Dr. Hot Stuff (Ponderosa Resort Romantic Comedies Book 9) Page 3

  “Seriously?”

  She shakes her head a little sadly. “I had private tutors.”

  “But what about your social life?”

  Sadness blooms in her eyes, and I kick myself for making her go there. “Until I got here, I didn’t really have that.”

  “Wow. That sounds…lonely.”

  She shrugs and fiddles with a thread on the edge of her blanket. “I had playmates growing up. Other princesses and duchesses I’d join for tea or for a playdate. But real friends…” She trails off, glancing away. “There wasn’t really time.”

  “I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. “There must be some serious culture shock coming to a small town to meet half-a-dozen siblings you never knew you had.”

  “I love it.” Her face flushes with pleasure as she pulls the blanket tighter around her. “The Bracelyns have been so wonderful. I always wanted a big family.”

  “Me, too.” I realize as soon as I say it that we’re talking about two different things.

  “It’s just you and your sister?” she asks.

  “Yes, but I actually meant my own family. Someday, I mean. Obviously, I’m not married or even dating anyone seriously enough to be talking about children. Or dating anyone at all at the moment.” Shut up, shut up, shut up. Every word out of my mouth makes me sound like a bigger loser, but I can’t seem to make my mandible stop moving.

  For some reason, Iz seems fascinated by my rambling. “So you want to be married, but you aren’t? How peculiar.”

  “Which part is peculiar?”

  She shrugs and glances away. “All of it, I suppose. It’s just…different in my culture.”

  I get the sense there’s more she wants to say, and I wait a respectful amount of time for her to finish. Instead, she adjusts the blanket around her shoulders. “Tell me more about this plan of yours. The career, the wife, the big family.”

  Crap. I’d hoped to change the subject, but I’m the dumbass who brought it up in the first place. “Well, the plan was to do med school on the military’s dime, become an Army doc, do a few tours, and eventually get assigned to the Ranger Regiment.”

  “Is that typical for a military physician?”

  I hesitate, not wanting to sound boastful. “No. Most Army docs aren’t part of gen pop—er, the general population. In some ways, the Medical Service Corps are almost like a separate entity, but I wanted more of a soldier’s experience. A chance to be on the front lines.”

  That’s why I busted ass at the firing range, working to master marksmanship along with tactical medical skills. “Not a lot of Army docs go that route, but it’s what I wanted.”

  “Past tense.” She’s quick to pick up on that as she studies my face. “That’s not the plan now?”

  “Nah, change of plans.” A lump forms in my throat, but I swallow it back. “I got out at the end of my first tour. I’d planned to re-up, but came back here instead and went into private practice. I’m still in the Reserves. That’s more of a once a month thing, though.”

  Izzy’s studying me in earnest now. I wonder if it’s curiosity about the American military system or me. It’s a dick thing to think, but I hope it’s about me.

  “So your new plan,” she says at last. “Being a private practice physician. Are you happy with this?”

  “I am, actually. Really happy.” That’s not bullshit, either. It’s the truth, even though it wasn’t my original goal. “Civilian life makes it much easier to have a family eventually.”

  There I go again, talking like some desperate bachelor eager to drag a bride back to my lair and chain her to the stove. I need to stop talking. “How about you?” I ask.

  “What about me?”

  “What were your dreams growing up?” I ask. “Career, family, marriage, all that?”

  Izzy looks down at her lap. At least it looks like she’s staring at her lap. When she raises her wrist, it’s with an odd little smile. “You’re late,” she says flashing a dainty gold watch. “Doesn’t poker night start at six?”

  She’s right, it’s a quarter after. Where did the time go?

  Also, I can take a hint. “Probably better get inside before the beer warms up under this heater.” I pick up my six pack and stand, waving her off when she starts to get to her feet. “Don’t get up; you look nice and cozy.”

  “I should go inside and make dinner.” She unwraps the blanket and stands anyway, revealing slim gray slacks and a cream-colored sweater that hugs her curves. It’s all I can do not to stare. “Have fun at poker night,” she says.

