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Dr Di Angelo's Baby Bombshell
Janice Lynn
Dr Di Angelo’s Baby Bombshell
Janice Lynn
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u4640cb24-a429-53c3-9021-4a78e88d7a26)
Title Page (#u34ac603d-8608-5f03-ad60-7e4d4d6342a8)
About the Author (#u598c2f57-df5f-5f6b-8d1c-5b19ae851387)
Dedication (#uea827808-606e-5d4f-9823-b9444f0a6dab)
Chapter One (#u5bcb440e-1960-52da-be4b-3b691b3a39dc)
CHapter Two (#u9f69f7ab-999c-5dc9-9f58-280ad574152d)
Chapter Three (#u98365003-d5b2-555e-b8a6-8d60934acb1f)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Janice Lynn has a Masters in Nursing from Vanderbilt University, and works as a nurse practitioner in a family practice. She lives in the southern United States with her husband, their four children, their Jack Russell—appropriately named Trouble—and a lot of unnamed dust bunnies that have moved in since she started her writing career. To find out more about Janice and her writing, visit www.janicelynn.com
To Anna Sugden—true friends are precious treasures and you’re a jewel that sparkles brightly in my life. Thank you for the years of laughter, shared tears, and unfailing support. Love you!
CHAPTER ONE
“I NEED you to pretend to be madly in love with me.”
Startled by the request, Dr. Blake Di Angelo tapped his thumbs against the sleek surface of his mahogany desk, thinking that perhaps the petite blonde pacing across his Knoxville medical office had already gone mad.
“You’ll have to repeat that, Darby.” He leaned against his leather chair’s backrest, eyeing her with more than a little curiosity. “Because I don’t think I heard you right.”
His business partner paused long enough to bestow a glance on the bluest eyes that side of the Mississippi. Eyes that were usually sparkling with laughter. Not today. Today, her fingers clenched around a card of some sort, Dr. Darby Phillips’ eyes were clouded with displeasure.
“You owe me.” Her expression dared him to deny her claim. “Last weekend of the month. You’re going with me to Alabama and you’re going to pretend to be goo-goo-ga-ga, head-over-heels in love with me the entire time.”
His brow arching at her determined expression, Blake grinned. God, she was bossy. He liked it. Had always liked Darby’s assertiveness and self-assurance. From the time he’d met her four years ago, she’d been driven to be the best at everything she did.
“Why am I going to do this?” He couldn’t resist teasing. Mostly because he knew how to push her buttons to have her going from zero to through the roof.
She started pacing again. “Because you owe me, and I’m collecting.”
Blake’s eyes traveled over her curvy little frame encased in a no-nonsense navy business suit, exposing shapely legs beneath her skirt hem. The shirt was tucked into a waist that his hands would probably fit around. Her breasts—well, he knew better than to let his thoughts go there. He valued their business relationship too much to acknowledge her as the desirable woman she so obviously was.
“And because of this.” She tossed the embossed card onto his desk and shuddered. “Which I’d completely forgotten about.”
She turned those big baby-blues on him again, stared with such beseeching that his insides shifted off axis enough to make his world wobble, to make him want to take her into his arms and promise he’d fix whatever had her so upset.
“How could I have forgotten that was this year? This month?” Panic brewing in the blue depths, her gaze bored into him. “I really don’t need the headache of looking for a date who’ll no doubt get the wrong idea by an invitation to something so personal. But I do need a man for that weekend.” Taking a deep breath, she lifted her shoulders and took on the expression of a seasoned soldier, readying for battle. “Tag, you’re it.”
Blake picked up the card and studied the fancy maroon and gold embossing more closely. Armadillo Lake Ten-Year High School Reunion. “Don’t they usually give folks more notice than two weeks for these kinds of things?”
Darby muttered something under her breath. “Usually.”
“You could go without a date.”
“Oh, no.” Stray pale blonde tendrils loosened from her upswept hair danced at her almost violent headshake. “I’d rather not go than go dateless.”
“Then don’t go. Problem solved. No one says you have to go to your high school reunion.”
Although he had meant to, he hadn’t gone to his. Darby had been sick with the flu and he’d covered for her at the hospital instead. No big deal, since he’d moved so often he’d never gotten particularly attached to any of the numerous private prep schools he’d attended.
