“You And Your Monumental Ego Haven’t Changed A Bit, Travis King!” Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Epilogue Copyright

“You And Your Monumental Ego Haven’t Changed A Bit, Travis King!”

Mercy’s words pricked. “Wait a damn minute. Isn’t there something about ‘Physician heal thyself’? You’re just as much an adrenaline junkie as I am, traipsing around that E.R., getting high on all that power.”

She gasped in outrage.

“And what have you got to show for it? An anonymous apartment, dead flowers and not a friend or lover in sight.” His mouth twitched. “At least I got a championship belt buckle.”

“Cold comfort for a womanizing rascal who never grew up,” she said, sneering.

Travis smiled. “I don’t get many complaints.”

“No, luckily for you, all those young buckle bunnies shoving their phone numbers down those tight jeans of yours don’t have a lot with which to compare your performance.” Mercy tilted her chin in challenge. “I wonder how you’d stack up against someone your own size.”

Dear Reader,

A sexy fire fighter, a crazy cat and a dynamite heroine—that’s what you’ll find in Lucy and the Loner, Elizabeth Bevarly’s wonderful MAN OF THE MONTH. It’s the next in her installment of THE FAMILY McCORMICK series, and it’s also a MAN OF THE MONTH book you’ll never forget—warm, humorous and very sexy!

A story from Lass Small is always a delight, and Chancy’s Cowboy is Lass at her most marvelous. Don’t miss out as Chancy decides to take some lessons in love from a handsome hunk of a cowboy!

Eileen Wilks’s latest, The Wrong Wife, is chock-full with the sizzling tension and compelling reading that you’ve come to expect from this rising Desire star. And so many of you know and love Barbara McCauley that she needs no introduction, but this month’s The Nanny and the Reluctant Rancher is sure to both please her current fans...and win her new readers!

Suzannah Davis is another new author that we’re excited about, and Dr. Holt and the Texan may just be her best book to date! And the month is completed with a delightful romp from Susan Carroll, Parker and the Gypsy.

There’s something for everyone. So come and relish the romantic variety you’ve come to expect from Silhouette Desire!

Lucia Macro

And the Editors at Silhouette Desire

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Suzannah Davis

Dr. Holt And The Texan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SUZANNAH DAVIS

Award-winning author Suzannah Davis is a Louisiana native who loves small-town life, daffodils and writing stories full of love and laughter. A firm believer in happy endings, she has three children.

One

“Hello, darlin’.”

The sexy rumble of a deep masculine voice brought Dr. Mercedes Lee Holt up short in the emergency room cubicle of Ft. Worth’s John Peter Smith Hospital. The man propped on the gurney in front of her had a devilish gleam in his dark eyes and a red-soaked bandage pressed to his temple.

She took in raven hair, an ebony Western shirt with pearl snaps, opened to reveal a swath of spectacular masculine chest, and a championship belt buckle the size of a pancake. Dust-coated cowboy boots, complete with—God help her!—roweled silver spurs, hung off the end of the examination table. Grime and blood obscured the patient’s features, except for a wide, come-hither grin beneath his thick black mustache.

Oh, Lord, it was going to be one of those nights!

She mentally kicked herself for failing to take the time to tuck her honey-colored curls into her usual severe topknot. Though the grueling pace of an E.R. physician often made her feel she looked twice her thirty-three years, there was inevitably some macho smart aleck who thought it would be amusing to try to make time while the pretty lady doc patched him up.

Make it the day before Halloween, a Saturday night to boot, then top that with a full moon, and what you got was a harried staff trying to deal with a waiting room overflowing with a multitude of wackos and every conceivable type of emergency.

What she didn’t need right now was a wise guy with an attitude.

“I’m Dr. Holt,” she said, her voice crisp. She caught the eye of the brunette nurse who’d accompanied her into the cubicle. In keeping with the season, the nurse sported a green-faced Dracula pin on her pink scrubs. “Lila, what have we got?”

“Scalp lacerations, contusions, possible concussion—”

“Aw, come on now, darlin’,” the man drawled. “I know it’s been a long time, but how about a kiss for an old friend?”

“Nice try, buddy.” Dr. Holt pulled a pen light out of the pocket of her white doctor’s coat. “Did you get the license of the eighteen-wheeler that did this to you?”

“Don’t blame Sidewinder. That old bull was just doing his job.” He shrugged. “Got my eight seconds out of that twister before he popped me a good one, though.”

Stepping closer, she waved the light in his irises. Her lip curled. “Stockyards Rodeo, huh?”

A large, tanned hand clamped around her wrist, and his megawatt grin was back. “Lordy, Miss Mercy, you’re contrary. Once upon a time there was nothing you loved better than a good rodeo.”

She tugged her wrist, her tone frosty. “I’m sure you’re mistaken. I—”

Mercy. She blinked. No one had called her that in years. She was Dr. Holt, or Lee to her peers, not that she had time or inclination to be on a first-name basis with more than a handful, anyway. But Mercy was her hometown name, an appellation she’d left behind in Flat Fork, Texas, a long time and several heartaches ago....

Mercy looked into the cowboy’s laughing, coffee-colored eyes. The world tilted suddenly, and vertigo sent her spinning back fifteen years in space and time. She recognized him now, even under the coating of dirt and lingering blood. His strong features had matured and changed into something devastatingly handsome, yet still familiar, still dear.

She gasped. “Travis?”

Releasing her, he settled back, his tone satisfied. “’Bout time, blue eyes.”

“How...why...?” Spluttering, her heart pounding in her chest, she could only repeat the obvious. “Travis King. Oh, my God.”

“Would you like the suture tray now, Doctor?” Lila asked.

Dragging her gaze away from her patient, Mercy shook her head, dazed. “What? Oh, yes, of course. Sorry. Mr. King is an old friend from home. It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Travis?”

“Too long, darlin’.”

There wasn’t any of his easy teasing in those husky words, and that startled her. Rattled, she let her gaze slide away from his, afraid of what she might see. Long ago she’d counted on Travis King for just about everything, back when she’d been Flat Fork’s pampered darling, and she and Travis’s best friend, Kenny Preston, had been in love.

But that was before everything changed.

Before the memories could overwhelm her, she forced them down, making herself brisk again, carefully peeling off the soaked bandage. “Let me see what you’ve done to yourself, cowboy.”

“Just a little knot on the old noggin.” He dismissed his injury with a shrug, but he couldn’t suppress an involuntary grimace as he favored his side. “Tried to tell those medics over at the arena, but they wouldn’t listen. Had a hell of a time convincing them I didn’t need a damned ambulance.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

“I’m not complaining.” He grinned. “In fact, I ought to send them a gilt-edged thank-you note. Not only did I get my share of prize money, but now I’ve ended up in the hands of the most beautiful woman ever to come out of Flat Fork. All in all, I’d say this was my lucky day.”

She gave him a suspicious look. “Are you by any chance flirting with me, Travis King?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled with an irresistible little-boy mischief. “Now, darlin’...”

“Can it, Casanova. I can see you haven’t changed a lick. And my days as a buckle bunny are long gone.” She frowned over the ragged laceration that ran from his temple up into his hairline, now slowly oozing blood. “You took quite a blow. How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Fingers? What fingers?”

