“Beck,” she whispered. “Please try to understand.”

He took hold of her neck and drew her closer to him. “Understand what? That you ran away from me?”

“I didn’t run away. My mother sent me.” She covered his mouth with a cold hand. Tears glimmered in her eyes. “Beck, I was pregnant.”

He swept her hand away and rose up onto his elbows, a sucker punch pummeling his chest. “Pregnant?”

She nodded as tears glistened and flowed over her lids.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He shot up to sit. “We could have worked something out. I had plans for us.”

“You don’t understand.”

A torrent of mixed-up feelings swept over him—anger, grief, frustration—they swirled together, making him queasy. He jumped off the bed, fought for balance and set off pacing the floor. “You were pregnant with my child and you didn’t tell me?” He bit back the wave of nausea that pressed against his stomach and threatened to move up his throat. “How could you not tell me?”

Dear Reader

When I sat down to write this book, TEMPORARY DOCTOR, SURPRISE FATHER, I had the image of a formerly bubbly, beautiful young woman, who had changed drastically in the thirteen years since she’d met and fallen in love with her high-school sweetheart. He’d left for boot camp, been chosen for Special Forces, become a Green Beret medic, travelled the world, and carried on with his life. She’d made a painful decision, harboured a huge secret, and paid a devastatingly emotional price. And it had changed her life. The choices we make in our youth often come back to haunt us.

As this reunion story unfolds, I hope you’ll fall in love with my gorgeous hero, Beck, as much as I did. And I suspect, once you’ve scratched the gruff exterior of my heroine, January, you’ll want to be friends with her.

A bit about Special Forces medics here. They are first on scene in the battlefield, and what they do for the injured can save lives. Their training is intense, and in all my years in nursing I haven’t come close to doing many of the procedures our medics learn in their Special Forces training. Hats off to those who volunteer for this difficult job. There is only one word to describe them. Heroes!

I love to hear from readers. If I’ve struck a chord with you in this book, let me know. Or if you’d just like to say hello, you can visit me at my website: www.lynnemarshallweb.com. And if you enjoy blogs, a group of us Medical™ Romance authors have got together for Love is the Best Medicine, a blog which we update every week. You can link to it from my website.

Thanks for reading my book!

L

Temporary Doctor, Surprise Father

Lynne Marshall

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Lynne Marshall has been a registered nurse in a large California hospital for twenty-five years. She has now taken the leap to writing full time, but still volunteers at her local community hospital. After writing the book of her heart in 2000, she discovered the wonderful world of Medical™ Romance, where she feels the freedom to write the stories she loves. She is happily married, has two fantastic grown children, and a socially challenged rescued dog. Besides her passion for writing Medical™ Romance, she loves to travel and read. Thanks to the family dog, she takes long walks every day!

Praise for Lynne Marshall

‘A page-turning read with passion and romance.’

—Cataromance on

PREGNANT NURSE, NEW-FOUND FAMILY,

Medical™ Romance

This book is dedicated with love

to the only Special Forces medic I know—

my son the Green Beret, John-Philip.

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

PROLOGUE

“WILL you wait for me?” Beck Braxton wove his fingers through January Stewart’s long platinum hair to frame her face. Standing in the driveway of her house, she avoided his eyes. “Will you?”

She gave a reluctant nod.

“I love you. You know that,” he said, wishing they were somewhere much more private.

Tears brimmed and gathered on her thick lashes. “Then why are you leaving?” Her voice quivered.

He bit his lip to push back his brewing frustration. “We’ve gone over this a thousand times, January. I’ve got to get out of here. When I come back things will be different. I promise.”

She blinked and tears zigzagged down her cheeks. The light from the streetlamp made them glow.

“Tell me you love me.” He was leaving for army bootcamp early next morning, and though she’d said it a hundred times before, he needed to hear it again. Now.

“You know I love you,” she mumbled, fisting his shirt and pulling on it in a desperate gesture.

This wasn’t at all like the gorgeous and confident girl he knew.

She pulled him near and he kissed her, tears mixing with their kiss. Salt and sadness tainted their goodbye. God, he hated this. He didn’t want to leave her any more than she wanted him to leave, but it was time to set out on his own. He was only eighteen. If he wanted to be a man and marry the woman he loved, he’d have to suck it up and follow the only path he knew.

He’d dreamed of joining the army since the age of twelve, anything to get away from his father and a dead-end future in Atwater. As he’d grown older, he’d fantasized about adventure and seeing the world. He’d started hanging out at the army recruiter’s office when he’d first gotten his driver’s license at sixteen. They knew him by name and had fed his dreams with their own stories of military service. He’d signed up as soon as he could at seventeen, knowing he’d have to wait until he was eighteen and after he graduated from high school before he could officially join.

Then he’d met January last year, and had fallen in love for the first time in his life. Fallen. In. Love. Big time.

He’d walked across the auditorium stage last night and accepted his high-school diploma. She’d been in the audience, being a year behind. Leaving was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, but he hoped she’d understand and everything would work out. He’d come back as soon as he could to marry her and take her with him, wherever he was stationed. But he couldn’t tell her that just yet, not until he’d worked everything out.

“Promise you’ll wait for me,” he whispered over her lips.

“I…”

“January!” her mother’s shrill voice called from the porch.

CHAPTER ONE

IF JANUARY Ashworth saw one more couple making out, she’d scream. Was it mating season or something? The young ortho tech and his nurse girlfriend were wrapped so close together it was hard to figure out where one left off and the other began. On the drive into work she’d seen two teenagers at a bus stop with their hands all over each other—she’d almost beeped her horn to break them up—and now this. And why, at one month shy of thirty, did she feel so old?

Running late, she pulled into a free spot and parked. After grabbing the pile of mail from the front seat, which she’d picked up on her way out of her house, she slammed the car door. Jan turned to see if the racket had fazed the lovebirds as they continued to lock lips. It hadn’t. Wasn’t there a rule about necking in the Los Angeles Mercy Hospital employee parking lot?

Jan shook her head, adjusted her glasses and, in the hope of getting the vision of lust out of her mind, glanced toward the afternoon sun. It only made her sneeze. Not even that got their attention. When had she last been kissed so passionately? Refusing to go there, she shook her head again and wiped her itching nose with a tissue.

Five minutes later, after zipping her name badge through the time-clock machine, she headed toward the emergency department while sorting through her mail. The newspaper said there’d be a full moon tonight, and it was Friday on top of that. Between the old ER tale of the full moon bringing out the medical crazies and the guaranteed usual Friday-night crowd, she knew it would be extra-busy tonight. And if her continued sneezing and watery eyes were any indication, a cold was brewing.

Things were not looking good…until she spied one special letter in the pile of mail. She recognized the address and got a warm, achy feeling in her heart, then promptly slipped it inside her scrub pocket to savor later.