She let out an exasperated sound. “It’s not that simple. Besides, you owe—”
“Yes, I know,” he conceded. “I owe you for bailing me out last month, when it was my turn to be on call and I wanted to go out of town.” A weekend that had ended in disaster when his then girlfriend had got wedding bells on her brain. He liked his life as it was and had no intention of marrying. For one reason or another, marriages didn’t seem to work in his family. Besides, he was enjoying bachelorhood too much for that.
“So you have to go to your reunion.” He dropped the invitation back onto his desk. “Why the ‘in love’ stuff?”
“Mandy Coulson.” Darby’s agitation tripled. Quadrupled.
Blake’s curiosity grew accordingly. Even when under intense pressure, Darby rarely lost her cool. God, he’d loved to watch her work when they’d been in residency—still did. Calm, cool, in control. Today she was hot under the collar, sweating like any normal person, and not because of his teasing. No, although Blake had thought he knew better than anyone how to get a rise out of his pretty little partner, apparently this Mandy person and a high school reunion had him beat.
He didn’t see what the big deal was, but he was intrigued as to why Darby did.
“And Mandy is…?” He stretched his hand out in question. “Who?”
“Every shy kid’s worst nightmare.” The words hissed from Darby’s pursed lips like air escaping a rapidly deflating balloon.
Interesting. He had a hard time imagining the confident young woman he knew as shy. Ever.
This trip might prove to be educational.
He tossed the invitation on his desk and waggled his eyebrows mischievously. “Okay, darling, I’ll be your boy toy.”
Boy toy? As if. Darby rolled her eyes before meeting her partner’s black-as-sin gaze. As attractive as she found Blake, the man went through women as if he were competing for a world record. That didn’t mean she wasn’t crazy about him—just that she knew better than to feed his oversized ego.
“Keep that up and you’ll leave me no choice but to call Rodney,” she threatened, knowing Blake had never liked her recent attempt at dating. “If I pander to his ego a little—” a lot “—and tell him how rotten you are—” Rodney had been jealous of the “Italian Stallion”, Rodney’s label for Blake, not Darby’s “—he’s sure to go with me.”
Although they’d only gone out for a couple of months, he was still calling her, trying to convince her they could make things work if only she’d have sex with him. Yeah, right. Not during this lifetime.
There was only one man she wanted to sleep with, and he had no clue that was how she felt.
“The hell you say,” Blake growled. “He was the most suspicious man I’ve ever met—dropping by here all hours of the night.” His strong jaw clenched, emphasizing the slight cleft in his chin. “What did he expect? To catch me with my pants down?”
For the first time since she’d stormed into his office her lips twitched. “Actually, that is what he expected.”
And then some. She hadn’t been able to convince Rodney that Blake was nothing more than her business partner. Maybe because from the time they’d met she’d hoped Blake would see her for more than her brain and medical skills. After four years of his treating her much as one of her brothers did, she’d decided she didn’t register on Blake’s female radar. Just as well. None of the women he was interested in ever lasted long. Blake’s love-life consisted of a revolving door and multiple women. She wanted him forever, not just for a few weekends.
So she’d waited, hoped, become more and more frustrated.
“He thought you were getting lucky.” Since Rodney hadn’t been getting lucky, he’d automatically assumed Blake, being the only other man in her life, must be. Men.
Blake waggled his brows again. “Well, you can’t blame the guy for thinking I’d get lucky. I am irresistible.”
“And so modest, too.” She snorted at his mock-innocent expression. “Luck has nothing to do with how you get women.”
His lips twitched. “Enlighten me. How do I get women?”
Any way he wanted them.
“With that jet-black hair and those dark-as-midnight eyes you don’t have to get women, they get you.” The laughter in those black eyes had her feet wanting to shift—or run for the closest exit. How had the conversation even taken this turn? Her face grew hot and her skin clammy.
“At least, women try to get you,” she rushed on, hoping he didn’t notice how uncomfortable talking about his love-life made her. “You’re oblivious to most, yet they keep chasing you. So, like I said, you don’t have to get women, they get you.”
“And, like I said—” he rocked back in his chair and blatantly eyed her with amusement“—I’m irresistible.”