Mercy turned to the nurse. “Order X rays for Mr. King. Full head series.”

“Hey, I was just kidding!” he protested, dodging and swearing under his breath as the efficient nurse swabbed his face and cleaned the tender scalp wound.

“I don’t play around with this kind of injury, Travis,” Mercy said severely. “Head ache?”

“Some,” he admitted.

“I’ll order a painkiller. Slip out of your shirt and let me have a look at that side. Did you get stepped on?”

“It’s just bruised,” he muttered, defensive.

“Let me be the judge of that.”

Travis gave Mercy a baleful look. “My, my, my. Look at Miss Mercy, all grown up and throwing her weight around. Who’d have thought?”

“Hey, you. Don’t mess with me,” she replied lightly. “I run with the big dogs now.”

With a show of reluctance, he slid his arms out of the garment and handed it over. Mercy tossed it into a nearby chair where a well-worn black felt cowboy hat rested crown down, a position dictated, she knew, by cowboy superstition so the luck in the hat wouldn’t run out. And bull riders needed all the luck they could get.

Turning back, Mercy caught her breath. While she dealt with human bodies all the time, she was female enough to acknowledge that bare-chested, clad only in black jeans and well-worn Western boots, Travis King was a magnificent male specimen who could turn any woman’s head.

Lean and rangy from years of hard physical activity, at thirty-six he still had the broad shoulders, tapering to a washboard stomach, that would be the envy of many a younger man. A light sprinkling of dark hair covered his chest in an inverted triangle, disappearing below the dimple of his navel. In the old days he’d never lacked for female company, and now, even bruised and battered, he radiated masculinity in potent waves. Mercy noted that Lila was certainly an appreciative and receptive audience for all that male magnetism.

But that was a line of thought she shouldn’t be pursuing. Instead she drew her attention to the business at hand and pressed Travis’s side. “Does this hurt?”

“Uh-uh. Well, not too bad.”

“Hmm.” Swiftly she continued her examination—arms, legs, ribs—then took her stethoscope and listened to his heart and lungs. His skin felt warm and velvety to the touch, stretched over well-honed muscles with the tensile strength of steel in their fibers. Beneath the pungent odor of antiseptic that permeated the hospital, she could smell the musk of his scent, clean and masculine and subtly arousing.

Appalled, Mercy clamped down on her involuntary response. What was the matter with her? Just because her love life was nonexistent, she was still a professional, for goodness sake, not some first-year student with overactive hormones. And this was Travis—confidant of her youth, part-time Cupid and general good guy. How many times had he helped her meet Kenny when her parents had forbidden it? How many times had she cried on his shoulder when the path of true love ran crooked?

It was the shock of seeing him again after all this time that was making her so jittery, that was all. That and the knowledge that they hadn’t spoken since Kenny’s funeral. An unexpected resurgence of long-dormant hurt and resentment produced a wince of pain, quickly and fiercely squelched. No, she wouldn’t go down that path again. She was over all that, and she had a job to do.

A breathless nurse appeared at the door, hesitated just long enough to give the bare-chested cowboy a wide-eyed once-over, then blurted, “Dr. Holt, there’s a possible gastric ulcer in room four and an OB in five. Can you come?”

“Be right there, Sandy. Lila, go help.” The two nurses rushed to the next patient.

Feeling the surge of exhilarating pressure that made her both love and hate her work, Mercy swiftly completed the exam, asking questions, checking reflexes. Frowning, she stepped back and scribbled on Travis’s chart.

“What’s the verdict, Doc?” he asked.

“I want to see X rays before I say for sure. But no cracked ribs, although you’re going to have a dandy of a bruise.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“I can imagine. We probably need to get a plastic surgeon to stitch your head.”

“Oh, hell, no.” He waved the suggestion away. “Can’t you do it?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then go ahead. I got no inclination to hang around this joint all night.” His mustache twitched. “I guess I trust you not to mess up my pretty face.”

Mercy gave him a sour look. “Thanks for that vote of confidence.”

“Hey, for a former Flat Fork High homecoming queen, you’ve come a long way. It’s the least I can do.”

His words touched a raw nerve of insecurity that she’d thought had healed. Apparently she’d been mistaken. She lifted her chin. “That’s quite a recommendation, coming from you.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning the twice National Bull Riding Champion must be an expert on getting himself stitched up—since it happens so often to the damn fools who ride bulls for a living.”

He lifted his brows at both her indictment and the fact that she was aware of his accomplishments on the rodeo circuit.

“Well,” he drawled, “we all know the real question is not when a bull rider is going to get hurt, but how bad.”

Her lips clamped down in a thin line of disapproval. “Not funny, cowboy.”

“You weren’t always so lily-livered, darlin’.”

“Yeah, well, a lot of things have changed, haven’t they?” She was surprised at how hard her voice sounded, sharp with an unexpected surge of anger. “But maybe you’re right, Travis. Maybe it is your lucky day. This time.”

Pulling on gloves, she settled him into position, reached for instruments and a hypo of anesthetic and began repairing the damage.

Stoically he watched her face as she worked. “If that’s the way you feel, I’m surprised you still keep up with the circuit.”

“Who says I do? Mother keeps me informed about Flat Fork’s favorite son.”

Holding still under her ministrations, he nevertheless managed to look astonished that Joycelyn Holt, Flat Fork’s preeminent society matron and wife of the Honorable Judge Jonathan Holt, might deign to notice a lowly cowboy. “You don’t say?”

“Certainly. You’re a bona fide celebrity. By all accounts, you lead quite a life.”

“Yeah, I’ve got the world by the tail, all right.” Somehow his answer seemed too hearty. “The traveling is murder, though. You know what they say—if the rodeo doesn’t kill you, the commute will.”

Mercy frowned over the last series of knots. To a healer like her, Travis’s jocularity was disturbing. She had proof right before her eyes of the hazards he faced every time he entered a rodeo chute. Not to mention certain other questions that had her professional intuition raising red flags where Travis King was concerned.

“Travis, have you ever had problems with—?”

Sandy, even more breathless than before, burst into the cubicle, cutting off the question. “Dr. Holt, we need you now. This mother isn’t going to make it to Maternity!”

“Oh, Lord. Finish up for me, will you?” She passed needle and clamp to the nurse. Mercy was peeling off her gloves, already halfway to the door, throwing an apology over her shoulder. “Sorry, Travis. Sandy will take good care of you. And don’t you go anywhere until I see you again. You got that?”

“No, ma’am, I won’t.” Flat on his back, waiting for the nurse to finish, Travis’s voice was grim. “You can bet on it.”

Mercy hesitated at the door, already regretting her unaccustomed sharpness, regretting... everything. “For what it’s worth, Travis, it is good to see you again. I’ll be back.”

One ulcer, a broken arm, a set of twins and a case of pneumonia later, Mercy snatched up Travis’s X rays from the pile on the admitting desk and hurried toward his cubicle.