  I drag my gaze back to her face and take a step back so I don’t accidentally pull her into my arms. “Same to you.”

  The sound of footsteps on gravel makes us both turn toward the path to the lodge. I’m expecting a Bracelyn brother or maybe Chief Dugan on his way to our game.

  But it’s a muscular bald guy I’ve never seen before. His eyes are cold, and there’s something odd about the way he’s holding himself. Izzy stiffens beside me.

  I don’t blame her. The dude looks…off.

  “You lost?” I force myself to sound friendly and unassuming as I angle my body between Iz and the stranger. “The trail to the guest cabins is back that way. Maybe you missed a turn?”

  The guy regards me with a steely look. As his gaze flicks to Izzy, it softens almost imperceptibly. “Yeah,” he says. “Must have.”

  Something passes between the two of them. Or maybe I’m imagining it. As the guy turns and ambles away, I pivot back to Izzy.

  “That was weird,” I say.

  She lets out a slow breath, and I could swear I see her shoulders slump. “Very peculiar.” She darts a quick glance at the stranger’s retreating back before her gaze returns to mine. “Thank you for…um…being here.”

  “Of course.” I’m not sure what she means, but given how tough it is for me to tear myself away, it’s hardly a hassle. “Lock your door when you go in, okay?”

  Is it my imagination, or did she just shiver? “Okay.”

  Crap, now I’ve scared her. “Hey, it’s fine.” I catch her hand in mine and find her fingers are ice cold beneath her thin gloves. “They’ve got twenty-four-hour security here. Besides, I’m sure that guy is harmless. Just a little lost.”

  I hope I sound convincing. I can’t read anything in those clear green eyes of hers. She licks her lower lip and nods. “Aren’t we all?”

  I laugh, breaking the tension. “Truer words were never spoken.” I start to let go of her hand, to take a step back so I don’t do anything dumb.

  But Iz tightens her fingers around mine and pulls me back to her. “Good night, Bradley.” Before I say a word, she goes up on tiptoe to plant a kiss on my cheek.

  Purely platonic. Probably a custom in her country.

  Or not, because something goes wrong.

  Not wrong. Very, very right.

  One second she’s skimming a chaste kiss along my cheekbone, and I swear I don’t move an inch. But her lips drift down, brushing the edge of my mouth. It’s so whisper-soft, I might have imagined it.

  But I know I’m not imagining the soft whimper in the back of her throat, the way her fingers tense in mine. She opens her eyes but doesn’t draw back.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

  “I’m not.”

  Neither of us moves.

  Somewhere in the distance, a door bangs open. “Hey, Parker.”

  I blink and turn toward Mark’s cabin. He’s standing on the porch looking like a grumpy lumberjack with his arms folded over his chest. He doesn’t look pissed, but doesn’t look thrilled, either. A normal Mark expression, but I let go of Izzy’s hand and take a step back.

  “Better go,” I tell her. “Should I text you a few times for visiting the farm?”

  “I’d love that. Here, let me give you my number.”

  I expect her to reach for her phone and perform an AirDrop, or maybe ask for mine so she can plug in the number. Instead, she slips a hand in her pocket and draws out
a pen. “I keep this so I can mark words I need to look up,” she admits a bit sheepishly as she pulls off the cap. “Do you have paper, or shall I write on your hand?”

  Even if I had paper, I’d choose skin. Anything for the excuse to have Iz touch me again. I hold out my hand, and sharp tingles ripple up my arm as she scrawls the digits. When she’s done, she smiles and curls my fingers into my palm. “There,” she says. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

  I swallow hard, stalling for time, wishing there was a way to stay here all night. We’ve had fifteen minutes together, and it wasn’t enough.

  It could never be enough.

  “Good night, Izzy.” I force myself to step back because what the hell am I thinking? We hardly know each other. “Have a good night.”

  I take another step away. In the instant before I turn, her eyes dart back to the pathway where the stranger disappeared. I could swear I see her shiver again.

  “Good night, Bradley.” She turns back to me and smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “See you soon.”

