And she’d been vulnerable and tired and as a result, incautious.
Shivering, Mercy stepped back into her town house, blaming the temperature but knowing on another level it was still the aftershock of that kiss that raised her goose bumps. There was a lot unresolved in her relationship with Travis King, things about Kenny, about the way he’d died, about how Travis had disappeared from her life so completely afterward, that she’d lost not one man she’d cared about, but two.
But that was water under the bridge, and it wouldn’t pay to complicate her already complex, overworked life by admitting she was still susceptible to a certain bull rider’s brand of cowboy charisma. It was a good thing she wouldn’t be seeing Travis again.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. She knew who it was before she opened the door, but she wasn’t prepared for the sheepish expression on Travis’s handsome face or the giant bouquet of hothouse blossoms he thrust at her.
“I came to apologize.”
“Uh—” Helplessly she stood in the doorway and accepted the cellophane-wrapped bundle, breathing in the rich scents of roses and narcissus. What could she do with a man who laid it on the line like this, who stood there literally with his black hat in his hand...throw his peace offering in his teeth? “This wasn’t necessary,” she murmured.
His mouth under the bold black mustache was solemn.
“To me it was. Your friendship means—has always meant—too much to me to risk with some stupid foolishness. Tell me I haven’t screwed up everything again.”
“No, of course not.” She shook her head, searching for some excuse. “Seeing you after all this time...we were both in a highly emotional state, that’s all. No harm done.”
“I‘tn glad to hear it, darlin’.”
She gestured at the armload of flowers. “Thank you, they’re beautiful. Uh, would you like to come in?”
“Better not.” His smile was engaging, rueful. “Wouldn’t want to press my luck, and you’ve got to get to work, haven’t you?”
She was surprisingly disappointed but tried not to show it. “Yes, you’re right,”
“I’ll be going, then.” He shoved on his hat. “Do one thing for me?”
She bit her lip. “If I can.”
“Those posies cost me an arm and leg.” He winked. “Promise me you’ll stick them in some water?”
He’d commented on that wilted grocery store nosegay last night, the one she’d finally thrown in the trash just an hour ago. Maybe he was charitable enough to realize she’d been too tired to find a vase. Or maybe he assumed the rich girl couldn’t be bothered with so simple a task, not a spoiled gal like her who’d always bought and discarded things on a whim, unlike a poor cowboy who had to count every penny to keep up with his entry fees.
Flushing, she managed a stiff nod. “Don’t worry, I’ll go put them in water right now.”
Disconcerted by the bitter edge in her voice, he hesitated, then he shocked her by dragging his knuckles across her cheek in a brief and all-too-disturbing caress. “I’ll see you around, blue eyes.”
Mercy didn’t close the door until the tattoo of his boots on the brick walk faded completely away. When she released the knob, she was trembling. The cellophane crackled in her hands, reminding her with a start of her promise. Moments later, the blossoms safely stashed in a cut-glass pitcher—a housewarming gift from her mother that had never been out of its box until that moment—Mercy picked up her doctor’s jacket, checking automatically for her ID badge, pen and stethoscope.
“See you around,” he’d said. No, not a good idea. Not with the history she and Travis had between them. Not when her reaction to his merest touch had all the dangerous volatility of a trainload of nitroglycerin. She had her life to get on with—responsibilities, obligations, things to prove.
Not that he’d meant anything by that catchphrase, Mercy thought, as she let herself out of her apartment. No, it was just as likely that it would be another fifteen years before she ran into Travis King again, and that suited her just fine. Because she certainly didn’t need a dark-eyed, sweet-talkin’ cowboy, who didn’t care squat for his personal health or safety, coming around, calling her “darlin’,” messing with her head and making her think about what might have been.
Not if she knew what was good for her.
“Who’s the man in black?”
“Johnny Cash?” Two days later Mercy was scribbling on a patient chart, the final one of the evening and her ticket out of the E.R. for the night.
“No, not him.” The young nurse juggled the charts she was holding, poked Mercy’s shoulder and pointed. “That one.”
Mercy looked up and couldn’t contain an involuntary spurt of pleasure at the sight of Travis King flashing his wicked grin at her. She deliberately quashed her untoward delight, frowning as he approached.
“Travis. What are you doing here?” Her professional concern kicked in, her eyes narrowing on the white bandage still gracing his temple. “Something wrong? Headache ? I—”
“Whoa, there, Doc.” Travis held up his hands. “Everything’s fine. I’m just a lonely cowboy looking for a little companionship. When can I spring you from this joint?”
Mercy licked her lips. “Uh, I don’t think—”
“That’s it,” the nurse announced, slamming the last chart shut with a sigh of relief. “See you tomorrow night, Dr. Holt.”
“Great.” Travis hung his thumbs in his belt loops. “Come on, I’ll buy you some dinner. Or would you prefer breakfast?”
He was so tempting and irresistible. Instinctively she knew he was pure trouble, and she struggled to be sensible and remember that she’d already decided the better part of discretion was to keep her distance. She shook her head.
“Thanks, but I really can’t. There’s laundry piled up, and I’ve got some reading to do—”
Travis tsked between his teeth and took her arm, leading her down the antiseptic-smelling corridor. “Not much of a life for a pretty gal like you.”
“We’re not all party animals.” Her tone was crisp, but there was no way she could untangle herself from his grasp without calling attention, and they were attracting plenty of that from the staff and the patients lined up in the E.R. waiting room as it was.
“You’ve got to stop and smell the roses, sometimes, blue eyes.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“So?” He lifted one dark eyebrow.
She relented slightly. “So your bouquet, which I’ve babied with doses of aspirin, is opening up beautifully. And yes, I’ve been smelling those damned flowers.”
Actually there was no way she could avoid it, for the scent of roses filled her to house, and each time she opened the door, she was greeted by