Carmen Estrada, the no-nonsense ER charge nurse, waved her over the second her crepe-soled shoes hit the threshold. “Jan! I wanted to clue you in on a decision Dr. Riordan has made and already implemented.” The tall, middle-aged woman gave her a once-over. “Have you been crying? Your nose is red.”

“Sneezing.” Jan slipped an oversized nondescript-color OR gown over her loose scrubs as she studied the unnatural black hair of her supervisor. “So what’s up?” She nodded and listened distractedly.

“We’ll be accommodating a National Guard medic over the next month. He’s gearing up for another tour of duty and needs a quickie skills refresher course. He’ll be working under the umbrella of Dr. Riordan’s license and the agreement the hospital made with the National Guard. Any stitches, broken bones, chest tubes, intubations, gunshot wounds—you catch my drift—make sure the medic gets first dibs.”

Still distracted, rather than tying the straps of the OR gown, Jan stuffed them in her pocket with the letter. “What about the interns and residents? Aren’t they going to gripe?”

“Sure they are, but Gavin doesn’t give a patootie about that. He wants the medic to get first dibs.”

Jan inhaled and held her breath. She and Carmen exchanged knowing looks. No need to protest, the king of the ER had spoken. Once Gavin Riordan made up his mind about anything, it became emergency department law.

“Whatever,” Jan finally said on an exhalation.

Carmen used her high forehead as if it was a beacon light and nodded toward Dr. Riordan’s open office. A tall, fit-looking man in a police uniform with sculpted arms and a nearly shaved head was shaking hands with Dr. Riordan. Surprising and unwanted humming vibrated over the nerve endings in her spine. What was it about a man in a uniform?

The hair rose on the back of Jan’s neck as she went on alert. There was something about that profile, the line of his shoulders, his stance that put her on edge. “I thought you said he’s with the National Guard. That guy’s a cop.”

“He’s on the LAPD SWAT team, is a Special Forces trained medic, and also is on the National Guard, so I’m told.”

“Impressive. How can he work here and on the force at the same time?”

“He’s coming in on his days off and after hours.”

Some sixth sense sent a rush of blood from her suddenly pounding heart, making her cheeks get hot. She forced herself to act nonchalant. “Sounds pretty dedicated.”

“From what Gavin says, the guy’s proved himself through several tours of duty and is gearing up for another.”

At three-quarter view, a sharp brow line, deep-set, appraising eyes and a straight profile began to fill in the blanks on the missing person’s report in her head. Though his hair was closely cropped, the stubble looked dark. Almost black. Just like…

“Hmm. So when does he start?”

“Right now.”

With her eyes darting around the ED for places to hide—not that she was positive she knew him or anything, mostly it was an eerie feeling the mysterious cop dragged out of her—Jan made an about-face, planning to slink away and skulk in the background for the rest of her shift.

“Jan?” Gavin called her name, and any hope of keeping a low profile trickled away.

She adjusted her glasses and attempted to swallow a wad of cotton wedged in her throat as she went on guard, hoping the man wouldn’t recognize her, and turned. “Yes?”

Gavin swaggered across the room, steering along the newest addition to the ED. “This is Officer Beck Braxton.”

After a mini-implosion in her chest—it was him!—Jan nodded a cautious greeting and worked to conceal the unnerving reaction fizzing through her body. She didn’t offer to shake his hand. She couldn’t. Beck gave her a stealthy once-over, his mouth thinning into a polite straight line.

“He’s a highly trained field medic and needs to update his trauma skills. You’ve got your PA license, haven’t you, Beck?”

Beck shook his head. “Actually, I never got round to it before I joined SWAT.” So Beck had been a military field medic who was now a police officer on the special weapons and tactics team. Who would ever have thought?

“That’s a shame because, from what I’ve heard, you’ve got the knack.” Gavin shifted back to Jan. “I’ve already told him what a great nurse you are.” In a subversively charming way, Gavin smiled. He wasn’t kidding anyone, least of all her. He was merely blowing smoke up her stethoscope to soften her up before he dropped the bomb. “You’ll be assisting him tonight.”

Gulp. She fought back a cough. No way could she work with him.

“Wherever he goes, whatever he needs, you see to it he gets it. I’ve seen Beck work. He doesn’t need me breathing down his neck unless something big comes in.”

Dark brown hair, pale skin, lips ripe for kissing, hazel eyes that could make a girl do something she’d never planned—a face she’d never thought she’d see again.

Her mind drifted back to the couple in the parking lot. The last time she’d been swept off her feet by a kiss had been with Beck. A quick memory popped into her head of how her knees had buckled the first time he’d kissed her, and how he’d had to hold her up by backing her against the lockers in the school hallway. Standing before her was something much more disturbing than the high-school version. Beck had grown into a mature and dangerously attractive man, though he didn’t act as though he knew it.

Her stomach backflipped and stuck the landing with a quick punch of pain.

“Got it?” Gavin challenged.

Jan prayed that thirteen years, a name change, and an extreme make-over might throw Beck off her trail. No longer January Stewart, the popular high-school prom queen, now she was a once-divorced, radically toned-down version of her former self. Everything about her was different, from her last name to bobbed dark blond hair instead of long brash platinum waves cupping her waist. She wore glasses now instead of contacts, and had gained a handful of strategically placed pounds. He really shouldn’t recognize her. Should he?

“Got it,” she mumbled, wiping her nose with a tissue to disguise her face, her voice sounding gravelly from her tickling throat.

“Thanks,” Beck said. “And it’s nice to meet you.” Something flickered in his eyes when he reached for and shook her other hand. Recalling how his eye color could change from day to day depending on what he wore, she quickly looked away before her warming cheeks became too obvious, but not before she’d already noticed they were gray-blue today. His hand felt calloused, as if he was no stranger to hard work. That made sense for the street tough kid who’d always longed for adventure. Legions of awakening nerve endings marched up from her hand to her arm and fanned out across her shoulders.

A fond memory of how secure she’d once felt holding his hand flashed into her mind. She loosened her grip and let her hand slip free, anything to stop the reaction, but her mind refused to shut down.

Never in a million years would she ever have guessed he’d become a police officer. He’d done everything in his power to act like an outlaw in his teens, always getting into fights and not caring what anyone, including teachers, had to say.

Her lips tickled at the edges with the absurdity. But he’d never have dreamed she’d become a nurse, either. “Most likely to be a movie star.” Wasn’t that what her high-school annual had predicted for her? Heck, they’d even inserted a pair of sunglasses over one of her rare candid pictures with the caption, “Bright future. Must wear shades.”

Carmen strode around the ER desk and plopped a clipboard in Gavin’s hand. “Full moon’s apparently already rising. We’ve got a level-one trauma in transit. A gunshot wound. ETA five minutes,” she said with her usual aplomb.

Grateful for the distraction, Jan went on alert.

“Is this gang related?” Dr. Riordan asked.

“Not sure, but he fits the age range and the neighborhood.”

“Notify Security and lock down the ED waiting room just in case.”

“Already have,” Carmen retorted.

