Sagebrush police department’s heavy glass door led into a building that was old, almost as old as the town, with thick adobe walls and wide windowsills. The plank flooring was dull from years of foot traffic. The dispatcher sat at a scarred wood desk to the left. To the right, the receptionist, Ginny Ruja, busily tapped keyboard keys. The rest of the room was partitioned off by a wooden fence with a swinging gate at its center. There were three desks with computers, two of them occupied by officers in blue uniforms. Beyond the desk area, a hallway led to the left and the jail. To the right, Tessa glimpsed a closed door. It was probably Vince’s office.
Crossing to the receptionist’s desk, she smiled at Ginny, who brought her four-year-old son, Jeremy, to Tessa’s practice.
Ginny looked up from her keyboard, and when she saw Tessa, her face was puzzled. “Hello, Dr. McGuire. Is something wrong? I hope you didn’t have your purse stolen or anything like that.”
Since this was Tessa’s day off, she’d walked to the police station, merely slipping her keys into her jeans pocket. She’d intended to go for a brisk walk after she was finished here.
“Nothing’s wrong.” Even though Tessa knew Ginny, she felt awkward being here. The dispatcher and two officers were casting their gazes her way. “Is Vince Rossi in?” she asked.
Ginny’s eyes widened in surprise. “The chief? Yes, he is, but he asked me not to disturb him for an hour so he could finish some paperwork.” Ginny looked torn as to what she should do.
Tessa was disappointed, but she should have called before coming, anyway. She wasn’t going to barge in when she didn’t even belong here.
“I understand. I should have made an appointment.” She slipped a folded index card from her pocket. “I told V—Chief Rossi that I would find some information he wanted.” She held out the index card to Ginny. “If you would just give this to him—”
The receptionist made a sudden decision. “Hold on a minute. Let me buzz him.” Before Tessa could protest, Ginny pressed the button on the intercom. “Chief, I’m sorry to disturb you, but Dr. McGuire is here. She says she has information for you. Do you want me to just take it or should I send her in?”
There was a slight pause, then Vince said, “I’ll be right there.”
Ginny gave Tessa a quizzical look as if wondering why the chief of police would come out to see her.
Tessa folded the index card to give herself something to do. She heard the door to Vince’s office open and then there he was, striding toward her. He was wearing navy slacks and a white oxford shirt with a black bolo tie.
“This is a surprise. I thought after—” He stopped, realizing they had an interested audience.
“I have those names for you…physical therapists.”
Vince knew as well as she did that she could have called. Just seeing him caused her heart to gallop at breakneck speed.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you my office. You can tell me about the therapists.”
If she left now, quickly, there’d be questions about why she’d come and why she hadn’t accepted his invitation. But if she accepted his invitation, there would probably still be talk. Though her reason for being here could be pushed into the realm of a professional consultation. She was, after all, his son’s doctor.
She nodded to Vince and started toward the wooden gate. He reached it before she did and held it open for her. When she passed him, she was very close to him—close enough to smell the scent of his cologne, close enough to stir up too many memories. By the time she reached his office door, she felt hot all over and told herself to calm down, to act as if Vince were any other classmate who’d moved back to Sagebrush.
Right.
Vince’s office wasn’t huge, but it was big enough to hold an expansive metal desk with a computer station to his right, four tall file cabinets and a set of barrister bookshelves. The yellow stucco walls were bare but a casement window provided a view of the back of the property. A stack of file folders toppled sideways on Vince’s desk.
“I don’t want to interrupt your work,” she was quick to assure him. “I can see you’re busy.”
“I need a break.” He gestured to the coffeepot on top of the bookshelves. “Cup of coffee?” Then he snapped his fingers. “You drink tea now. Sorry, I don’t have any of that.”
“I’m fine.”
He looked over her, assessing everything from her striped tank top to her white jeans, then he motioned to the chair in front of his desk. She perched on the edge of the wooden captain’s chair, fingering the index card she was still holding. “I have the names of two therapists. Both are good. You might be able to get in to see one before the other.”
He came around the desk instead of sitting behind it, took the index card from her and sat on a corner.
At once Tessa realized he was much too close for comfort. Everything about Vince, from the jut of his jaw to his slim hips to his long legs reminded her of the times they’d spent together, riding, swimming, making love. She knew what was under his clothes and he knew what was under hers. Years had made his body harder and stronger. She could tell that by the way he moved, the way his muscles rippled. And her body? She was in shape, but she didn’t know what he’d think of her now. After all, at thirty-eight, he was experienced. How many women had he been with since he’d been with her?
“Tessa?”
He must have asked her a question. “Sorry, my mind was wandering. What did you ask?”
“Are you sure you don’t have a preference for which therapist is best?”
She shook her head. “Both treat babies.”
He studied her. “Where did your mind wander?”
Heat crept up her cheeks. “I have to make rounds at the hospital later today.”
“So you were thinking about a patient? Or were you thinking about us?”
She wasn’t going to go there. “I know you’re wondering why I came here today instead of calling. I guess…our time at the diner didn’t go very well. I don’t want to feel this awkwardness every time I see you. If we could just establish a friendly professional relationship—”
“Professional?” His eyebrows quirked up.
“Yes. I’m your son’s doctor.”
Vince’s stormy gray gaze said he wasn’t buying it. She could put whatever label she wanted to on their relationship, but it would always be deeper than whatever she described it as. That’s what history did. It wound ties around two people that couldn’t easily be severed.
Out of the blue he asked, “Are you seeing anyone now?”
She couldn’t help her defensive reply. “That’s really none of your business.”
“Maybe not, but I thought I’d ask anyway. Are you?”
Was there a reason he was asking? A reason that had to
