The Bride Wore Red Boots (18 page)

“Where is second base on a man?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper, and she was not really serious, she just wanted to touch him. Anywhere.

“Oh, we get to this point, and we don't think with our bases anymore. Just with our baser instincts.”

“Oh, well, I know where those are.”

At that he laughed, its deep masculine roll generating even more goose flesh across her body.

“Straighten up taller,” he said. “My instincts want a taste.”

She reluctantly pulled her lips from his and raised higher on her knees. He pushed her sweater up in front and covered her breast with his lips before she could do more than grasp his head for balance and hold it tightly to her, trembling at the suction from his mouth. Whimpering at the intensity she couldn't escape.

When he moved to the second breast, her head fell back, and she didn't even bother to hold in a groan.

Slowly, with great attention and savoring every second, Gabriel finished, replacing his tongue with his thumbs and circling their pads over the moist tips of both breasts.

“I don't think a Jeep is made for more than second base.”

“I'm not sure the driveway is either.” She felt weak with pleasure. “God forbid my sister sees the car and comes to make sure we're all right.”

“We can tell her we are, right?” He pushed her away and grinned.

“I wouldn't know what to tell her. How do you assess the last thing on earth you ever expected to happen?”

“Good point.”

He made a show of pushing her farther into her seat and then reaching up her sweater front to stuff her back into her bra. Purposely awkward and forward, his playing only increased the heat in her body. Finally, ready to pull him out of the car right over the shift lever and the console, she batted his hands away and fastened her bra in a flash.

“No more! My body is looking for third base, and I'm so not ready for that.”

“Too bad.”

“Don't cheapen this.” She giggled.

“Uh. Groping in the front seat of a small vehicle might be as cheap as it gets.”

“It's so unlike me. I'm never a cheap date.”

“Amelia.” He said her name like a caress and traced her cheek, suddenly slightly serious. “The cheap tonight is all on me. I didn't plan this, but I'm awfully glad I took a shot.”

“I don't know what it means, but I didn't stop it, did I? I'm going in now, and you're going home. And we're going to think about what we've done.”

“Yes we are. In a cold shower.”

“Hey, don't start that already. We're a long way from a home run, buddy.”

He smiled and kissed her quickly. Softly. “Yes. But you sure are fun to tease.”

“Who'd have thought?” She kissed him, too. “Good night, Gabriel.”

“You could call me Gabe. Like all my family and other friends.”

“I'll think about it,” she said. “When I know you better.”

She didn't let him walk her to the door, afraid that if she got him that far, she'd only start the kissing all over again. And as much as that sounded like the only thing in the world she wanted to do—she definitely needed to think. She'd done long-distance relationships. She didn't want to do another. And yet, she didn't want to push Gabriel away either.

Her brain was great at sorting out hundreds of problems associated with cutting into a human body. Figuring out how to not fall dangerously for Gabe Harrison, however, was a puzzle too difficult to solve.

“How did it go tonight?” Her mother sat in the small, cozy sitting room off the main living room, her right leg propped on an ottoman, knitting on one of her exquisite lacy shawls, working efficiently and surprisingly swiftly despite the cast on her left arm. “Come. Sit for a minute. You look a little flushed.”

She did? Her hand rose to her cheek. It didn't feel hot to the touch.

“I'm fine.” An old, ingrained protective habit made her tense as she sat because her mother had asked her to. The last thing she wanted was an interrogation. “The talk with the veterans went well.”

“That's great. I'm proud of you for taking a chance on this. And I'm so happy you and Harper are working on it together.”

Her mother's voice didn't change. Didn't get excited or inquisitive. She simply smiled contentedly and continued her work. Mia hesitated, but then she leaned forward.

“You really think it's okay? It's not too big a risk? I'm not sure what Dad would have said. One mustang was too many for him.”

Her mother set her knitting on her lap and captured Mia's gaze. “Your father liked to fuss about things that took extra thought. But he didn't really mind. He was proud of the horsemanship skills you all learned. He knew you were especially talented with the wild horses. He'd be proud, Mia.”

The declaration couldn't have surprised her more.

“He never told us that.”

“I've been telling all of you girls that there were a lot of things your father didn't do that he should have. I loved him with all my heart. But that doesn't mean I didn't see his shortcomings. And mine. But he's gone now, and you and your sisters have to make your own futures. I'm watching you stretch and grow like a filly let out to pasture just since you've been back. You're trying not to, but you're softening back into the person of your heart. I see it with Harper. I see it with Gabriel.”