Gavin lifted his brows, tilted his head and trained his dark eyes on Beck. “Are you off duty yet?”

“Just about.”

“Then you’d better get changed.”

* * *

Adrenaline pumped through every vein in Beck’s body in the men’s locker room. Wasn’t that what he lived for? The mention of a gunshot wound sent his mind spiraling back to his last tour of duty. Though gunshot wounds had been common, they had been the least of his worries then. What still haunted him were IEDs—improvised explosive devices—and lost body parts and burns, plus the fact you could never easily identify the difference between the enemy and the local allies. To this day he tensed whenever he passed an abandoned car at the side of the road.

Beck forced himself to focus on the job at hand. He’d learned that was all he could ever do. Think of it as another adventure. One more for the file.

Something else butted into his thinking. Why did that nurse seem so familiar? She wasn’t exactly his type, but an odd current had traveled up his arm when they’d shaken hands. She hadn’t looked him in the eyes, and with lightly tinted glasses like those, it had been hard to read her expression. She’d seemed to squirm, and it surprised him. Usually, women reacted much more welcomingly to his touch. He shook his head. He should be focusing on the incoming GSW, yet…there was something very familiar about her.

After stripping and throwing on a pair of thread-worn scrubs, he realized he only had his work boots for shoes. Looking around the room, he spotted some extra-large OR shoe covers and slipped them on over his boots. Tucking in and tying the waistband on his scrubs, he rushed toward Gavin Riordan, the man offering his ER and saving him three weeks’ intensive training in North Carolina. Along with everyone else, he waited at the ambulance entrance for hell to break loose as they all applied personal protective gear.

And there she was again, the nurse, waiting beside Gavin. Her height and oval-shaped face definitely reminded him of his high-school sweetheart. Some sweetheart she’d turned out to be. No sooner had he left for bootcamp then she’d torn his heart out of his chest and stomped on it. Focus, Braxton, focus.

One thing struck him about the ER: it was so much quieter here than in the field. Then, boom, the ambulance entrance doors flew open, and Gavin and the trauma team jumped into action around the gurney.

“Got the call a half hour ago,” the first EMT said.

“It’s a penetrating injury. Gunshot wound to right chest wall with possible pneumothorax,” the second EMT said, while assisting the semi-conscious young patient’s breathing with an ambubag as the team rolled the stretcher down the hall.

Beck remembered the term “the golden hour”, the most important sixty minutes in any trauma patient’s life if he was to survive. Though things might look chaotic, there was, in fact, a planned system by the attending doctor and his team for checking the ABCs—airway, breathing, circulation—and making primary and secondary surveys of the patient.

“No other obvious injuries noted.” The EMT gave them the run-down of vital signs and initial assessment while they made their way down the corridor. “A 16-gauge IV placed in left forearm, infusing normal saline at 150 cc per hr. Pressure dressing applied to point of entry wound.”

Bright motion-activated lighting snapped on the moment they crossed the threshold of the trauma room, illuminating all the gory details. Wine-colored blood covered most of the victim’s clothes. A C-collar had been applied at the scene as he’d fallen out of a truck. They’d attempted to relieve the apparent tension pneumothorax with a needle at the second rib below the collarbone. It may have saved the guy’s life.

On the count of three the team transferred the patient to the larger procedure room bed.

The familiar-looking nurse with the boxy glasses and shy attitude went right to work cutting off the patient’s clothes, using surprising force to rip the shirtsleeves open to speed up the process. Even her mannerisms reminded him of January. But she’d had so much more style than this woman. She had been bubbly and full of life. This woman seemed subdued and almost beaten down. But they called her Jan. Hmm. Could thirteen years change someone that much?

A chaotic dance ensued among two doctors and three nurses. Their hands and bodies worked together, stepping aside, sliding under, reaching over, around, and through to get an airway placed, the patient hooked up to monitors, and a second IV started.

Beck wasn’t sure whether to hold off or jump right in with the team, but followed his gut and helped Jan remove every last stitch of clothing and toss it to the floor. He kicked the wad of clothes at his feet toward the wall to prevent anyone from tripping on it.

Gavin gave instruction that the OR be notified then called out a list of orders, including labs, blood gases, X-rays and two units of blood, while he did what Beck remembered as the primary survey. It was a methodical approach to checking the airway, breathing and circulation. Gavin auscultated the patient’s lungs and mumbled, “Crepitus” then studied the wound more closely. “Luckily for him this bullet nicked a vein and not an artery,” he said, palpating the femoral artery on the same side before he uncovered another gunshot wound lower down the leg.

The patient’s cold, clammy skin made Beck suspect shock.

“Get me a chest tube drain with autotransfusion,” Gavin told the nurse beside him.

Beck knew that meant Gavin suspected hemothorax—blood surrounding the lung instead of air. Beneath the first-aid bandages applied at the scene, a quarter-sized crater erupting with thick dark blood was located in the right upper quadrant and became the center of attention. Until the lungs were stabilized, the second, less threatening gunshot wound could wait.

The overhead monitor alarm beeped rapidly as the initial vital signs registered. The oxygen sats had tanked, BP was 80/40 and the pulse 130. The youth’s heart was working like crazy in an attempt to maintain his body’s circulation, and with a pneumothorax his lungs weren’t getting nearly enough oxygen. If not stopped, it would be a deadly cycle.

“Let’s get that chest tube in now,” Gavin said, searching for and finding Beck. Their eyes met in wordless communication, and Gavin stepped back, allowing Beck to approach the man. Baptism by fire.

Jan magically reappeared and rolled over a tray with all the equipment he’d need. He flashed back to his training, then several tours of duty, and recalled each step of the process of inserting a chest tube. He’d done his share of them in the field. Feeling under a microscope here, with the world watching, he donned sterile gloves and, driven by adrenaline, hoped his hands didn’t shake too noticeably.

After prepping the skin with antiseptic, he draped it with a sterile towel. He palpated the space between the fifth and sixth ribs and reached for the large syringe Jan handed him. He inserted the needle into the bottle of lidocaine she held for him, and administered the local anesthetic, waited briefly then accepted the proffered scalpel and made an incision in the mid-axillary line. She dutifully handed him a sterile package she’d begun to open from the outside, which gave easy access to the inside tubing without contaminating it.

Beck glanced briefly into her eyes just before he took it. For one beat their gazes locked. At close range, her eyes were blue, just like January’s. Damn.

A mini-jolt of adrenaline helped him refocus. Using the rigid guide, he inserted the tube into the pleural cavity and aimed upwards as he slowly advanced it until he felt resistance. He pulled back a tiny bit and clamped the tube. With no sign of blood, the wounded young man had been lucky. Jan connected the tube to an underwater seal before he undid the clamp. A reassuring bubbling sound gave him the confidence to begin suturing the tube in place. Soon, with the trapped air removed and no longer pressing against the lung, the lung could reinflate and the man would be breathing a lot easier.