Weariness sat on her shoulders like a heavy overcoat. Thankfully it was nearing the end of her shift, but she doubted that she’d be allowed to get away on schedule. Not that she was in any rush to get home to an empty apartment. She felt restless, unsettled; and the thought of facing another frozen dinner and then falling into her unmade bed, as was her routine, held no appeal.

She stifled a tired sigh. Well, it was her life. She’d chosen it, worked damned hard to get it, and she wasn’t complaining. No, she loved the work, the challenges, the rush of adrenaline that dealing with a multitude of life-and-death decisions every night entailed. Only the rigors of it left precious little time for anything or anyone else.

She thought briefly about losing Kenny, her first love, and about her disastrous marriage a year later. Despite the society wedding of the season, Rick Hulen hadn’t wasted much time before he’d left for greener pastures in the arms of another woman. Just as well she’d concentrated on her profession since then. Relationships obviously weren’t her thing.

Mercy shook her head. She wasn’t usually so morose. It had to be seeing Travis again that had brought on this melancholy. But before she could go home and put this mood behind her, she had to deal with this visitor from her past. It wasn’t as though they had anything in common any longer. For all his success, Travis was still a Texas tumbleweed, risking his life blowing around the rodeo circuit. Considering everything, the sooner the devilish wind that had blown him into her E.R. tonight blew him back out again, the better.

Drawing the X rays from their manila folder, she bumped open the cubicle door with her hip. Travis had pulled on his shirt again and was sprawled in a chair, brawny arms across his chest, long legs outstretched in loose-limbed elegance, black hat tipped over his face.

Mercy couldn’t repress a smile. During their early rodeo days, she’d contended that he and Kenny could nap anywhere, even on a bale of barbed wire. Both sons of ranchers, it was a part of the rodeo life they loved, weekend to weekend, hitting every competition they could, earning points toward the big time. They’d put thousands of miles on Kenny’s old truck before that fateful night.... Her smile faded.

Travis stirred, tilting his hat back to reveal the neat white bandage gracing his temple, watching her as she shoved the films into the viewer. “Back so soon, blue eyes?”

“Sorry about the delay.” Chewing her lip, she studied the X rays. “This looks okay.”

“Great.” Stretching, he stood. “I’ll be glad to get out of here.”

“Not so fast. I’m going to admit you overnight for observation.”

He scowled darkly. “The hell you will! I feel fine.”

“From what I can see, you aren’t fine.”

“Hey, my head’s harder than it looks—”

“It’s not your head I’m worried about. It’s the area of numbness in your leg and back that concerns me.” She rattled off a technical explanation about nerve injury and spinal compression. “I’ll schedule some tests first thing in the morning and then—”

“Forget it, Mercy.”

She exhaled slowly, fighting exasperation. “Who’s the doctor here? Be reasonable.”

Travis hooked a thumb in his belt loop and gave her a wry look. “The only thing’s the matter with me is I’ve got a hole in my belly that only a twenty-ounce sirloin can plug. When do you check out of this place ? We can get you one, too.”

“I rarely eat red meat anymore.”

“Maybe you should. You could use a little padding on those bones.” His grin under his mustache was persuasive, tempting. “I know this terrific little place out on Rosemont. Great steaks, mushrooms in wine sauce, the works.”

“Travis, this is important. These tests—”

“Can wait, can’t they?”

She hesitated. “That wouldn’t be wise.”

“I mean, I’m not liable to keel over on the sidewalk, am I?”

“No, but—”

He nodded. “There you have it.”

Feeling frustrated, she tried again. “I can’t emphasize enough the need to follow up on this as soon as possible. I don’t want to alarm you, but the ramifications could be serious.”

“Darlin’ I’m not spending the night in this hospital, for one very good reason.”

“And that is?”

With a conspiratorial glance from side to side, he leaned close, whispering in her ear. “Those little gowns they give you. Too drafty.”

She shivered at the warmth of his breath and the faintest touch of velvety mustache brushing her earlobe, then stepped back to glare at him. “This isn’t a joking matter.”

He inspected the fatigue in the set of her shoulders and his smile died. “Maybe not. Look, I’ll make you a deal. You let me buy you some dinner tonight, and we’ll discuss it further.”

A distant tremor of consternation tickled Mercy’s spine. Travis was a part of her past she’d put behind her a long time ago. It wouldn’t pay to resurrect it. “I don’t need dinner,” she said firmly. “And you do need the tests.”

“Even doctors have to eat.”

“I’m not good company after a busy shift. Besides, it may be another hour or two before I can finish up.”

“I got no place to be.”

“But—”

“Come on, Mercy. Quit giving me a hard time. Unless there’s a boyfriend waiting in the wings?”

“No.”

He gave her a hooded look. “I heard you were married.”

“Old news.” Her words were flat. “It was over a long time ago.”

His voice dropped, became husky and persuading. “Then for old time’s sake.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said honestly, and was surprised at the swift flicker of something almost like pain behind his dark eyes.

“You’re a hard-hearted woman, Mercy Holt,” he said, joking again, whatever she’d witnessed disappearing so quickly she thought she’d imagined it. “All right, you drive a mean bargain. Have pity on a lonesome cowboy tonight, and help me feed the inner man, and I’ll see to those tests in a day or two.”

Her teeth clicked together in annoyance. “That’s blackmail.”

Unrepentant, his expression bland, he said, “It’s up to you.”

She gave him a suspicious look. “You won’t weasel out on me?”

He crossed his heart. “Scout’s honor.”

What harm could it do? She was a grown woman, capable of spending time with an old friend without letting the past jumble up her emotional landscape. She didn’t have to make a federal case out of a simple dinner, even if her nerves were shot and she was as skittish as a newborn filly. At least she’d have the satisfaction of knowing her bullheaded patient was going to receive the care he needed.

“All right, then,” she said slowly.

“Gee, such enthusiasm could really go to a guy’s head.” His tone was dry.

“Never satisfied, are you, cowboy?”

His dark eyes gleamed. “Not often, darlin’. That’s what makes me a winner.”

No doubt about it. He was losing his touch.

Travis parked his custom, ebony pickup truck with the World Champion logo on the door and the PRCA—Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association—bumper sticker on the tailgate in front of Mercy’s town house. The building complex sat in an unpretentious neighborhood not far from the Ft. Worth Botanical Gardens. At three o’clock on a cold Halloween morning, there wasn’t much activity anywhere. In fact, nothing stirred, including the blond head resting on his shoulder.

He stifled a rueful grin. Lord, he would take a hell of a ribbing if his rodeo buddies could see him now! “Love‘em and Leave’em” King—who could squire his choice of luscious rodeo groupies, who had them lined up by the eager dozens to take their chances with the champion bull rider and ladies’ man—had bored his companion into a sound sleep. And after all the trouble he’d taken to change his shirt and clean up in the hospital rest room, too!

Of course, Mercy hadn’t drifted off until after he’d plied her with a steak dinner, a little red wine and a lot of cowboy blarney. Sipping his own iced tea—the hardest thing he drank these days—he’d been pleased to watch her across the candlelit table and see the tension in her lovely features melt away.

But what had she thought? That after taking unmerciful advantage of her concern for him, he would insist on plunging into some sort of postmortem of their aborted friendship? He had a greater instinct for self-preservation than that.