Dimples cut into his cheeks, making her think perhaps he was right. Certainly she’d always wanted him. Then again, with so little experience when it came to men, how could she be expected not to fall for someone so skilled in the ways of the opposite sex?
Because if Blake’s love-life was a revolving door, Darby’s was a vault that had rusted shut long ago from lack of use.
“For example,” he continued, “I was recently propositioned to spend the weekend with a beautiful woman.” His black eyes twinkled. “I even get to pretend to be in love with her. How much luckier can a guy get?”
Picking up a spongy ball—a stress-reliever advertising a pharmaceutical firm—she tossed it at him. “I wouldn’t count on getting lucky that particular weekend if I were you. You’re not that irresistible.”
At least not that she’d ever admit. But if she thought there was the slightest chance Blake could love her, she’d throw caution to the wind and make him notice she was a woman the weekend of the reunion.
He caught the stress ball with ease. “Come to think of it, my luck’s never been that good. Just look at the last female who found me.” He cringed with revulsion and gave an exaggerated shudder.
Darby bit back a smile.
So the foolish physical therapist he’d been dating on and off for a few months had thought Blake was taking her out of town to pop the question. Instead, the Yankees had been in Atlanta, and a friend had given him Braves tickets. Blake’s proposal had consisted of, “Do you want mustard or ketchup on your hot dog?” When the game had ended, with no highlighted proposal on the scoreboard, Kristi had issued an ultimatum she’d regretted the moment Blake had waved goodbye.
He interrupted her thoughts. “But you have to admit I am better than Rodney.”
True, but Rodney had been an okay boyfriend—a good start to her late-in-life attempt to develop dating skills. Well, an okay boyfriend except for his jealousy of Blake and how he’d pushed for sex. After Blake had dumped Kristi in Atlanta, Rodney’s possessiveness had suffocated Darby. He would view going to her high school reunion as moving their relationship into another realm. A realm where she didn’t want to go, as she had no intention of having sex with him. Ever.
Blake was right. He was the better choice in so many ways.
No one from her past would expect to see her with a man like Blake. With him at her side she could pretend she wasn’t still the geeky girl who’d left Armadillo Lake with big dreams and stars in her eyes.
She picked up the invitation to return to Armadillo Lake, Alabama. Her hometown.
She had to go.
Had to prove Mandy Coulson wrong. Prove her entire class wrong. Prove to herself that she really was the confident young woman she looked at in the mirror each morning. She was, wasn’t she?
Her hand clenched around the invitation Mandy had no doubt delayed in sending.
She’d go home with her head held high, with a gorgeous hunk attending to her every whim, and she’d show them all how wrong they were.
Or pretend to, at any rate.
And if along the way Blake discovered she was a girl behind her lab coat and high IQ—well, that would be icing on the cake, now, wouldn’t it?
Blake stepped into Darby’s office during the week of the reunion. “Can I get your opinion on Mr. Hill’s leg?”
It was late Tuesday evening and Darby had already finished with her last patient for the day. She glanced up from the computer screen where she researched an unusual plethora of symptoms a patient had come in with that morning.
“Nathan Hill, from Strawberry Plains?”
“That’s the one.” He skimmed his fingers over the model of the heart on top of her bookshelf. It was a running joke that he had heart envy. Every time he came into her office he touched the plastic heart. Someday she’d give the darn thing to him.
“I just examined him,” Blake continued, “but since you were the last one to see the ulcer on his lower extremity, I wanted your opinion on whether you think it’s improved. ”
“Sure thing.” She bookmarked her page on the web and followed him into the exam room.
“Hi, Mr. Hill.” She washed her hands and slid on a pair of disposable gloves. “Dr. Di Angelo has asked me to take a look at the place on your leg since I’d checked you a week or so ago.” She smiled at the thin gentleman, patted his wrinkled hand. “How do you think it looks? Better? Worse? Or about the same?”
“Better,” the seventy-year-old said. Unfortunately, Mr. Hill would say his leg was doing better even if his toes were black. Very simply, the man wouldn’t complain. He’d just smile his toothless smile and tell her how he was doing just fine.
Squatting to examine his leg, Darby winced at the oozing ulcer that encompassed a good portion of his shin.