“OK, let’s get a chest X-ray to check positioning,” Gavin said as he clamped a hand on Beck’s shoulder. “Good job.”

To say Beck wasn’t relieved would be lying, but the knowledge of a job well done admittedly felt good. “Thanks. It’s been a while.”

Jan wrapped adhesive tape around the tube and affixed it to the patient’s chest wall, then Beck looped the chest tube and taped it snugly to the patient’s abdomen before applying the final dressing.

Once Beck stepped back after his part was finished, Gavin took over. He’d located the superficially lodged bullet and removed it, then plopped it into a plastic specimen container held by Jan.

“Fantastical,” she mumbled as she studied the bloody ball of metal while Gavin stabilized the patient and readied him for surgery.

Had she just said fantastical? That was it. The missing link. In the midst of chaos and saving a life, quick memories popped into his mind of the only other person he’d ever heard say “fantastic” that way. If he hadn’t been sure before, he definitely was now.

But this person was nothing like that girl.

Still reeling from the notion that he’d stumbled on his first love, he watched Gavin proceed with a secondary survey head-to-toe assessment for more subtle injuries.

While consciously avoiding any thoughts about his ex-girlfriend, he waited for the chest X-ray films. Beck leaned against the wall and observed the team hovering over the patient, whose vital signs were already improving. He lifted the protective goggles from his eyes where perspiration had started to bead and steam them up, resting the glasses on his forehead. He glanced around the gurney from person to person, with everyone intent on what they were doing. Excellent teamwork.

Beck noticed a second pile of discarded clothing on the floor next to Jan’s feet. He moved to kick it aside and couldn’t help but notice something out of character for the subdued nurse. Completely out of place on her seriously sensible shoes were bright pink satin laces. A telltale sign of who she really was. So she hadn’t dumped all her flash. His gaze traveled up to her face carefully hidden behind dark, thick-framed artsy glasses. He looked more closely. Her eyes were as bright a blue as they had been thirteen years ago.

How had he not recognized her mouth right off? In high school she’d carefully outlined those soft, well-shaped lips with liner before she’d applied the brightest shades of pink he’d ever seen. It had driven him crazy. She was the last person in the world he’d ever expected to run into here.

For a woman who wrapped herself in the loosest scrubs possible, it was hard to imagine her as once dressing like a birthday present in loud patterns over a curvaceous figure. Short skirts had never looked better than over those legs. But today her legs were covered in baggy, faded scrubs, making it impossible to compare. Yet there were those pink satin laces shining up at him. And she had said “fantastical”.

It all added up to one person. January. And he was still as mad as hell at her.

She caught him looking at her and quickly glanced away. Could she tell that he’d just figured out who she was? Years before, she’d trampled over his heart without so much as a backward glance. He’d joined the army intent on seeing the world and had expected her to wait for him. Maybe it had been a lame plan, but it had been the best he could come up with at eighteen. When he’d gotten out of bootcamp, she’d disappeared. When he’d tracked her down, she’d broken up with him. Over the phone!

The skittish nurse shoved something toward him. He jumped back from sorting through memories to the present. She gave him a kit, avoiding his eyes. It was a Foley catheter kit.

“Make yourself useful,” Jan said, jabbing the plastic-covered box at him then quickly turning away.

He glanced at the naked patient lying on the gurney. The young man was in and out of consciousness, and Beck hoped when he catheterized him, for the patient’s sake, he’d be out of it.

As he opened the sterile package and started to set up, he glanced back at Jan, who was completely wrapped up with hanging a unit of blood. She chewed on her lower lip, like she used to whenever she’d concentrated on anything. How had he missed it? All the parts were there, though skewed a bit by time.

Thirteen years had made some major changes to both of them.

Before inserting the catheter, he looked at her one more time. Sure enough, it was January Stewart…the biggest love and the worst heartbreak of his life.

* * *

Jan had managed to avoid Beck after the gunshot-wound patient had been prepped and awaited transfer to surgery. She’d passed him off on a younger nurse who was already captivated by his strikingly handsome looks and who gladly agreed to assist him. As long as Gavin didn’t find out and he got emergency practice, it would make no difference which nurse assisted Beck.

He didn’t react or seem to mind.

Anyhow, there was a group of needy residents with an assortment of patients to keep her busy. And she was.

She’d spent thirteen years putting her life in order. Just because Beck had been her big love in high school it didn’t mean they had anything to reminisce about. Their horrible ending tugged at Jan’s conscience. But now was not the time to relive the past. It couldn’t be changed.

She tamped down the memories and tried not to cringe. Not today. Not when the emergency department was crawling with patients.

Jan escorted her next patient into the last available ER room and handed the young man a gown. “What seems to be the problem?”

“I think I have an infected spider bite, and now it’s spreading.”

He showed her his thigh. She put on a disposable glove and gently touched a red, raised, angry-looking boil. It was warm and definitely infected.

“How long have you had this?”

“About a week now.”

She noticed little pimple-like satellite areas budding around it. “Any fever?”

The patient shook his head no. “But it keeps getting bigger.”

Before she could put the digital thermometer into his mouth, a shadow fell on her.

“Looks like MRSA.”

She glanced over her shoulder and found Beck. Methecillin-resistant staph aureus was a perplexing condition, cropping up in and out of hospitals. How he could make a snap diagnosis like that astounded her. And blurting it out right in front of the patient showed poor judgement.

“I’ll have Dr. Riordan take a look,” she said, dismissing Beck.

“You play team sports?” Beck walked around her and faced the patient.

“I’m on a football team.”

“Anyone else have ‘spider bites’?”

“You know, a couple other guys might, come to think of it. We thought we got ’em on our last away game.”

Beck glanced at Jan. “Trust me, its MRSA. If we don’t treat it properly now, he runs the risk of developing myositis. Rather than wasting time treating with the wrong antibiotic, I’d lance and drain it, get a culture tonight. Save the cost of an expensive antibiotic and a return visit to the ER.”

“We’ll be right back.” Jan strained a smile at the patient, excused herself from the bedside and escorted Beck out of the room by his elbow. “What are you doing?” she said, once in the hall. “The kid hasn’t even been examined by a doctor yet, and you’re already diagnosing and treating him?”

“I’ve been in the military for years and I’ve seen MRSA all over the place. Believe me, it’s a waste of time treating him with antibiotics alone, especially if the staph infection is resistant to it. He’ll just be back in here next week with more of those boils, and they’ll be ten times worse.”

Jan glared at him, until he gave her a sarcastic smile. She hated it when he grinned so smugly like that. Just like the time standing by the lockers in high school after art class when he’d first figured out how much she’d liked him. She spun around and strode down the hall to Dr. Riordan’s office. He’d obviously figured out who she was. Her only line of defense? Avoid him!

“Dr. Riordan, can you do a quick examination of a spider bite?” She glanced down the hall to find Beck already gathering the equipment he’d need to lance and drain the eruption, and her face went angrily hot. She bit back her thoughts and followed Dr. Riordan down to the exam room, hoping he’d put Beck in his place.