So he’d kept it light, and she’d actually laughed a time or two, something Travis had the feeling was all too rare for a gal who worked as hard and saw as much wounded humanity as she obviously did Still, he didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered that she’d dozed off on the way home.

Shifting his weight, he settled Mercy more comfortably under his arm. A wavy cloud of honey-colored hair drifted against his cheek. Her fresh floral scent enveloped him, evoking a deep quiver of something basic and male. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad deal after all. In the plain slacks and cotton shirt she’d worn under her physician’s coat, she looked slight and feminine, not at all the forceful, take-charge doctor who’d bowled him over earlier in the evening. Quite a transformation.

The reflected glow of the streetlights illuminated the interior of the truck. Carefully Travis used a callused fingertip to pull the lock of hair back from Mercy’s face. He could be forgiven if he took this minor advantage to study the heart-shaped countenance, the high cheekbones and delicate nose. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Yes, sir, he’d been thrown caboose over teakettle plenty of times in his career, but never as badly as the spill he’d taken at his first sight of Mercy Holt in fifteen years.

And he ached. Not just from the pounding Sidewinder had given him, either. No, it was regret. God help him, he’d give anything if things could have turned out differently.

She gave a little murmured sigh, and he immediately felt lower than a snake’s belly. She’d worked a full shift, plus some, and despite his shearling jacket and her wool cape, the Texas night was getting colder by the minute. As much as he was enjoying the sensation of holding a beautiful woman, he couldn’t take advantage of the situation any longer.

“Mercy? Honey, wake up. We’re home.”

Her lashes fluttered, revealing eyes as indigo as a field of Texas bluebonnets. Languid, sleep flushed, she smiled up at him in the dim light, then ran a fingertip over his mustache.

“I can’t get used to this.”

Her fleeting touch electrified him, and he caught her hand to stop the unexpected pleasure/pain. His voice was rough. “Kinda my trademark now, blue eyes. I’d feel naked without it.”

Something akin to horror widened her eyes, and she jerked upright, blushing in embarrassment. “Oh. What time is it?”

“Late.”

She placed a hand against her burning cheek. “I can’t believe I fell asleep. I’m so sorry.”

“No problem.” He was already out of the truck, walking around to open her door. “Must be past your bedtime. Come on, I’ll walk you in.”

“That’s not necessary.” She dug in her bag for her key. “I’m perfectly all right. But thank you for the meal and everything—”

He arched an eyebrow at her, cutting her off. “No use arguing. You know my mama raised me the old-fashioned way.”

He could see her hesitation, but he took her elbow and lifted the key from her fingers. Within minutes he was standing inside the doorway of her town house as she turned on lamps. Somehow it wasn’t what he’d expected.

The apartment was spacious, but austere. Pale vertical blinds graced the windows, and even paler modular furniture sat on an oatmeal carpet. Stacks of unopened mail and unread magazines littered the tabletops. A laundry basket of scrubs and lab coats perched on an ottoman. A stethoscope dangled over a lamp shade.

The breakfast bar that separated the living area from the kitchen sported a litter of used bowls and teacups and a cellophane-wrapped bunch of supermarket flowers that had never been placed in water and now lay limp and brown and forlorn on the alabaster counter. There were books everywhere, but no personal pictures. Only a wall display of award plaques for distinguished service for several inner city clinics and a home for troubled youth indicated that the person who lived here had an outside life at all.

“Don’t look. The place is a mess,” she said, shoving the laundry basket behind the sofa. “I don’t have much time for housekeeping or anything else but work.”

“Don’t apologize. Considering I spend a lot of my time perusing the inside of motel rooms, it looks okay to me. And I know what you mean. I’m on the road so much, there’s no time to smell the roses, much less for someone special.”

“Don’t tell me you lack for company.” Her voice was skeptical. “I’ve had a sample of that potent cowboy charm of yours tonight, and I won’t believe you.”

He smiled, pleased at her admission. “Glad you enjoyed yourself, darlin’.”

She tugged off her cape, looking willow slender and pale and suddenly uncertain. “Ah, I’d offer you coffee, but it’s so late....”

He twirled his hat between his hands. “I should be going.”

“It’s been wonderful seeing you again. Where are you heading from here?”

“Oklahoma City next week. Got to see a man about a bull.”

She grimaced. “Travis—”

“No, really,” he protested with a deep laugh. “Sam Preston and I are running rodeo stock together now. King & Preston Stock Company.”

“Sam? Kenny’s brother?”

Her astonishment was plain, and he didn’t blame her. He and Sam were unlikely partners.

“Heck of a thing, huh? We’re working hard at it I’m the front man, and Sam runs the operation in Flat Fork. Could pan out pretty well, I guess. You know Sam married Roni Daniels a few months back?”

“No, I hadn’t heard. That’s nice.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, then Travis went to her, his hand extended. “I’ll say good night.”

She moistened her lips, then slipped her slender hand into his outsize paw. She made a vague gesture at his bandage with her free hand. “You’ll need those stitches out in a few days.”

“I know the drill.”

“And about those tests. If you’ll call me, I’ll be glad to set them up.”

“Uh, Mercy?” Eyes locked on their joined hands, he cleared his throat. “I have a confession.”

“You do?”

“I don’t need those tests.”

She jerked, but he didn’t release her hand. “Travis, you promised.”

“I’ve already had them.”

“What?”

“Every one in the book, and a few they made up just for me,” he admitted.

This time she did manage to free her hand, and her voice was cold. “And the results of these tests?”

He shrugged. “I’ve got a bit of problem. Chronic, you know, but nothing I’m not handling.”

“They told you not to ride again,” she stated flatly.

“They told me the risks, but, hell, it’s nothing worse than a thousand other bull riders have to deal with, and I’m a whole lot better than some.”

“So you ride and risk—what? Permanent pain? Complete disability? Or worse?” Her words were clipped, coldly furious. “Why the hell would you do something so completely asinine?”

“It’s what a world champion does, darlin’.” He lifted a placating hand. “Give me a little credit. I know what I’m doing. Besides, it’s all part of the game.”

“Game?” She spit the word. “Was that what this was all about tonight? You lied so I’d agree to come out with you. You used my feelings so you could manipulate me. Well, thank you very much, old friend.”

“It wasn’t like that!” Exasperated, he shoved on his hat. “I just wanted to buy you a meal.”

“What it boils down to is that you and your monumental ego haven’t changed a bit, Travis King. You aren’t a kid anymore. Don’t you realize you could end up crippled, or even dead? Or are you so addicted to the thrill of being champion you don’t care?”

Her caustic words pricked a tender spot, and his temper flared. “Wait a damn minute. Isn’t there something about ‘Physician, heal thyself’?” You’re just as much an adrenaline junkie as I am, traipsing around that E.R., getting high on all that power.”

She gasped in outrage. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? And what have you got to show for it? An anonymous apartment, dead flowers and not a friend or lover in sight.” His mouth twisted. “At least I got a belt buckle.”

“Cold comfort for a womanizing rascal who never grew up,” she said with a sneer.

Travis felt his cheeks heat. “I don’t get many complaints.”

