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