After doing a quick assessment and patient interview the doctor said, “Looks like MRSA.”

So much for back-up.

“We can either treat you with broad-spectrum antibiotics, which may or may not help, or we can open and drain the area tonight, stitch you up and send you home. We’ll get culture results in forty-eight hours and make sure you’re on the right antibiotic. Then you can follow up with your primary-care physician next week.”

Jan felt conspired against as she chewed her lower lip and had the patient sign the consent for the procedure. She started to leave the room when Beck rolled his tray of equipment inside.

“Stick around,” he said. “I’ll need your help.”

The exam room took on a red cast as she swallowed her anger and nodded her head, knowing this was a one-man job. As long as he didn’t let on that he knew who she was, she’d play along with his little game, even if it meant her blood pressure getting elevated.

With her throat growing sorer by the minute, and her nasal congestion getting worse, she’d avoid him tomorrow by calling in sick to work.

* * *

Beck finished the last stitch and turned to Jan. “You can take it from here.”

She nodded dutifully, but refused to look at him. He smiled at the patient, who thanked him, then left the room.

It was almost more than he could do not to grab her by the arm and drag her down the hall to some secluded place and tell her exactly how she’d screwed up his life. Oh, but he’d had the last laugh because he’d risen above all the dirt everyone in Atwater had tried to dump on him his whole life. He’d proved wrong everyone who’d said he would never amount to anything. He’d served his country well, seen more countries than most people dreamed about, and now he proudly wore the LAPD badge and served on the elite SWAT team. For someone who’d received the infamous honor in his senior class of being tagged “most likely to wind up in a correctional center” he’d done pretty damn well for himself.

Beck straightened his shoulders and swaggered toward the doctors’ lounge. He needed a drink, but a good strong cup of coffee would have to do instead.

* * *

Jan finally had a chance to take her dinner break around eight p.m. She notified Carmen and headed for the nurses’ lounge. Unable to wait one more second to read the special letter, she dug it out of her pocket and ripped it open. This time every year, as promised, the updated letter arrived.

A shining smile from Meghan Jean greeted her inside the envelope. She’d be twelve and a half now, and in seventh grade. Long dark brown French braids rested on her bony shoulders. A handful of freckles were sprinkled across her nose, a nose very much like Jan’s. But the eyes were definitely placed and shaped like her father’s, except their color was blue…like hers.

Dear January,

We’re reporting in on this year’s progress with our daughter. Meghan has joined the track team and also loves to dance. She scored in the top ten percent for her annual scholastic testing and her teachers want to place her in some gifted classes. It seems that out of the blue she has discovered a love of art, and wants to take painting classes. She continues to be a warm and loving girl with a natural excitement and curiosity for life even though puberty is fast approaching. Meghan absolutely hates wearing braces, but we’ve discovered clear wires and sometimes she likes to have bright blue ones applied just for fun. As you know, she’s quite the ham and keeps Daryl and me laughing. We promised her a Disney World vacation this year and she can barely go to sleep each night from thinking about it.

On another note, something new has cropped up in school. Meghan’s science class is studying genetics and genealogy and she is suddenly bursting with questions about her birth parents. Would it be okay for us to tell her a bit more about you? We understand that you never named the father, but if there is any information whatsoever you can provide, we’d appreciate it.

As always, Daryl and I are so grateful to you for your unselfish act and want you to know we treat our daughter as the precious gift she is. We pray that life is treating you well.

All the best,

The Williams

The last part of the letter went blurry. Had it been an unselfish act? Could giving her daughter away to strangers in an open adoption be considered anything less than an easy way out for a frightened seventeen-year-old? Sure, they had been well screened, willing and anxious to become parents, but they’d solved her “problem” and life had never been the same since.

She glanced again at the school picture, and choked back her tears.

The door flew open behind her. “Apparently only the nurses keep fresh coffee in the pot,” Beck said.

Jan startled, dropping the letter, and the picture went flying through the air to the floor. She scrambled to reach it before Beck could see, but he was just as quick.

She leaned. He knelt. They almost bumped heads. They looked into each other’s eyes. Fear of being found out sent a rocket fueled with adrenaline through her chest. His hand rested on top of hers on the picture on the floor.

CHAPTER TWO

“SO HOW’VE you been, January?” Beck asked, glancing up from the overturned picture on the floor and staring deep into her eyes.

Jan glanced into Beck’s challenging glare and willed herself not to shake. She swallowed a hard lump and narrowed her gaze, then reverted to old, well-practiced techniques of evasion.

“I’ve been fantastical, Beck. And you?” She gingerly retrieved the photograph of her daughter from the floor and slipped it back inside her pocket before he had a chance to see it.

“Outstanding. I’ve been outstanding.”

Was his point to let her know how well he’d gotten along in life without her? To point out that leaving her behind and joining the army had made him “all that he could be” like the ad on the military poster said? Or was he lying through his teeth, like she was?

He seemed on the verge of saying something more.

Before Jan could begin to decipher the multitude of expressions in his eyes, Carmen appeared in the doorway.

“Here you are. I’ve got good news,” she said, looking toward Beck. “Gavin has arranged for you to scrub in with the gunshot wound. You’d better high-tail it up there before anyone changes their mind.”

“Fantastical,” he said, slanting a glance Jan’s way. A grim look that promised they hadn’t even begun to broach the subject foremost on their minds. Then Beck swept out of the tiny room without looking back, leaving a gust of air that seemed to strangle her instead of offer relief.

Carmen leaned against the door frame, cocking a brow. “Did he just say ‘fantastical’?”

Jan nodded solemnly.

“He’s kind of cute, don’t you think?” Carmen continued.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Then those glasses are the wrong prescription. Did I interrupt something?”

“Not at all. He was just looking for a decent cup of coffee, and, being a smart guy, knew to come to the nurses’ lounge.” She feigned a carefree smile, gathered her letter and lunch items and hustled back to work.

* * *

The next day, her guilty conscience wouldn’t let her call in sick to work. Sure, her nose was congested, but she wasn’t running a fever and she could sneeze into the crook of her elbow on the job if needed. If her condition warranted it, she’d don a mask. But knowing the glut of emergencies on weekends, not to mention the people without health insurance who used the ED as their doctor’s office on their days off, she couldn’t leave Carmen short a nurse for a shift.

She’d tried all night long not to recall the challenge in Beck’s glare when he’d asked how she’d been. Not answering his calls and letters when he’d shipped out for bootcamp had been the second-hardest thing she’d ever had to do. Even with her heart aching for the boy she’d loved since tenth grade, nothing had compared with the pain of giving up their child for adoption.

That was all in the past now. They were grown-ups with careers and personal commitments. She assumed Beck had responsibilities, being both a medic in the National Guard and on the SWAT team. She could only imagine the different countries he’d been sent to in the last thirteen years, and she’d never even ventured out of California.

