Stephen looked up at the light knock on the entrance to the makeshift office he used when he was called out to the Lone Star Retirement Village. Nora Darby glared at him, her beautiful brown eyes snapping with temper, her hackles already raised as she prepared for the slight she was so sure was coming.
Stephen bit back a grin. Nora was the sexiest woman he’d ever seen—at least in person. He remembered a couple of adolescent fantasies that had come close. Today she wore her dark, curly hair pulled on top of her head in a ponytail. Curls tumbled down to the nape of her neck, where they teased the faintly tanned skin there. The temperature had climbed into the mid-eighties—not unusual for spring in Texas, or so he’d been told. In honor of the heat—or maybe just to torment him—Nora had dressed in a cropped short-sleeved white shirt that had impossibly tempting, tiny buttons that started at the valley between her breasts and continued to the hem of the shirt, at her waist. Her low-slung denim skirt left about two inches of skin bare around her middle. Long, tanned legs disappeared into worn cowboy boots.
“What did you want?” she asked, folding her arms under her breasts. The movement pulled the shirt higher, exposing more of her tummy.
Nora Darby had a body built for sin, he thought, amazed that he could feel heat flaring through his body. He hadn’t wanted a woman in so long, he’d assumed that part of him had died…or at least been frozen. Apparently he’d only needed the right kind of inspiration to wake things up.
“What’s that expression?” he asked. “The one about a woman being a long, tall drink of water?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’m tall. Five-nine. Is that what you wanted to talk about? And while we’re on the subject, I don’t appreciate being ordered into the inner sanctum. I don’t work for you.”
“It wasn’t an order,” he said, motioning for her to take the chair on the opposite side of his desk. “It was a request.”
She ignored his invitation and stayed by the door. “You didn’t say please.”
She was twenty kinds of trouble, he thought, holding in yet another grin. Damn, she made him feel alive and as randy as a sixteen-year-old spying on cheerleading practice.
“Please,” he said, rising to his feet and walking around to stand behind the chair. “I would be most honored if you would be so kind as to give me a few minutes of your time.”
Her eyebrows drew together in a scowl, but she tossed her head and made her way to the chair. When she plopped down, he returned to his own seat.
“I don’t like you,” she said before he could broach a different subject. “You’ve got the entire town convinced you’re a wonderful doctor, so kind, so handsome. I don’t believe a word of it.”
She was defensive, he thought, feeling a surge of pleasure. Which meant she felt threatened. Did he get to her? Maybe his physical reaction to her wasn’t completely one-sided.
“Thank you for your candor,” he said, leaning forward and resting his hands on his desk. “What I wanted to talk to you about was the women you see when you’re here.”
He read her thoughts as clearly as if she’d printed them on paper. She wasn’t sure why he was ignoring her comment about not liking him. She’d expected some kind of reaction—perhaps a defense of his practice. But Nora didn’t threaten him. Quite the opposite. He didn’t know why she wanted to play the prickly virgin, but he didn’t object to her following a script, as long as she didn’t expect the same from him.
“What about the women I see?” she asked, latching on to a new perceived slight. “You think it’s silly or a waste of time. That they’re old women and having their hair done or painting their nails doesn’t matter.” Fire flashed in her beautiful eyes. Her full mouth curled in disdain.
“I might not have your medical degree, Dr. Remington, but I know people. Especially women. I don’t care if they’re ten or a hundred, they care about their appearance. Feeling pretty reminds them they’re alive, and in a good way that pain and illness can’t. I come out here every week and see my regulars. They’re important to me. In a way, that’s part of the service I provide. It’s not all about curlers and nail polish. Some of it is about connecting. Making them feel that someone knows who they are and cares about them.”
As she spoke, her breathing increased, making her breasts rise and fall in a most provocative way. It was nearly enough to distract Stephen from her words. Nearly, but not quite.
“Stop assuming the worst, my little hellcat,” he said calmly. “I’m not being critical or judging what you do. As a physician I know the value of treating a patient’s soul as well as the body. I applaud your efforts. I encourage them. If a regular client of yours doesn’t have the money for a shampoo and whatever it is you do, I would like you to tell me. I’m sure we can arrange something by way of a supplemental payment.”
She blinked. “Oh.”
“Yes, ‘oh.’ I also wanted to ask you to let me know if anyone you see seems depressed or lethargic. My patients matter to me and I want to be informed of any change in their condition. Especially those here at the retirement village.”
Her lips pressed together as she absorbed his words. She cleared her throat. “I can do that.”
He rose to his feet. “What? No witty comeback, no scathing comment?”
Her gaze didn’t meet his. Instead she seemed to focus on the pocket of his lab coat. “Not at this time.”
He had the strongest urge to walk around the table and kiss her. Just cup her cheek and lay one on her until they were both breathless. But he couldn’t. Not yet.
“How disappointing,” he said quietly, referring to the kiss that wouldn’t be as much as the lack of snappy comeback. “Maybe next time.”
She gaped at him like a fish. While she was still in shock, and relatively docile, he made his escape, chuckling all the way.
“Like I want to be here,” Nora grumbled to herself a couple of days later as she pulled into the open area in front of the main house at the Darby ranch.
Her mother had issued a dinner invitation, and when Nora had tried to get out of it, Hattie had informed her it was a command performance. Death and dismemberment were the only excuses for lack of attendance. She glanced at her left hand and the broken ring-finger nail. She doubted that would count with her mother, so here she was.
She parked her car next to Katie’s Explorer. Katie and her son, Shane, had been living on the ranch for more than a month now. Nora climbed out of her car and frowned. Katie had moved in temporarily, until her new house was built. Shouldn’t it be finished by now? Maybe the two Fitzgeralds could leave the Darby ranch and go to their own home. Wouldn’t that be nice? Or Katie could leave Shane behind. That would be even better.
Pleased at the thought, Nora hurried up the steps and entered the house. “Hi,” she called as she stepped into the living room. “It’s me.”
She had planned to say more, to step forward to hug her mother and maybe tease her brother, but all thoughts fled her brain. One second she was in complete command of her senses and the next she was a blubbering idiot. All because Stephen Remington stood by the fireplace, a can of beer in his hand, looking for all the world as if he belonged there. No doubt he’d been invited by her mother in a futile attempt at matchmaking. She barely noticed anyone else in the room.
Her heart began to stutter and thump in her chest. Her legs grew weak and suddenly her entire body felt about twenty degrees hotter. Just setting eyes on Stephen was enough to remind her of the erotic dreams she’d been having. Dreams she couldn’t seem to make stop. Night after night she found herself caught up in sensual wonder, with him touching her and her begging him to make love with her. Every morning she woke up aroused, unfulfilled and confused.
“Hello, Nora,”