

But why call
her
?

She made her way from the hospital to the administration building a block away and took the elevator to the fourth floor and the Department of Patient Advocacy. One lone secretary still sat at her desk in the small lobby, and she smiled when Amelia approached.

“I'm looking for Gabriel Harrison's office,” she said.

“You must be Dr. Crockett,” the woman, middle-aged and efficiently friendly, replied. “He's waiting for you. Take the hallway to my left, and his is the second door on the right.”

“Thank you.”

The lobby was fairly spartan, with just a few upholstered chairs and the requisite odd assortment of magazines. A couple of generic scenery pictures hung on the walls, alongside several signs explaining how and what to present when requesting assistance. Mia didn't read any of them, instead she entered the hallway, even plainer than the lobby, with attractive slate blue carpeting but plain beige walls and no ornamentation. Nothing intimidating but nothing inspiring either. She reached the second office and found the door open, a simple plaque affixed to its pale wooden surface.
Gabriel Harrison, Patient Advocate, Behavioral Health
.

Behavioral Health? That usually meant psychology or social work credentials of some kind. He'd never mentioned any kind of expertise in dealing with mental health issues. She stepped into the doorway and knocked lightly. His head popped up.