She hadn’t noticed a wedding ring on his hand when he’d reached for the picture in the nurses’ lounge. Why did that somehow garner a feeling of relief?

Jan shook her head, popped a twelve-hour antihistamine, and dressed for work.

On the drive to Mercy Hospital, she turned on the radio and heard the two o’clock news. There had been a car chase which had turned into a hostage situation and from there escalated into a stand-off in an apartment building in the Wilshire area of Los Angeles. Her mind shot to Beck. Would he be called in with the SWAT team to handle this explosive situation? Anxiety welled up, as if a tight squeezing harness was wrapped around her chest, with the knowledge he could be in harm’s way. But that was the life he’d chosen for himself, and he was no longer her business.

When she arrived at work to an already hopping emergency department, there was no sign of Beck. She pondered the hostage situation and Beck’s possible involvement. The thought that he was otherwise engaged and that she might not have to face him in the ER that night didn’t soothe her mounted concern in the least.

* * *

A wild and crazy Saturday night in the emergency department had postponed Jan’s meal break until nine p.m. The inundated ER felt stifling and she went outside for fresh air. She found a secluded bench and was unwrapping her sandwich for dinner when the loud rumble of a motorcycle rolling into the parking lot broke the silence. The rider gave one last rev of the engine, parked, and threw his leg over the machine as if he were a wrangler, a helmet in place of a cowboy hat.

The leather jacket and the swagger unmistakably belonged to Beck. Apparently he still preferred motorcycles to cars. What was he doing here? She hadn’t had time to catch the news and didn’t know whether the earlier incident had been resolved or not but, even so, why would he report to the ED after such an intense afternoon and evening?

A quick flash of the undaunted guy she’d once dated appeared before her. He’d been pegged as a troublemaker since grammar school and had never lived his reputation down. He’d played along and acted the role of bad boy all through high school, but Jan had known the softer, more playful side of him. They’d laughed together just as much as they’d kissed or argued. She’d never understood why he’d let people think so little of him, expecting the worse and assuming when anything had gone wrong that he’d been at the core of it.

They’d met in an open-grade art class when she had been a sophomore and he a junior, and had bonded over painting delicate eggshells. He’d helped her pass algebra and walked her through her science experiments whenever she’d been confused. He’d been the guy to hold her until her tears had dried after her dog got hit by a car. No one else had seemed to see the noble and tender side of Beck but her…back then.

She sighed and suddenly lost her appetite. It had hurt like hell to break up with him all those years ago. And what must he have thought of her for the cowardly way she’d done it?

By the time her meal break was up, Beck had already donned scrubs and was tending to a laceration in one of the emergency exam rooms. She tiptoed by, only to be snagged by Carmen.

“We’ve got a DUI in transit. The guy wrapped his car around a telephone pole and partially scalped himself. Gavin wants Beck to stitch him up, so get a minor operations kit and meet him in the procedure room pronto.”

Jan nodded, wishing they’d assign Beck to someone else, but she needed to accept there’d be no getting away from the ex-love of her life for the next month.

In a world where justice had a way of weaseling its way in at the most inconvenient times, she knew this would be her punishment for lying to him.

Fifteen minutes later Jan cleaned the wound. She flushed the patient’s skin with copious amounts of saline followed by antiseptic solution then patted it dry with sterile towels. The majority of the patient’s hair was intact. A full head of brown hair had been partially severed from the forehead back, looking like a floppy, cheap toupee. She’d never seen anything like it before outside old cowboy and Indian movies.

Jan dabbed at the last few trickles of blood as Beck injected a local anesthetic along the forehead and waited for it to take effect. She avoided his eyes as much as possible after his initial raised brow and shake of the head when first examining the wound. But occasionally their gazes met. Each and every time small explosions of adrenaline made her tremble. She prayed he couldn’t tell.

Jan had to admit Beck was a skilled clinician. But even with his expert suturing, the patient would have a thin white scar along his hairline for the rest of his life to remind him of his bonehead decision to drive while drunk.

Fortunately, the patient was still inebriated enough not to mind having his scalp sewn back onto his head. Thankful for the mask she’d opted to wear to protect the patient against her cold, she didn’t have to breathe in his liquor fumes first hand.

Beck concentrated, using a curved needle in a holder and toothed forceps to help insert the needle through the thick skin and out again. He made even stitches with fine braided silk, taking meticulous care to fit the jigsaw pattern of the “scalping” together. He’d divided the wound into manageable lengths, placing a suture at the halfway and quarter points to avoid “dog-ears”—unequal bites of tissue that would heal with gaps. Even without the help of the plastics department, the patient stood a good shot of healing with minimal visible scarring—as long as his hairline didn’t recede.

Once the tedious procedure of what seemed no less than fifty stitches concluded, Beck dropped the needles into the sharps container on the wall and, gathering the remaining instruments, helped Jan clean up.

“I can do this,” she said, dismissing his efforts.

“Just trying to help, January.” He wadded up the betadine-stained blue paper barrier and tossed it, like a basketball, into the nearby trash can. It landed perfectly, and Beck stared at Jan with deep-set penetrating eyes that almost made her knees buckle.

He’d matured and grown into a formidably handsome man. Muscle had thickened and replaced the lanky limbs of his youth. With his hair nearly completely shaved, his features seemed all the more chiseled and striking. The old trace of a furrowed brow had settled more deeply into the map of his forehead. Lightly etched squint lines hinted at the many sights he’d seen since his departure from her life.

He’d once had thick wavy dark hair and he’d worn it styled and gelled to perfection. He’d warn her not to mess with his do and she’d complain about how he always managed to ruin her hairstyle and then she’d run her fingers through his hair just to spite him. Typical of high-school students, they’d end their silly challenges and arguments by glaring at one another, calling each other a name, and rushing into a smoldering make-up kiss.

He’d changed dramatically, and, if possible, for the better. His sexy appeal sent chills undulating through her body. How would she survive the next month?

Deep in myriad thoughts, she spun round and bumped Beck with the kidney basin filled with antiseptic. Some spilled over the brim, splattering onto his scrub top. He held her wrists to steady her hands and she panicked.

“I told you I don’t need your help. This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just let things be,” she said, clenching her jaw.

He pried her fingers free of the basin, all the while keeping eye contact, then dipped his gloved fingertips into the solution and flicked it at close range onto her scrub top. Jerk. He strolled to the sink and poured the rest of the liquid down the drain.

“Now we’re even, January,” he said in a familiar taunting whisper. If it were only that simple. He seemed to seethe whenever he looked at her. Could she blame him?

The inebriated patient lay snoozing, oblivious to his surroundings.

The look in Beck’s eyes dared her to challenge him. He may have over a decade’s worth of questions for her, but she couldn’t allow him to become familiar with her again. There was too much at stake. She’d endured the pain alone for years and could think of no good reason to share it with him. He’d only hate her more.

“Call me Jan, please. And I’d appreciate it if you’d keep our past out of this place. No one needs to know about us.”