“Have you been taking the antibiotics I prescribed?” she asked, concerned that he’d gotten worse rather than better. “The culture I did on the area says the one prescribed should clear the infection, but obviously the medicine isn’t working.”
“I got the prescription filled.” He scratched his mostly bald head with a thickened yellow nail that curved over the tip of his arthritic finger. “Only took a few. Figured I’d wait and see if I really needed them.”
What was he waiting for? His foot to fall off? For the bacteria to build resistance to the antibiotics since he’d taken just enough to tease the infection?
Darby shook her head. “I stressed the importance of taking the antibiotics because they are vital to this area healing.” She looked to where Blake stood. He’d entered the room with her, had been ready to assist if she needed anything, but was confident enough to stand back and let her do her job. She liked that about Blake. He trusted her, found her competent. Turning her gaze back to her patient, she gave him her most serious look. “I’d like to admit you to the hospital, give IV antibiotics for a few days, and keep a close eye on your leg.”
Not liking Darby’s assessment, Mr. Hill turned to Blake for another opinion. “Doc?”
“Admitting you to the hospital is what I was thinking, too, but you kept insisting you were better. Since I hadn’t seen the way the area originally looked, I gave you the benefit of doubt.” Blake raised a brow at Mr. Hill, who had the grace to blush. “Obviously you over-exaggerated.”
Darby removed her gloves and tossed them into the appropriate disposal bin. She wrapped her arm around the older man and gave him a hug. “Obviously.”
“It’s not that bad,” he insisted, giving Darby’s hand a pat. “Definitely not bad enough to go to the hospital.”
“You know I try to listen to my patients, Mr. Hill, and to take earnest consideration of their desires, but your leg is serious enough to warrant a hospital admission.” Stepping back slightly, she took his hand into hers. “If the infection doesn’t clear you could lose your foot. Do you understand? That isn’t something I take lightly. Neither should you.”
That got the older man’s attention. She hadn’t been meaning to scare him, but his ulceration was a big deal, and truly could result in amputation in someone with his poor circulation and diabetes. She spoke with him a few more minutes while Blake wrote admission orders to give to the man’s daughter, who was waiting in the reception area.
Blake stuck the orders inside an envelope. “You give these to the lady at the admission desk. She’ll register you.”
They saw him out and spoke with his daughter, letting her know what was going on and stressing that even if her father changed his mind about going to the hospital, he really did need to go. When she’d brought the car around they saw him into the passenger seat, then made their way back toward the office.
“Do you want me to look in on him this evening and do the admission history and the physical?” Blake held the front door open for her to enter ahead of him. “Technically, I was the one to see him today.”
“If it’s all the same, I’ll do the H and P when I check on Evie Mayo.”
“Is she any better?”
Darby shook her head. “Unfortunately no. Her liver enzymes are through the roof and I can’t find a reason why. Her hepatic ultrasound and her CT scan were both essentially normal. Only fatty streaks showed.”
“Hepatitis profile okay?”
“All normal.”
“You want me to take a look at her? See if I can come up with anything?”
Darby shrugged. “If you’d like. Maybe I’m missing something.”
“I doubt that,” he assured her, lightly punching her shoulder in a move her older brothers had often done when she’d been growing up. How long had it been since she’d seen Jim, John, Jerry and Ralph? Too long, since she’d opted to work last Christmas instead of making the six-hour drive to Armadillo Lake. She’d meant to go, but after Blake’s mother had canceled plans last-minute to come to Knoxville for the holidays Darby hadn’t been able to bear the thought of him alone at Christmas.
“But it never hurts to have a fresh eye give a second opinion,” he continued. “Speaking of second opinions, what do I need to pack for this weekend?”
Dread filled her stomach. Was she really going to subject Blake to her humiliating high school experiences?
Of course, she was. Because she wasn’t that shy, geeky girl who’d rather have had her nose stuck in a book than in a fashion magazine. She was a successful doctor with a fabulous life.
Okay, so she didn’t have a real boyfriend, and was bringing her business partner instead, but no one had to know that the scrumptious man with her wasn’t madly in love with her.
Her gaze landed on Blake. He was scrumptious to look at—the classic tall, dark and handsome—and she was half in lust with him, so that had to count for something, right?