“No, luckily for you all those teenage buckle bunnies shoving their phone numbers down those tight jeans of yours don’t have a lot with which to compare your performance.” Mercy tilted her chin in challenge. “I wonder how you’d stack up against someone your own size.”

Eyes narrowed, he growled. “Let’s see.”

Hooking a hand around her nape, Travis jerked her against his chest, then found her mouth with his. She pushed at him, her hands twisting in the lapels of his jacket. Clamping his arm around her waist, he molded her close from breast to hip and felt her quiver. Her mouth was hot with fury, sweet with her own unique feminine fire, and after a moment he forgot exactly what it was he wanted to prove, forgot everything except that he was a hungry man and she was his only sustenance.

Softening the pressure, he wooed her, seduced her into her own softening, expertly parted her lips with his tongue and swept deeply into the mysteries of her mouth to taste her essence. Now she was clinging to him, her limbs melting, her lips soft and tremulous, and neither of them knew the reason this had begun, only that it ended too soon.

Travis drew back, shaken and breathing hard, looking into Mercy’s face. He instantly regretted what he saw, the pale and stricken features, the swollen lips, the rosy abrasion of his late-day stubble against her tender skin. When she made a little stumbling movement, he released her, and his hands felt empty.

Her eyes were the turbulent shadowed blue of a thunderhead. “You...you’d better go.”

It was the least he could do. “Mercy, I—”

She turned away, her shoulders hunched defensively. “Just get out.”

He let himself out, somehow ending up in his truck without quite knowing how his shaky legs had brought him there. Numb with self-loathing, he stared bleakly out the windshield, then slammed his fist against the steering wheel.

“Dammit! Dammit to hell!”

He’d blown it. He cursed because he was too much of a man to cry, even though that’s what he felt like doing. God help him, one touch of her lips and he was calf sick with love for the little rich gal, Mercy Holt, just like it was yesterday.

Only it had been impossible then, because she’d been his best friend’s girl.

And it was still impossible now, even after all this time, because he’d killed Kenny, and she would never get over that.

Two

Well, she’d always wondered. Secretly, she’d wondered. And now she knew.

Mercy pushed at her disheveled hair, took another look at the unappetizing mess of canned vegetable soup congealing in the bowl, then shoved it across the kitchen bar. She needed to eat something before she left for her evening shift at the hospital, but her stomach was in a knot that wouldn’t unravel, had been since Travis King’s devastating kiss.

And that’s what it had been—devastating. Rawly male, possessive, so skilful and evocative he’d drawn the will to resist right out of her, leaving her helpless and quivering. Damn the womanizing scoundrel!

And damn her for enjoying it for even a moment. With a low moan, Mercy buried her face in her palms. Instead of sleeping the day away, she’d tossed and turned, unable to understand what had happened. How had things gotten out of hand so fast with a man who was supposed to be nothing more than an old friend? She’d been justifiably furious at him, but why had she goaded him into something neither of them was prepared for or wanted?

Liar.

She’d wanted.

A lump of guilt lodged behind her breastbone, and she jumped up, dumping the soup down the disposal. If she were the least bit honest with herself, she had to admit that much. Since she was seventeen, despite the fact she was Kenny Preston’s girl, she’d watched Travis using his prodigious charm on the ladies and wondered if all the rumors she’d heard whispered about him in the girls’ locker room were true. She’d almost found out once, and it seemed now that the silly, spoiled, rebellious child she’d been back then still lived too near the surface for comfort. A wave of self-disgust washed over her.

Grow up, Mercy.

A clutter of dirty dishes spilled over the sink, and she knew she should load them into the dishwasher, but the task seemed too monumental to tackle. Instead she crossed to the sliding glass door and let herself out onto the tiny patio. She breathed in the chilly fall air in a fruitless effort to calm her racing heart.

Car lights danced on the boulevard beyond the brick walls that muffled the never-ending traffic noises, but the air was clear and sweet with the scent of drying grass blowing in off the plains west of Ft. Worth. Shivering beneath her oversize sweater, Mercy lifted her face to the night sky, and the smell of earth and hay caught at her memories with thoughts of Flat Fork and times gone by and damned ole rodeos. Vividly she remembered that night years ago....

The shabby motel room had echoed with the deafening crash of the door slamming behind her furious beau.

“Why does Kenny act like that?”

Mercy’s voice was plaintive, querulous with incipient tears.

“You shouldn’t have surprised him, coming here like this,” Travis said. Bare-chested in hastily pulled-on jeans, sleep groggy and bruised from the day’s bull-riding competition, Travis eyed Mercy with the weary world wisdom of his twenty-one years.

“I drove four hours to see him,” she said indignantly. The room was second-rate and musty smelling, home for the night for a couple of up-and-coming cowboys entered in a second-rate rodeo in a little Texas town. Sinking down on the edge of the lumpy, tumbled bed, she let her lip quiver in self-pity. “Sometimes I think he doesn’t like me at all.”

“He’s crazy about you.”

“Then why’d he run off?”

Travis sighed and leaned one hip against a plastictopped dresser littered with empty beer bottles. “Kenny doesn’t like this sneaking around.”

“I’m not sneaking!”

“It’s the damned middle of the night, gal. Your folks know where you are?”

Guilt heated her cheeks, and she smoothed her hands down the front of her skin-tight jeans. “Not exactly.”

He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Or that you hauled butt way out here all alone in that fancy convertible of yours?”

She tossed her honey blond hair out of her face and tilted her chin at a belligerent angle. “I’m eighteen years old. I can do what I want.”

“It doesn’t make it any easier for a proud man like Kenny, having the Honorable Judge Holt think he isn’t good enough to court his daughter. And you acting like it, too, with this kind of shenanigan.”

“My parents don’t understand,” she said, sullen. “It’s not my fault they’re living in the Stone Age.”

“Grow up, Mercy. Adults don’t deal with each other that way. If you were honest with them—”

“Don’t treat me like a child, Travis. That’s what my parents do. They never listen to what I say about anything—not med school or my friends or getting out of boring Flat Fork.”

“They just don’t want you involved with a rodeo bum, and I can’t say that I blame them. Hell knows we ain’t got much in the way of job security. And maybe defying them is part of Kenny’s appeal for you.”

She gasped, stung. “What a despicable thing to say! I’m in love with him.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes you got a funny way of showing it, darlin’. You put him in a bad position. When are you going to learn to think first, act later?”

His condemnation sent a hot and startling prickle of tears surging behind her eyelids. Travis had been their intermediary time and again, the one whom she’d trusted to convey the most precious secrets of her heart, and now to find he’d been a reluctant and disapproving ally was a betrayal almost as potent as Kenny’s walking out. Maybe more.

Her words rasped with hurt. “If you disapprove so much, why have you tried to help us make this relationship work?”

Travis shrugged. “He’s my best friend.”

“And he’s the man I love,” she avowed, with force enough to squelch any doubts. Thwarted, resentful, the tears spilled over. “And now you’re telling me he hates me just because I wanted to see him. I can’t do anything right. Oh, God, what am I going to do?”

Sobbing, she collapsed onto the crumpled bedspread and curled into a ball of sheer misery.