She didn't want to admit she was any different here than she'd been in New York. But she couldn't deny the changes. And she couldn't be annoyed with her mother for pointing them out. With a heavy sigh, as if letting out the weight of a dozen years, she leaned back in the armchair.

“I kissed him,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper.

For a long moment there was no sound from her mother. Mia didn't dare look to see if there was shock, distaste, or censure in her face. Suddenly, a whisper of a kiss fell on her forehead. She opened her eyes. Her mother stood over her, her eyes bright with happiness.

“Praise heaven,” she said. “He's perfect for you.”

Mia couldn't hold back a burst of laughter. “Good gosh, Mom, we're nowhere near that.” It was exactly what she'd told Gabe.

“I know. But even for one day, one week, one month—he's perfect.”

She reached for her mother's hand, straightened, and held it with both of hers. “How are
you
, Mom? I have barely asked you that. Do you miss him terribly?”

“Of course. Every minute. But I am fine, honey. I—”

“Mia!” Raquel rushed into the room, holding the house's landline phone. Mia frowned. “I'm so sorry to interrupt, but I thought I'd heard the door. I have a phone call for you. Your little guy in New York? Rory?”

“Rory? On the Paradise line?” She looked back to her mother, torn.

“Take it,” she insisted. “We have time to talk later.”

Mia took the phone in confusion. She'd given Brooke this number. How had Rory gotten it? Why? He had her private cell number to call . . .

“Hello? Rory?” She looked from her mother to her sister and shrugged, concerned.

“Dr. Mia?” His little voice trembled. “Dr. Mia, they said my mom isn't ever going to get better.” His voice broke then, and only tiny sobs came over the line.

Mia's eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Rory, honey. Where are you?”

“At the Davidsons'. The foster home. She let me call Brooke and then you.”

“Tell me what's going on.”

“My mom's going to die.”

Who would tell a child that? It couldn't be true. Her heart broke—with fury and with despair. Because deep down, of course, she knew it really could be.

I
T TOOK SEVERAL
long, hard minutes to settle Rory down, ease his sobbing, and find out that what his newest foster mother had told him was that his mama was very, very sick, and he should be prepared for if she couldn't come back. It wasn't as horrid as telling him out and out his mother was going to die, but it was still pretty horrid. The foster care system was a wonderful resource most of the time. How had this child managed to find his way to the dregs of the program?

“Sweetie,” Mia told him, “you know your mom is very sick. You're pretty smart about everything that's happened to her. But you can't ever give up hope. Are you saying your prayers? I'm saying mine. For her. And for you.”

“I didn't think doctors had to say prayers. Mama said God just plain guides doctors' hands.”

Mia never thought like that. His words shocked her. She'd never relied on anything but her own skill when it came to medicine. Did she thank Heaven for her ability to study and learn? Without question. But asking God to guide her hands? If she couldn't blame Him for the failures, she wasn't going to credit Him with her successes. Still . . .

“Of course we do,” she said. “Saying our prayers can help us through hard times.”

“Okay,” he said quietly.

“I am coming back in just a couple of weeks,” she said. “Until then, you can call me every day if you want to. And I'll call you, too. Have they let you go see your mom?”

“No. They say I can't. She's too far away.”

That was ridiculous. “Do you want to see her, Rory?”

“I want to.”

“I'll fix it so you can. That much I will promise.”

Snuffling filled the line. She could almost see him wipe his nose on a sleeve, and she had the most unfamiliar, gut-deep wish that she could lift him into her lap and let him cry in her arms.

“Rory? I promise. Okay?”

“Yeah.” A long, long silence followed. Mia said nothing—letting him think, and being with him the only way she could. “Dr. Mia? Do you like saving people?”

Again his words punched her as solidly as an actual fist. She did her job the best she could, and she was good at it. But as much as she didn't give or take credit from God Himself, neither did she take personal credit. She had no supernatural powers.
She
didn't save people, but her skill sometimes could.

“I like it when I can make something better.”

“You're good at it.”

“And you're very good at telling me that. But do you know what? You're good at making people feel happy. You are funny and you're smart. So that's making people better, too.”

“I'm smart?”

“Very smart. And when you go see your mama, you're going to make her feel better, too.”

“I love you, Dr. Mia.”

She knew his words stemmed from fear and sadness and loneliness, too, but her eyes filled with tears nonetheless. She had to force herself not to promise she'd fly to him tomorrow.

“I love you, too, Rory. Give Jack a big hug for me. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” The word emerged reluctantly in his small voice. “Do you have a cat to hug?”

She laughed. “I don't. Our ranch workers have a lot of dogs, though. I can hug them if I go to the barns.”