One brow rose slowly and he nodded, the hazel gaze muted by a cautious veil. “Still worried about your reputation, I see,” he said, before turning and leaving the room.

The patient snored and Jan wanted to scream. After thirteen years of hiding from her past, doing everything she could to respect her decision instead of loathing herself, it had finally caught up with her. Sheer reflex made her want to run into the night. But she’d prided herself in growing up and facing the toughest parts of her life head on. If spending the next month working with the father of her child—the baby she’d given up for adoption—was the price she would have to pay, she’d pay it. And at the end she’d try to do what she’d done for years—forget and move on.

* * *

Beck had seen men die before his eyes. He’d lived by his wits and survived close call after close call in battles across the globe. He’d defied his parents, who’d always thought he was too hard to handle, he’d proved his high-school principal wrong with his predictions of incarceration. Now Beck was one of the “good” guys. And where had it gotten him?

Hell, he’d given up the one person he’d ever loved for the sake of his quest for adventure. Breaking free of Atwater had meant that much to him. Nothing, he’d sworn, would hold him back from grabbing life by the tail and holding on for a wild ride. Except the “wild ride” had included pain and suffering and memories he wished to God he could get out of his head.

After all of that, how could the simple task of brushing up his medic skills throw him for such a loop?

Beck knew the reason. The task involved being near the one person who’d taught him the purest and most honest feeling he could ever hope to experience. Love. Of course, she’d been the one to rip that same feeling out of his chest and ruin it for the rest of his life. No other woman had ever gotten to know that vulnerable secret part of his soul since January Stewart. It had ruined more than his share of otherwise satisfying relationships, too.

January had ripped away any chance of trusting a woman that much again when she’d refused to wait for him. When she’d coldly broken off their relationship over the phone, and only then after he’d tried to track her down through some friends. At first he’d thought she was paying him back for leaving her and joining the army, but her decision to break up with him had gone beyond stubborn resolve or hurt. He’d never been able to pinpoint what the missing piece of the puzzle was, but in his gut he knew there was something more to their break-up. He’d given up guessing what long ago.

Beck shook his head. The new version of his first love stood right inside the Mercy Hospital emergency ward and the thought made his blood boil. She’d screwed him up beyond all recognition when she’d dumped him. He’d spent three months dreaming about her in bootcamp. Sometimes the hell he’d had to endure in training had only been bearable because of her face smiling at him in his mind. Her soft lips had teased him, “Don’t be a wuss. You can do it.” The flood of memories that her presence had released just now in the exam room was almost more than he could bear. Good thing he had been wearing gloves when he held her wrists. He wasn’t sure how he’d have reacted if they’d been skin to skin.

He shook his head and smiled ruefully. He didn’t care that she still affected him. It didn’t matter that whatever it was that had once appealed to him hadn’t faded. Her allure had only grown stronger. He wouldn’t fall for it. Never again. He’d never forgive or trust her again.

A familiar phrase his drill sergeant had repeated over and over popped into his brain, “Don’t get mad. Get even.”

Hmm. Was revenge as sweet as everyone stacked it up to be?

Beck looked up from his thoughts in time to see Gavin Riordan approaching. “Hey, great job tonight.”

“Thanks.”

“So what happened with that car chase today?”

“It’s a long story,” Beck said, scratching the back of his neck.

“The shift’s over. Why don’t you let me buy you a drink and you can tell me about it?”

Gavin was bending over backwards to help Beck avoid losing time off the job by flying back to North Carolina for his medic update. How could he refuse his request? And after his recent encounter with January, he could definitely use a drink.

“Sure thing. Where’re we going?”

“The Emergency Room.”

* * *

Jan folded her OR gown and pushed it into the dirty clothes hamper. She sat on the bench and untied her shoelaces as Carmen entered the nurses’ locker room.

“Hey, Jan. After all this nonstop action tonight, I’m having a hard time unwinding. You want to get a drink with me?”

“Nah. I’m coming down with a cold.”

Carmen rarely asked Jan to do anything close to socializing. She felt kind of bad, refusing her.

“A hot toddy might be just what the doctor ordered. You know what I mean?” Carmen added.

Jan dragged in an indecisive breath.

Looking disappointed, Carmen said, “Well, if you change your mind, I’ll be in the Emergency Room.”

The Emergency Room was the after-hours hang out for many of the Mercy Hospital staff. She knew exactly where it was, though rarely went there.

Deciding that Carmen probably had something on her mind and needed a friendly ear, Jan reconsidered. The fact that she was dreading another night of tossing and turning with visions of Beck Braxton in her head helped change her mind.

“You know, a hot toddy might just be the ticket. Give me a second to change out of my scrubs and I’ll meet you.”

“Why don’t we drive over together?” Carmen shoved her arm into a black jacket. “I’ll drop you back at the parking lot on our way home.”

Jan shimmied out of her scrubs. “You’re on, but just one drink.”

“Sure, just like the doctor ordered,” Carmen said, as she left the locker room, leaving the door to flap behind her.

* * *

Similar to a real emergency room, the bar was busy and noisy, but that was where the similarities ended. Dark and fueled with a completely different kind of energy, the tables and booths were close to overflowing that Saturday night. The latest female American Idol winner belted out a song through the piped-in music. A heated game of darts went on in a corner called the “Surgical Ward” and the adjacent billiards room had a sign over the door, “Hospital Administration.”

Carmen pointed out an empty booth, grabbed January’s hand and led her to the back of the room. While passing the bar she ordered their drinks and showed the bartender where they were headed.

No sooner had they sat down than Gavin Riordan appeared.

“What’s he doing here?” Jan blurted.

“Beth took the twins to visit their grandmother in Florida. And his son’s away on a Scouting trip for the weekend. He must be lonely.”

Jan smiled at the newly domesticated head of ER. She would never have believed a quiet allergy nurse could have tamed her boss when she’d first started working at the Mercy Hospital ER two years ago. It only went to show that miracles could happen.

Carmen waved him over.

“Ladies.” Gavin nodded and pushed his way into the booth next to Carmen. “The drinks are on me.”

“That’s fine with me, as long as they aren’t going to deduct this from my Christmas bonus.” Carmen sprang into action with her boss. Sure, they spent most of their time at work verbally sparring, but no one was fooled by their antics. They’d go to the mat for each other in a heartbeat.

“You didn’t get the memo about the suspension of all bonuses this year?” he chided.

“Don’t even go there,” Carmen snarled.

The drinks arrived and Gavin paid.

“Bring a couple of beers, OK?” he instructed the waitress.

“You drinking for two tonight?” Carmen asked, with a mock-innocent toss of her head.

Before Gavin had a chance to answer, Jan’s heart dropped. Pushing through the crowd was the unmistakable figure of Atwater’s notorious bad boy, Beck Braxton. What was she supposed to do now?

She cast a terrified glance around the bar for an emergency exit. “Listen, I’ve got to go.” Jan started to stand, but Gavin’s strong grasp kept her from reaching her full height.