  Then she turns and walks into her cabin, closing the door behind her.

  Chapter 3

  Isabella

  I kissed Bradley.

  I kissed Bradley.

  Oh my God, I kissed Bradley.

  This is the phrase that’s been pulsing through my brain for days. It’s a deafening throb by the time I fasten the last button on my blouse and step out of my closet to face my sister. I’m half afraid the words will spew from me like a kettle boiling over.

  “Does this look right?” I smooth my hands down my slacks and command myself to act normal.

  Bree looks up from where she sits cross-legged on my bed. Her back is propped against the wall, and she’s sipping a glass of red wine with an expression bordering on reverence.

  “God, this is good Pinot. Totally worth having to pump and dump.” She studies me over the rim of her wineglass. “You look gorgeous,” she says slowly. “But, um…don’t you think it’s a little dressy for visiting a farm?”

  “I have no idea.” I look down at the shiny black slacks I’ve paired with a crisp white top. It seemed appropriately casual at the time, but I’ve clearly misjudged. “My only farm visit was that time we stopped by Jade and Amber’s on our way home from that doctor’s appointment, and obviously that was with you and not—”

  “A hot guy, I see your point.” She smiles and stands up to set her wine on my desk. “You look beautiful, but I think you’ll be more comfortable dressed down. Do you have any flannel? Or maybe some regular jeans that aren’t so fancy?”

  I hold back a fierce wave of disappointment. I’ve been in America nearly a year and ought to have figured this out by now. “I don’t have any flannel.” I should probably remedy that. “I have blue jeans, but they’re old and faded and—”

  “Perfect.” Bree turns me around and nudges me back into the closet. “Go put those on with a plain T-shirt if you have one. I’ve got the flannel in my purse.”

  I gape at her. “You brought me a flannel shirt?”

  She smiles as she rummages through her bag. “As a mom, you learn pretty quickly to carry the solution to a thousand potential problems in your handbag. Besides, I had a hunch you’d need it for your farm date.”

  Cheeks flaming, I turn and march back into my closet with as much pride as I can muster. “I don’t think it’s really a date,” I offer weakly. “Just a chance to see some animals.”

  “Uh-huh.” Bree’s voice sounds as convincing as I feel, which is to say not at all.

  I unbutton my shirt and place it back on the hanger, frowning down at my plain white bra. Should I wear something nicer?

  Stop it. He’s introducing you to farm animals, not his penis.

  The giggle bubbles out of me before I can stop it.

  “You okay in there?” Bree calls.

  “Fine. Perfect.” I hurry to find the jeans, wondering where I put them. “Just getting dressed.”

  “You know, I really love having you here.” A clink from the other room tells me Bree has reclaimed her wineglass. “And I love how much happier you seem. Like you’ve always been here.” A pause, likely as she sips her wine. “Like you’ll always be here, which I will selfishly admit is what I’m hoping.”

  I shiver and pull the jeans down off a high shelf.

  If she only knew.

  “That sounds nice.” I hurry to tug on the well-worn denim, feeling naked and exposed. I pull up the zipper and turn to study myself in the mirror. My mother would kill me for wearing faded blue jeans.

  The thought fires a secret thrill through me.

  Mark’s wife, Chelsea, gave me the jeans when I helped plant flower bulbs in their garden. I tried to give them back afterward, but she insisted I keep them.

  “I like knowing I gave you your first pair of regular jeans,” Chelsea said, lightly touching her belly. “Besides, I won’t be able to fit into them pretty soon.” She smiled then and raised a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell.”

  It took me a moment to get it. “You’re—”

  “Expecting, yes.” Her smile flashed bright enough to blind me. “We’re telling everyone at dinner tonight.”

  I couldn’t believe it. The inclusion, the confidence, the sweet simplicity of that secret.

  What would she say if she knew I’m the last person in the world she should trust? As I adjust the jeans on my hips, I kick myself for pretending. For trying to fit in when I know deep down that can never happen.