“Aw, stop, darlin’. Don’t cry, blue eyes.” The bed sank under Travis’s weight, and rope-callused hands lifted her, cradling her against his bare chest. “Mercy, I can’t stand it when you cry.”

“Why does love have to hurt so much?” Weeping, she clung to him, her tears raining onto his bronzed shoulder. He was hard and muscular and smelled intoxicatingly of soap from his shower and healthy male musk.

His voice rumbled rough as gravel. “Love can’t help where it lands sometimes, I reckon.”

“But why can’t he understand? You do, don’t you, Travis?” Hiccoughing on a ragged sob, she looked up at him through tear-blurred eyes. “You’re a better friend than he is. Sometimes I wish—”

“Hush, don’t cry anymore.” He pressed a comforting kiss against her temple, his palm soothing as he stroked her bare arm from shoulder to elbow, his fingertips slipping under the strap of her lace-edged tank top.

Mercy’s breath caught, and she shuddered, her skin quivering beneath his touch. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the room, as if a flash of heat lightning had consumed all the oxygen.

Murmuring soothing nothings, he brushed his mouth over the corner of her eye, sipping the salty essence of her tears, and Mercy’s lips parted in a silent exhalation of surprise and anticipation...of what? She didn’t know, could only wait suspended, her middle turning to jelly at the feather touch of his carved male lips, her heart thumping against her ribs so hard she knew he could hear it.

He seemed to be waiting, too, his mouth now hovering mere inches from hers, his coffee-colored eyes hooded and mysterious. Their breaths mingled, warm and uneven across flushed skin, and Travis’s fingers tightened on her arm, his knuckles barely brushing the underside of her breast through the thin knit of her top.

Confused, shamefully aroused, Mercy’s head spun. She couldn’t be feeling this, could she? This utter longing to have his mouth sealed on hers, to experience his taste on her tongue. But this was Travis! Best friend to the man she swore she loved. Was she crazy, or was that light blazing behind his dark eyes a burning curiosity and need that matched her own ungovernable, inappropriate desire?

What would he do if she curled her arm behind his neck and drew him down to her? What would she do if he took up her offer and pressed her down against the bed? Worse, what would she do if he didn’t?

The potential for disaster, for rejection, for utter humiliation made her stiffen, and suddenly the heated light disappeared from Travis’s features, masked so quickly by his normal teasing expression that she was sure she’d imagined it.

“Lord-a-mercy, Miss Mercy, you sure are a mess when you blubber.” Easing his grip, he dropped a brotherly peck on the tip of her nose.

Chagrined, flustered, she pulled away, using the hem of her shirt to wipe her damp face. Had he guessed where her wayward impulses had almost led her? Oh, God, how mortifying!

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, but she wasn’t sure if the apology was for weeping all over him or almost placing him in the awkward position of betraying his best friend’s trust.

If he hadn’t sensed anything, then it was best to ignore that flash of hunger that had nearly made her forget herself. There was a name they called girls like that, and while she might have a reputation for being spoiled and a bit wild, she’d be damned if she’d ever let anyone call her the other.

“It’s okay, darlin’, you’re just upset.” He stood and slipped on a pearl-studded cowboy shirt, then jammed his feet into a pair of well-worn boots. “Look, I’ll go find Kenny. It’ll be all right. You know he can’t stay mad at you for long. You got him wrapped right around that pretty little pinky finger.”

She swallowed, not much liking the picture his words painted. “Is that how you think it is?”

“Sure thing.” He opened the door and slanted her a grin. But somehow it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure Kenny’s cooled off by now.”

“I hope so.” Cooling her own humors wasn’t such a bad idea, either, not if she expected her relationship with her boyfriend to continue. But she had to know something first. “Uh, Travis? Have you ever fallen in love?”

He froze on the threshold, his shoulders stiff, then he grinned again, all cowboy cockiness and masculine charm.

“Sure, darlin’. About every ten minutes or so. Only problem is, I tend to fall out again faster’n chain lightning.”

Suddenly cold wind whipped Mercy’s hair about her face and brought her back to the present. “Every ten minutes or so...”

That’s what it had been all about, she realized. Some things, some men never changed. A consummate ladies’ man, Travis had merely been indulging in a typically masculine experiment when he’d kissed her late last night. Perhaps one that was long overdue. And she’d been vulnerable and tired and as a result, incautious.

Shivering, Mercy stepped back into her town house, blaming the temperature but knowing on another level it was still the aftershock of that kiss that raised her goose bumps. There was a lot unresolved in her relationship with Travis King, things about Kenny, about the way he’d died, about how Travis had disappeared from her life so completely afterward, that she’d lost not one man she’d cared about, but two.

But that was water under the bridge, and it wouldn’t pay to complicate her already complex, overworked life by admitting she was still susceptible to a certain bull rider’s brand of cowboy charisma. It was a good thing she wouldn’t be seeing Travis again.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. She knew who it was before she opened the door, but she wasn’t prepared for the sheepish expression on Travis’s handsome face or the giant bouquet of hothouse blossoms he thrust at her.

“I came to apologize.”

“Uh—” Helplessly she stood in the doorway and accepted the cellophane-wrapped bundle, breathing in the rich scents of roses and narcissus. What could she do with a man who laid it on the line like this, who stood there literally with his black hat in his hand...throw his peace offering in his teeth? “This wasn’t necessary,” she murmured.

His mouth under the bold black mustache was solemn.

“To me it was. Your friendship means—has always meant—too much to me to risk with some stupid foolishness. Tell me I haven’t screwed up everything again.”

“No, of course not.” She shook her head, searching for some excuse. “Seeing you after all this time...we were both in a highly emotional state, that’s all. No harm done.”

“I‘tn glad to hear it, darlin’.”

She gestured at the armload of flowers. “Thank you, they’re beautiful. Uh, would you like to come in?”

“Better not.” His smile was engaging, rueful. “Wouldn’t want to press my luck, and you’ve got to get to work, haven’t you?”

She was surprisingly disappointed but tried not to show it. “Yes, you’re right,”

“I’ll be going, then.” He shoved on his hat. “Do one thing for me?”

She bit her lip. “If I can.”

“Those posies cost me an arm and leg.” He winked. “Promise me you’ll stick them in some water?”

He’d commented on that wilted grocery store nosegay last night, the one she’d finally thrown in the trash just an hour ago. Maybe he was charitable enough to realize she’d been too tired to find a vase. Or maybe he assumed the rich girl couldn’t be bothered with so simple a task, not a spoiled gal like her who’d always bought and discarded things on a whim, unlike a poor cowboy who had to count every penny to keep up with his entry fees.

Flushing, she managed a stiff nod. “Don’t worry, I’ll go put them in water right now.”

Disconcerted by the bitter edge in her voice, he hesitated, then he shocked her by dragging his knuckles across her cheek in a brief and all-too-disturbing caress. “I’ll see you around, blue eyes.”