“Barns sound cool.”

“They are. I'll send you some pictures on your phone.”

After she'd said her final good-bye to Rory, Mia sat, drained as a marathon runner. Her mother took the chair beside her, but Mia tucked her hands beneath her legs to avoid giving anyone the chance to touch them. What she really wanted to do to was punch somebody—preferably the idiot responsible for keeping Rory from his mother and putting him with another lazy, stupidly cruel foster mother in a row. He hadn't done anything to deserve this.

“Things are not going well,” her mother said.

“No.” Mia's face felt heated with anger. She'd promised to get Rory to Monique, but helplessness at being so far away swamped her and stripped her momentarily of her normal problem-solving ability. She needed someone like Gabriel at the Department of Corrections in New York and at Social Services. She had Samantha. She had Brooke.

“Is there honestly anything you can do?”

“Oh, I will find something. Somebody isn't allowing the boy to see his mother, and that's not going to stand. Not if I have to make a thousand phone calls.”

Despite not having access to Mia's hands, her mother touched her again, cupping a hand over one cheek. “If there's anything I can do to help, you let me know.”

“Us, too,” added Raquel, still standing in the doorway.

Once more Mia was struck by the difference in atmosphere in the house. Her father had never been loud or abusive, but he also hadn't had time for wild goose chases. Planning a knock-down, drag-out for a child with no family ties two-thousand miles away would have been the epitome of unnecessary energy expenditure. The current all-for-one-one-for-all mentality left her uncertain how to react.

“Thank you,” she said, and forced herself to brighten. “If it comes to a letter-writing campaign, you'll be the first to get recruited.”

“It won't get that far.” Raquel grinned. “You'll have 'em on the run long before we get to that point. I have faith.”

Her mother leaned over and kissed her forehead. “That little guy is lucky to have you on his side, Mia. Just know that.”

Sitting in the warm, cheery room, surrounded by more support than she could ever remember, Mia almost believed her.

T
HE NEXT FOUR
days were as busy as most of Mia's normal work weeks. A dozen phone calls to New York County social services, Samantha, Brooke, and a rather pointed conversation with Rory's latest foster parent, Karen Davidson, finally resulted in a tentatively planned trip for Rory to visit his mother. Mia also reached one of Monique's attending physicians to find out that her condition was not improving. It only made Mia all the more dogged to get Rory to Monique's side. By the time the plan was made, Mia had made it clear to every person involved that until she had proof from Rory he'd seen his mom, she'd stalk them all like vengeance personified.

She welcomed back her damn-the-torpedoes righteous anger with idiotic adults.

Gabriel welcomed it, too, he said, and proved it by championing her even more heartily than her family. “You have eight veterans who'll write scathing letters if you need them,” he said. “A couple of them will travel to New York if you ask them to and wrap somebody's car in cling wrap, I'm sure.”

Mia wanted to hug them all.

The best she could do was spend the time not involved with Rory, talking to the director at the Rock Spring mustang holding facility, expediting the men's adoption applications. If the week had to be mostly full of bad news, then she determined there had to be some countering good news. To her relief, the word that finally came down from Rock Springs was that the men could come as early as the weekend to check out the animals.

And the men all hugged her.

S
ATURDAY MORNING A
micro-caravan of two pickup trucks, each bearing Paradise Ranch's sunburst brand and pulling a three-horse stock trailer, made the three-hour trek southeast to Rock Springs. Mia drove one of the rigs with Gabe as her wingman and Brewster and Finney in the back seats. Cole drove the other truck, with Harper at his side, and Pat MacDougal and Dan Holt behind.

“I'm damn impressed,” Gabe said once they were underway. “Who knew a little-bitty city doc could haul a trailer full of horses?”

“Well, don't get too complimentary yet.” Mia laughed. “My sisters and I pulled rigs all over the state and beyond all through high school, but I haven't driven a loaded trailer since college. You all may be taking your lives in your hands.”

She had no such real qualms. It felt amazing to be behind the wheel of a big truck again, and the big gooseneck trailer behind her pulled like a cloud.

“Great. Crazy woman driver,” Brewster murmured.

“But what a way to die,” Finney replied.

“Pull up your big-boy jock straps.” Mia's admonition caused guffaws. “This adventure ain't for wimps.”

If she'd expected the drive to drag or be annoying or obnoxious in any way, she was proven happily wrong. Conversation ranged from books, music, and therapy, to a few war stories. The two toughest guys in Gabe's group participated like genteel Ivy Leaguers and left behind the crude “pass-the-effing-salt” boys she'd met the two previous times. By the time they reached the holding facility, the pair had asked enough questions about the months to come and the horses that Mia had lost her last reservations about taking on this project. The men were not brainless clowns with no common sense. They were simply lost and still aimless. If they needed a challenge to focus them—Mia was more convinced than ever this mustang gig would give it to them.