  With a sigh, I turn and survey my shelves. I don’t have any plain T-shirts, but there’s a pretty blue one with the Ponderosa Resort logo on the chest. I pull that on and emerge from the closet to see Bree holding out a flannel shirt striped with hues of blue and pink and white.

  “Perfect.” She waves the shirt like a flannel flag. “Slip this on and roll up the cuffs. You’ve got boots?”

  I shake my head, wishing I’d taken time to go shopping. “Not cowboy boots. Would hiking boots work?”

  “You have hiking boots?”

  I nod, feeling a little silly. “I bought them hoping to learn to hike.” It seemed like such an American thing to do, but I’ve never taken them out of the box.

  “There’s not much to learn,” she assures me. “Hiking’s just walking, but outside.”

  “Sounds simple enough.” I find the boots and sit down to put them on while Bree hustles behind me and pulls my hair into a simple plait. She even has an elastic around her wrist, which she uses to fasten the end of it before tugging free a few soft tendrils to frame my face.

  “There.” She steps back to study me. “You look like a sexy farm girl. We should take a picture for your mom.”

  The blood freezes in my veins. I swear my face doesn’t change, but Bree must see something in my eyes. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “I’m fine. Wonderful.” I stand up fast and fiddle with the tails on the flannel, wondering if I should knot them.

  Or if I should address what Bree suggested. I’ve been here a year. Don’t I owe her that much?

  When I meet her eyes, I know I do. “My mother’s not fond of me assimilating into American culture. Or, um…anything that suggests I’m not actively on an airplane making my way back to Dovlano.”

  “Say no more.” Bree flashes a sympathetic smile. “You’re talking to another daughter of an overbearing mother. It’s super-intense when you’re her only child; I get it.”

  She doesn’t, though. Not really. As she touches my cheek to swipe on a hint of blush, I’m overwhelmed by a deeper urge to share. “I had a brother once,” I whisper. “He died as a baby.”

  “Oh, Izzy.” Bree stands back, blinking hard. “I’m so sorry. That must have been hard for your whole family.”

  I glance away, not sure I can take the sympathy in her eyes. “I’m sure that’s part of why my mother’s so protective.”

  That’s far from the only impact of that tragedy, but I’ve already gone and ruined this perfect s
ister moment. “I’m sorry I said anything.” I pick up a lip gloss and see my hands are shaking. “What a terrible thing to share with a young mother—”

  “Izzy, it’s okay.” She rests a hand on my arm and offers a small smile. “I’m glad you shared, okay? It means a lot to me.”

  I nod because I can’t think of anything else to say. “Can you not—um, mention it to the others?”

  “Of course.”

  I swallow hard and look down at the lip gloss. “Can we pretend I didn’t just ruin the pre-date vibe and maybe talk about something else?”

  Her smile feels like a warm hug. “I thought it wasn’t a date.”

  “It might be a date.”

  “I know it is.” She studies my face. “You like him, don’t you?”

  I hesitate. “He’s a very nice man,” I tell her. “Very clean hands.”

  She laughs and bends to knot the tails of the flannel. “Whatever turns you on, sister.”

  Sister.

  My whole life, I wished for a sister. And then I felt guilty because I had a brother and how selfish is it to want more? But I did want more, and I pictured scenes just like this. Sharing clothes, doing each other’s makeup, talking about boys. How absurd that I’m weeks from my thirtieth birthday and only just experiencing it?

  The magnitude of that birthday hits me hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. I release a pathetic little gasp as the lip gloss falls from my fingers.

  “Got it!” Bree bends down and grabs it, then hands it back. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Positive.” I force a smile. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. Let me know anytime you want to talk.”

  “I will.”

  I won’t, though. How could I? The clock is ticking, and it’s only a matter of time until the charade is up. I glance at my watch. “He should be here any minute.”

  As if on cue, my doorbell rings. My stomach unleashes a flurry of butterflies, and my hands start to shake.

  “You’ve got this.” Bree smiles, and somehow, I believe her.

  “Thanks for your help.” I start toward the front of the cabin and Bree falls into step beside me.