Mercy didn’t close the door until the tattoo of his boots on the brick walk faded completely away. When she released the knob, she was trembling. The cellophane crackled in her hands, reminding her with a start of her promise. Moments later, the blossoms safely stashed in a cut-glass pitcher—a housewarming gift from her mother that had never been out of its box until that moment—Mercy picked up her doctor’s jacket, checking automatically for her ID badge, pen and stethoscope.

“See you around,” he’d said. No, not a good idea. Not with the history she and Travis had between them. Not when her reaction to his merest touch had all the dangerous volatility of a trainload of nitroglycerin. She had her life to get on with—responsibilities, obligations, things to prove.

Not that he’d meant anything by that catchphrase, Mercy thought, as she let herself out of her apartment. No, it was just as likely that it would be another fifteen years before she ran into Travis King again, and that suited her just fine. Because she certainly didn’t need a dark-eyed, sweet-talkin’ cowboy, who didn’t care squat for his personal health or safety, coming around, calling her “darlin’,” messing with her head and making her think about what might have been.

Not if she knew what was good for her.

“Who’s the man in black?”

“Johnny Cash?” Two days later Mercy was scribbling on a patient chart, the final one of the evening and her ticket out of the E.R. for the night.

“No, not him.” The young nurse juggled the charts she was holding, poked Mercy’s shoulder and pointed. “That one.”

Mercy looked up and couldn’t contain an involuntary spurt of pleasure at the sight of Travis King flashing his wicked grin at her. She deliberately quashed her untoward delight, frowning as he approached.

“Travis. What are you doing here?” Her professional concern kicked in, her eyes narrowing on the white bandage still gracing his temple. “Something wrong? Headache ? I—”

“Whoa, there, Doc.” Travis held up his hands. “Everything’s fine. I’m just a lonely cowboy looking for a little companionship. When can I spring you from this joint?”

Mercy licked her lips. “Uh, I don’t think—”

“That’s it,” the nurse announced, slamming the last chart shut with a sigh of relief. “See you tomorrow night, Dr. Holt.”

“Great.” Travis hung his thumbs in his belt loops. “Come on, I’ll buy you some dinner. Or would you prefer breakfast?”

He was so tempting and irresistible. Instinctively she knew he was pure trouble, and she struggled to be sensible and remember that she’d already decided the better part of discretion was to keep her distance. She shook her head.

“Thanks, but I really can’t. There’s laundry piled up, and I’ve got some reading to do—”

Travis tsked between his teeth and took her arm, leading her down the antiseptic-smelling corridor. “Not much of a life for a pretty gal like you.”

“We’re not all party animals.” Her tone was crisp, but there was no way she could untangle herself from his grasp without calling attention, and they were attracting plenty of that from the staff and the patients lined up in the E.R. waiting room as it was.

“You’ve got to stop and smell the roses, sometimes, blue eyes.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“So?” He lifted one dark eyebrow.

She relented slightly. “So your bouquet, which I’ve babied with doses of aspirin, is opening up beautifully. And yes, I’ve been smelling those damned flowers.”

Actually there was no way she could avoid it, for the scent of roses filled her to house, and each time she opened the door, she was greeted by the sweet fragrance of springtime and youth and renewed hope.

Travis’s smile was slow and satisfied. “See,” he said softly, “I’m a good influence.”

Mercy rolled her eyes. “Give me a break, Travis. Nobody ever raised as much hell as you.”

He placed a hand over his heart, mock wounded, his coffee-colored eyes devilish. “Maybe, but nobody ever has as much fun, either. And you could use a good dose of that, gal.”

“I’m all right.”

He snorted. “Sure you are. Somebody needs to take care of you, so come on. Dr. King’s orders.”

Ignoring her protests, he trundled her off in his black truck to the Stockyards, now a tourist mecca of shops and restaurants and clubs she’d rarely visited, then plied her with slabs of baby back ribs from Riscky’s Barbeque. Afterward he insisted they go two-stepping at the infamous Billy Bob’s Texas, where, not to Mercy’s surprise, he was recognized and greeted with obvious affection by every two out of three luscious cowgirls who frequented the tourist honky-tonk.

While his easy teasing and cowboy foolishness kept her laughing, and on the surface they were back on their old friendly footing, Mercy kept her guard up against a resurgence of that odd flare of awareness. Like a swift current beneath a still river, she knew instinctively it was dangerous and better left to braver souls to navigate.

Still, when Travis dropped her off at home a few hours later, again refusing her invitation to come in, Mercy was pleasantly tired, but amazed at how relaxed she felt. Flinging herself into her rumpled bed, she realized that he’d been right. Fun was an area in her life that was in severe deprivation. She’d have to do something more positive about fulfilling that need on a regular basis. Only, the last thought in her hazy brain as she dropped off to sleep was that it wouldn’t be quite the same without Travis around....

And he was around a lot over the next few days. In fact, despite her repeated resolutions to the contrary, she couldn’t avoid him. He appeared when she least expected, then whisked her off to some new adventure, not even giving her the chance to refuse. He took her for a ride down the interstate to blow the cobwebs out of her tired brain, bought her fast-food breakfasts, took her to a midnight cult movie, massaged her feet! When he drove up to Oklahoma City alone to inspect a new bull for King and Preston Stock Company, he arranged for a pizza delivery to her town house to make certain she would eat.

She certainly wasn’t accustomed to such attention. Indeed, she felt faintly guilty at the amount of time he invested in her “prescription” of TLC. But there seemed no way to avoid the runaway freight train that was Travis turning on the charm for an old friend, and after a while she didn’t even try to get out of the way. And if she wondered at his motives, well, she knew he was a tumbleweed who’d blow out of her life very soon, the same way he’d blown in again. She was just needy enough to pretend that the occasional tingles reminding her he was all man were nothing but an aberration she’d soon recover from. She decided to count herself lucky that their friendship was still intact and take what she could get.

At this stage in her life it was all she could hope for. And down deep she had a sneaking suspicion it was more than she deserved.

He was a glutton for punishment, that’s all there was to it

Travis jabbed the doorbell on Mercy’s town house and wondered what the hell he was doing. He should have been long gone by now-heck, he would have to fly instead of drive to Colorado Springs this weekend to make the opening round—and instead here he was, traipsing around after Mercy Holt like a flop-eared hound dog puppy, hoping for some scraps—of affection, of notice, hell, of anything!

He’d been sweet as pie after nearly blowing it with her that first night—chaste as a monk, hardly crowding her at all. When what he really wanted was to take her in his arms again, to take her sweet mouth under his and see if she was really as delectable as he remembered. In fact, he wanted it so badly he was on the verge of a major explosion. His strategy of platonic friendliness was a ploy, a ruse to let her become familiar with him before he escalated his battle plan to make Mercy see him as something other than an old pal. But how the hell was he going to do that if she continued to treat him like her older brother! He ought to have his bull-battered head examined.

The door swung open, and Mercy stood in her robe, one hand clutching the lapels to her creamy throat, her golden hair streaming loose about her shoulders. “Oh, Travis, hi.”

“Hi, yourself, blue eyes.” The state of her dishabille and the wary light in her eyes made him wonder if she were naked under the forest green terry cloth. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops to keep from reaching for her.

“Uh, this isn’t a good time.” She gestured over her shoulder. “I was just getting in the shower before I have to leave for work.”