The director of the facility, a bubbly woman who introduced herself as Claire, shook everyone's hands and gathered the group of eight around her like chicks.

“As I understand it,” she began, “none of the adopters has experience with mustangs, but you'll be housing your horses in a place where experts are always available.”

“That's right,” Mia said. “We have three people who've participated in official BLM Mustang Makeover Challenges. We have a foreman who's trained multiple breeds of horses for ranch work, and we have several talented youth trainers. The horses and the owners will be very well supervised.”

“Excellent! We're excited to find a perfect home for four horses. Let's take a tour of the facility first, and I'll show you the groups that have horses available for adoption. Remember, it's coming onto winter now, so their coats are getting long and shaggy. Don't expect to see the glossy herds of snorting stallions and mares you've seen in movies.”

The men all looked at each other, fidgeting now that this cool-sounding adventure had turned into stark reality. Mia's agitation manifested as butterflies of excitement.

“Having said that,” Claire continued, “you won't have any problem seeing one or two or ten that stand out because of color or some other physical trait you like. I want to caution you—listen to your experts. There's so much more to this process than picking a pretty-colored animal.”

Mia exchanged looks with Cole and Harper this time. Her sister nodded knowingly. Cole smiled in wry amusement. He'd never been a horse trainer, but he'd ridden countless horses in his life, and he knew how much more there was to a cow pony than just met the eye.

The men were in high spirits as they started their trek around the twenty-four acre holding ranch. Claire pointed out pens containing horses that had only recently arrived after federal gatherings. They learned about the problems of increasing herd sizes and dwindling land availability. They grew quieter as it began to dawn on them that they were actually part of a very large program and could be considered horse rescuers.

Only Finney showed no emotions and kept a steeled expression throughout the tour.

At last Claire set the group free to wander alongside the corrals she considered to have the best selection. Mia instructed them to note the numbers of any horses they wanted to know more about and find her, Harper, or Cole. Then she followed Gabe to a six-foot high gate where he rested his arms on one of the bars and peered through.

“How do you even start?” he asked. “It's so overwhelming you kind of want to throw up your hands and leave, and yet you want to take them all.”

“I know.” She scanned the herd, her memory working hard to bring back everything she'd learned about horses during her younger life. “I wish it made sense to let them all run free, but it doesn't. Horses get tangled in fencing or hit by cars or even starve. So they control numbers and try to find homes for the extras. Here, at least, they get any needed vet work, they're dewormed and checked for disease, and they have plenty of food. It's not perfect, but the staff here cares a lot.”

“So many colors,” Gabe said. “I like that one.”

He pointed out a striking gray with a wide white blaze down its face. Mia nodded and watched its movements as it grazed through the hay. It wasn't big, maybe fourteen hands, and it had a mustang's typical low-set tail and sturdy legs. She wasn't crazy about something in its eyes, however. They were small and close-together. She liked a wider forehead and a more intelligent light in the gaze.

“There.” She pointed out a second gray, closer to a charcoal, with one white star and two hind stockings. “He's slightly bigger. Look at his head—a little finer, big, luminous eyes. And his back is straighter. I like the set of his neck better, too.”

Gabe bit his lip. “Really? You can see all that?”

She grinned. “I can. But here, let me show you it's a learned skill.”

She waved at Harper who stood at the other end of the corral. Her sister trotted to them.

“Whatcha find?”

“Compare the two grays for us. See if you come up with the same things I did.”

“Hmmm.” She looked them over for several minutes and nodded. “The darker one with the stockings has more height—maybe fourteen-three? He's shorter coupled, and his back is nice and straight. The lighter one is a little swayed. A little sickle-hocked, too. And I like the nice, gentle eye on the charcoal.”

Gabe laughed. “All right. You've convinced me. Can I show that one to one of the guys?”

Mia looked at Harper and bit her lip with a wishful heft of one eyebrow. “Tell me to say yes.”

“Oh, jeez.” Harper tilted her head skeptically. “You're not serious.”

“No. But, he sure is gorgeous.”

“Serious about what?” Gabe asked.

“Nothing,” Mia said quickly.

“She likes the horse.” Harper laughed. “And she has a very good eye.” Mia waved off the compliment, but Harper leaned on the fence and cupped her chin, deep in thought. Finally she stood. “I think you should get him.”