Christmas In Whitehorn. Susan Mallery

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a bit slower. Then, because he was so somber, so different, and because she was worried about him, Jamie reverted to familiar ground. “So, are you still Mr. Important out at MacDill?”

      That earned her another chuckle…a sound she knew well and loved, one that had her stroking the mouthpiece in her hand, as if by doing so she could feel Kell’s strong jaw or his clean-shaven cheek. “Ironically,” he said, “I’m even more so now, it turns out. And how about you, Dr. Winslow? I’m really proud of you—not that you could tell yesterday by my behavior at the airport.”

      “Forget that, Kell. We were both pretty immature. The shock of seeing each other, I guess. I’m over it.”

      “Well, good. But I’m still sorry. So, are you going into private practice?”

      Jamie exhaled in frustration. When would she ever be able to tell anyone the truth? “No. Not exactly. Why? Are you in need of a therapist?”

      “Surprisingly, yes. It’s been suggested.”

      Jamie laughed. “I bet it has.” But she already knew that the men of the Special Forces units regularly undergo psychological testing and evaluation because of the nature of their jobs.

      “So, Jamie, how come there’s no new man in your life?”

      Well, that touched a very old and deep wound between them. But his voice hadn’t sounded anything but conversationally friendly…maybe. “Now, how do you know there isn’t? I could just be going by my maiden name, you know.”

      “That’s true.”

      He didn’t believe her in the least. Mainly, she decided, because he knew her too well. After all, he was the man she’d twice left standing alone. There it was—the old commitment thing. Jamie smiled wistfully. “I can’t pull anything over on you, can I?”

      “No. Afraid not.”

      After that, the conversation seemed to drag. Jamie couldn’t think of a thing to say. And all Kellan did was breathe…and perhaps wait for her to say something. She wondered why he’d called, where this was going. “Are you married, Kellan?” she suddenly blurted.

      “Oh, hell no. You broke me of wanting that. Ever.”

      Well, if she thought the conversation had lagged before…

      “Look, Jamie,” Kellan suddenly said, “you want to get a drink or something right now? Maybe ride to the beach, if you don’t have plans?”

      He was asking her out? “No, I don’t.”

      “You don’t what—have plans or want to?”

      He was so direct. And giving her the opening she needed to speed up the closure Dr. Hampton so obnoxiously insisted on. Jamie moistened her lips. She couldn’t think how to respond. It suddenly seemed cheap to use him like this. Especially when he was down and a little vulnerable. But wasn’t that the perfect mood for him to be in for her to achieve her goal? Well, that sounds perfectly noble, Dr. Jamie Lynn Winslow.

      “Hello? Jamie?”

      Jamie started, as if only then realizing she held a cordless phone to her ear. “Oh, I’m sorry, Kell. You just surprised me, that’s all.”

      “I didn’t mean to. But what do you say?”

      He sounded as if he really needed to talk to her. This was so scary and so unlike Kellan. Jamie’s chest constricted. Why was she so good at this with patients but terrible at it in her own life? “No, Kell. I…can’t go with you. I’d like to. But I can’t.”

      “Can’t or won’t?” His voice betrayed nothing.

      Helplessness ate at her. She didn’t want to turn him down. She wanted to go, but she feared it was for the wrong reason. For her reason. And not his. If he was really down, then he deserved honesty and sincerity. Not her self-serving motivations. “I just can’t. I’m really sorry, Kellan.”

      His silence told her he clearly hadn’t expected that response. Just as she was about to change her mind, he said, “All right. If you can’t, you can’t. Sorry I bothered you, Jamie. I shouldn’t have called. I guess I just let the past get in my way there for a minute. It was nice seeing you yesterday. I was just hoping—well, never mind. It won’t happen again. Goodbye.”

      Jamie started to protest…but the line went dead.

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