“Hey, I know I’m a nuisance, but I was wondering...”

“Yes?”

He tapped the bandage at his temple, inwardly grimacing that he was reduced to concocting any excuse to be with her. “About time these stitches came out. Think you could help me out? I’ve got a big date with a bull in Colorado Springs tomorrow night and I want to look my best.”

“You’re going—?” She caught herself, but not before he heard the dismay in her tone. Of maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part.

“Yeah, Colorado over the weekend, then back to Flat Fork after that. Some prime stock’s come up missing, and Sam’s flat ticked about the situation. So if you don’t mind playing doc...”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Sure, come in.”

As he stepped over the threshold, he could hear water running. “Look, you go ahead and get that shower while the water’s hot, then we can tend to this and I’ll be out of your hair in two shakes of a piggin’ string.”

She smiled. “Okay. Make yourself at home.”

While she headed off for the bathroom, Travis moseyed around the living area, noticing that not much had changed since his last visit It was still a mess. Shrugging, he hung up his hat and went to work.

“Oh, my God, what have you done?”

A short time later Travis looked up from wiping out the kitchen sink to find Mercy gazing at him in absolute horror. She was still in her robe, her skin glowing and dewy from her shower, her freshly shampooed hair hidden under a towel that was wrapped turbanlike around her head. She carried her doctor’s bag in her hand.

His lips twitched. “I think it’s called housework.”

She looked at the spotless cabinets, the gleaming sink, the clean dishes in the drainboard, the neatly stacked paypers and cleared surfaces in the living area and stifled a groan. “Now I’m mortified. Travis, really, you shouldn’t have.”

He wiped his hands and hung the damp dish towel over the spigot. “Relax, darlin’. I’ve been a bachelor a long time. Believe it or not, since my folks retired and both my sisters married and moved away, I’ve been at the ranch by myself and I’ve become a pretty fair kitchen hand. Besides, a little help for some free medical attention is a pretty fair trade in my book.”

“You think I’m a slob.”

He grinned. “No, I know you’re a slob. But busy doctors are allowed, I reckon. Why don’t you hire somebody?”

“I’ve been too—”

“—busy. Yeah, I know.” Coming around the counter, he gave her a hard look. “Darlin’, you need to get a life.”

“I like my life just the way it is, thank you very much.” Mercy reached into her bag for scissors and a pair of tweezers. “Have a seat, cowboy.”

“Uh-oh. You gonna hurt me?” He eased a hip onto a bar stool and hooked his boot heels on the brass rungs.

“I thought bull riders felt no pain.” She tilted his chin up with a fingertip, peeled away the bandage, swathed the wound with antiseptic, then deftly removed the stitches.

He sucked in a breath at the brief sting, inhaling her flowery fragrance. It made him dizzy. It made him hard.

“That’s a myth we knights of the rodeo arena perpetuate to attract women,” he said in a strangled voice.

“So, how’s it working?”

“You tell me.”

She looked startled, but didn’t answer as she turned away to replace her implements in their case.

“You know, we can’t keep doing this,” he drawled.

“Doing what?”

“Meeting only at night like a pair of vampires. When do you get some time off? I’d like to see you by daylight for a change.”

She gave a little strained chuckle. “Why...so you can count my crow’s feet? Soft lighting becomes the haggedout lady physician, didn’t you know?”

Catching her elbow, he pulled her around, positioning her between his spread knees. He tugged the towel free of her damp tangles, then let his fingers slide down the slim column of her neck. He smiled at her startled expression and the way her pulse leapt in the hollow at the base of her throat. No matter how cool she wanted to play it, she was not immune to him.

“I know you’re even more beautiful now than you were as a dewy-eyed kid,” he said softly.

She stiffened. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Play games with me.”

“What makes you think I’m playing?” His thumb traced the curve of her collarbone.

“Because that’s what ‘Love’em-and-leave‘em’ King does.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Bending close, he nuzzled the side of her neck, whisking his mustache over her skin, smiling to himself at the shudder that raced beneath the satiny surface.

She batted his shoulder. “Stop it, Travis. You’re trying to change things.”

“Exactly. Glad you finally figured it out.”

“I thought we had this clear,” she said angrily. “I know you. You’ve got a buckle bunny in every rodeo town from here to California. Maybe you’re just bored, maybe I’m some sort of unfinished challenge from your past, but I won’t be a notch on some cowboy’s bedpost. Especially not yours.”

Hands tightening on her forearms, Travis reared back, his jaw going taut. “I don’t recall issuing that kind of invitation, darlin’. But hang on, I’m sure I’ll get around to it eventually. If you play your cards right.”

“Leave me alone. I’m not interested.”

“Liar. You know as well as I do that something powerful’s going on here.”

“Nothing of importance.” She gave him a haughty glare, the princess withering the peasant with a glance, and his blood began to boil. “Nothing I’d care to trust.”

Her words pricked him in the half-healed wound of old insecurities, the part of him that felt responsible for Kenny’s accident. He must have been crazy to think she could have let that go, even long enough to explore a friendship that was more than it should have been and a chemistry that couldn’t be ignored no matter how hard she tried.

But then, he’d never pretended to be a rocket scientist. Hell, he hadn’t even finished college! There’d never been much he could offer the rich girl, and there certainly wasn’t much now. The lick he’d taken on the noggin a week earlier must have made him loco to think he might ever have a snowball’s chance in hell with a high-society gal like her—then or now.

He smiled, but he knew there was no humor in it. “Miss Mercy Holt, heartless and cold, same as always. Why am I not surprised?”

“Just because I’m too smart to fall for your cowboy palaver? Well, don’t beat yourself up about it.” Features tight with fury, she tried to pull away, but he held her fast, and her voice dripped acid. “I’m sure there’s plenty of empty-headed twits who’ll fawn and sigh over the ‘champeen’ and give you all you think you’ve got coming. You certainly don’t need me for that.”

His smile turned wolfish. “You’re right, I don’t. I’ve got a lot more on my plate than catering to a spoiled little witch who never grew up. ’Course, it might have been interesting while it lasted. Guess we’ll never know.”

She gasped in outrage. “You despicable sidewinder! You sorry—”

“Then again,” he growled, “I hate to disappoint a lady.”

Jerking her close, he covered her mouth with his, consuming her small squeal of protest with a sweep of his tongue. Hurt, disappointed, enraged, he burned his bridges behind him, kissing her unmercifully, holding her against his chest, his body growing hard at the sweet pressure of her against his thighs.

Boldly he explored her mouth, then slid his hand inside the lapels of her robe to cup and lift the lush flesh of her naked breast. Mercy shuddered and clenched her fingers in the black cotton of his shirt, arching involuntarily to fill his palm, and he gentled, rubbing the distended bud of her nipple in slow circles that inflamed them both.

Everything changed in an instant. Summer lightning flared, distant at first, then the thunder was pounding in their veins, and the storm raged uncontrolled, a week‘s—a lifetime’s—worth of wondering and denial unleashed by temper to its full and uncontrolled limits. Gasping, hungry, insatiable—lips clung, hands explored, hearts exploded.

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