“Have a seat,” he said. “You’re among friends.”

He had no idea the fire he was playing with. In panic mode, Jan darted her gaze to Carmen.

“Drink your toddy and relax. That guy’s a hunk by anyone’s standards. I should be so lucky.” Carmen took a deep swig of her white wine and gave a Cheshire-cat smile that Jan had an overwhelming desire to scratch off her face. Relax? Easy for her to say.

Beck’s step faltered when Jan peered out of the booth and caught his gaze. He recovered so quickly, anyone with less of a trained eye would never have noticed. She did what she’d been told and gulped the warm brandy-and-honey concoction and tried to act nonchalant when he reached their table.

Beck filled the only remaining spot in the booth, the seat beside her.

“I ordered you a beer,” Gavin piped up.

Beck nodded his thanks and glanced to his side, at Jan. She wondered if her smile looked as unconvincing as his. They all sat in momentary silence and sipped their respective drinks. Gavin broke the silence with a question for Beck.

The men discussed the day’s events, and Carmen sat rapt, chin in palm, swigging her wine and listening. With the aid of the twelve-hour antihistamine, Jan’s drink swirled through her head and soon she found it hard to focus. Dull buzzing droned in her ears. Occasionally Carmen would kick her foot under the table to urge her to join the conversation. Jan ignored her and sat mute, staring at her hands.

Soon a warm blush settled in and she loosened the top button of her shirt to help cool off. She hadn’t felt this uncomfortable since the first day of open-grade art class when she had been fifteen, and seventeen-year-old Beck had been her big secret crush and had taken a seat next to her.

Jan blinked and squinted to try and focus better. As far as men went, Beck was an incredible specimen. Dappled shadows from the bar lights accentuated the line of his jaw and the depth of his eyes. Still, his magnetism frightened her. She didn’t dare study him for long.

“Are you OK?” Beck asked, bumping her thigh with his knee under the table.

“I’m feeling a little strange. What’d they put in this drink?” She turned to Carmen.

“Brandy. When’s the last time you had a real drink?” Carmen tossed her a disbelieving glance.

“I’ve never had brandy.”

Carmen raised her hands and glared at her boss. “Guys, I swear I had no idea the woman was so backward.”

Gavin chuckled and finished his beer. “You need a ride home, Jan?”

“Carmen’s going to drop me back at my car.”

Beck broke in. “You shouldn’t be driving. I’ll take you home.”

Jan glanced toward Carmen for help. She found evasive eyes and a fidgety hand smoothing coarse black hair. Wasn’t she going to bail her out? Knowing Beck, he’d grill her until she’d told him the truth about why she’d broken up with him. She wasn’t anywhere ready to tell him what had happened. What in the world should she do now?

Beck stood at the exact moment Gavin did. They shook hands goodnight, and Carmen skirted behind them and headed for the door.

“Thanks a million,” Jan said under her breath, leaning out of the booth.

“I should be so lucky,” Carmen whispered, tossing a glance Beck’s way. Jan stood along with everyone else. Soon she’d be on her own…with her ex.

She weaved fingers through her short bob and straightened her glasses. The drink may have soothed her throat, but she felt wobbly, parched and edgy. Realizing Beck was checking out her low-slung second-skin jeans, she quickly put on her extra-long sweater. His eyes traveled back to her face.

“You can wear my helmet.”

Her head shot up the moment she realized the mode of travel Beck had in mind.

“It’s against California law to ride without a helmet.”

“I’ll have to take that chance, won’t I?” Typical of Beck. “You look like you need some water,” he said.

She sat back down on the booth bench. “A cup of tea might help clear my head.”

Beck raised his hand and flagged down the waitress. “A tea and some water, please.”

“Then let me get a cab,” Jan said.

He shook his head. “That would be too convenient.” His irritated stare let her know in no uncertain terms he was no happier about this than she was. So why had he offered? “I think you’re overdue for a ride on my chopper.” A punishing smile thinned his lips.

Jan found it hard to sip tea through a locked jaw, especially with Beck sitting across from her, glaring.

“What?” she challenged.

“What do you mean, what?” He played dumb, but never broke his stare.

“We both know you’ve got an axe to grind with me.”

He crossed a foot on his knee and continued to bore a hole into her head with his stare. “So true.”

She defied him, refusing to look away, and drank more tea, though it burned all the way down. His long fingers tapped rhythmically on the tabletop. She took another punishing sip. He cleared his throat.

“You know, it’s customary when people say they love each other to keep in touch when one goes away.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a traditionalist, Beck. I thought you couldn’t get out of Atwater fast enough.”

It hurt like hell to be flippant, but she had no choice tonight. Now wasn’t the time or place to sort out their differences. She’d made her choice years ago and he couldn’t find out about her secret. Not tonight. Not ever. Not if she could help it.

“We had an agreement, January.”

“Too bad, so sad, guess I broke it.”

Beck went completely still. Warning cold serpent eyes sent a chill slithering down her spine. “That’s garbage and you know it. Level with me. Your mother sent you away, didn’t she?”

She vehemently shook her head. “Nope. I wanted to go.”

“Where? Where did you go?”

“To modeling school.”

“Then why are you a nurse?”

“Look at me, Beck. Do I look like model material to you?”

At a stalemate, they stared at each other across the booth, the dim lights hiding the truth.

“Let’s go,” he said, standing to his full six feet two inches.

Jan would rather have walked home barefoot on hot coals than ride on the back of his Harley. What had once been exhilarating and sexy as all hell had suddenly turned into an exercise in torture.

CHAPTER THREE

DETERMINED not to make physical contact with Beck on the motorcycle, Jan pushed as far back on the pillion as it allowed. She planted her feet on the bars and braced her hands behind her along the edge of the elongated seat, gritting her teeth as if doing so would keep her steady and safe. Once settled, she gave Beck directions to her house.

She used to love riding on the back of Beck’s motorbike, but this time it made her feel jittery and tightly strung. Out of practice, she stared at the back of his neck rather than watch the road spin by.

The moonlit sky and pleasant temperature normally would have made for a perfect night to ride with the top down in a car. But this? Completely vulnerable on the back of Beck’s bike, she chewed on her lower lip and prayed she’d make it home in one piece. When had she become such a chicken?

After a stoplight, he jumped into what felt like hyper-speed and her hands went flying around his leather-covered torso. But Beck was on a residential street where the speed limit was thirty-five m.p.h. What felt like reckless abandon to Jan was probably because of the hot toddy and the real speed doubtless closer to twenty-five.

Turning her face, if it weren’t for the bulky helmet, she’d have smashed her cheek against his back. He stiffened and sat a bit straighter. As it was, her chin dug into the muscle just above his scapula. Solid and steady, he stayed ramrod straight, making it easier for her to anchor herself to him.

A quick reminder of the stable force he’d once been should have helped her relax. It didn’t. Her arms were around the last man on earth she’d ever wanted to see again.

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