No one would accuse her of being a virgin when she had a virile man like Blake making googly eyes at her. Which should be enough to ease the bile burning her throat, yet wasn’t.
Why wasn’t she eagerly anticipating the chance to prove to Armadillo Lake just how wrong they’d been about her? Surely she wasn’t still intimidated by her classmates? By Mandy?
No way.
Or maybe she was intimidated, because at times she wondered if they’d been right about her. After all, she was a twenty-eight-year-old virgin. By choice, but still a virgin.
Maybe her nervousness stemmed from the man before her. Had she really asked Blake to pretend to be in love with her? To spend the weekend with her, share a hotel room with her?
“Saturday afternoon is a picnic at the town park, so something casual for that. The reunion itself is being held at the Armadillo Lake Lodge’s ballroom and will be dressy. Not tuxedo formal, but you’ll need a suit.” She raked her gaze over him, imagining him at the party. He’d look good in a tux, but that would definitely be overkill. A tux would scream “trying too hard”. She wanted their relationship to look real, not make-believe.
She wanted their relationship to be real, not make-believe.
She bit back a sigh. Their relationship was real. They had a great business relationship, were ideal partners. Anything beyond that would only make life complicated, because if she and Blake ever became involved that way she’d end up hurt and losing everything. But what if…?
“Picnic and dressy.” Winking, he shot her with his finger. “Gotcha.”
Fighting to look as if her mind wasn’t racing in unwanted directions, she lifted her shoulders. “Wear that blue button-down you bought for the hospital Christmas party last year. I like how that looks on you.”
His brow quirked. “Tell me, which part do you like?”
Darby winced. Had she really just said that she liked how his shirt fit him?
“The part that covers you up,” she quipped, stepping into the back hallway leading to their private offices. No way would she admit to liking how the material emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist.
“Now, now,” he chided, “that’s not how you should be talking to the man you’re madly in love with.”
Certain her heart throbbed in her throat, despite knowing such a feat was physically impossible, Darby froze, rounded on him. “I’m not madly in love with you.”
She might have feelings for Blake, but she didn’t do love. At the young age of sweet sixteen she’d learned that love hurt way too much, and credited herself with being intelligent enough not to make the same mistake twice.
“Oh?” His brow lifted again, high enough that a lock of his inky hair hid the top of the arch. “Is this a one-sided love affair, then? I’m insane for you, but you’re immune to my charms?” His lips twitched. “Or are you just using me for phenomenal sex?”
Trying not to think of phenomenal sex and Blake in the same context, Darby gulped. “You’re crazy.”
Perhaps she was crazy, too. Otherwise why would she have asked him to go to Armadillo Lake? Even forgetting how she’d deal with spending a weekend in a hotel room with him, he’d tease her mercilessly over the things he’d learn about the old Darby. She’d never live down the jokes, the puns.
“We really should get our story straight before this weekend.” He took her elbow, led her into her office, pausing only long enough to caress the heart model as they passed by the shelf. “Maybe we should practice.”
“Practice?” Darby’s ears roared. Her heart thudded, pounding wildly against her ribcage and threatening to once again leap into her throat. Her gaze dropped to his lips and the desire to practice hit so hard she thought she might faint.
Then the most brilliant idea hit her. One in which she’d risk everything—but some risks were worth taking.
CHAPTER TWO
“DO YOU even like the people you went to school with?” Blake stuck a French fry in his mouth. Although he usually ate healthily, French fries were his Achilles’ heel. The hotter and saltier the better. Thanks to the hospital cafeteria ladies knowing his vice, they always put on a fresh batch just for him.
“Of course I like them,” Darby insisted, but color rose in her cheeks. “I went to high school with them.”
“Doesn’t mean you like them.” He stuck another fry in his mouth, assuring himself the five miles he ran each morning would clear out the excessive cholesterol. “I’ve never heard you mention anyone you went to school with.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t like them. I had some good friends back in school.”
“So good that you’re bringing a fake date to impress them?”
She didn’t meet his eyes, took a sip of her water. “You should be flattered, since you get to be the impressive fake date.”
“There is that,” he mused, studying her, trying to get a feel for whatever it was she was hiding.
And Darby was hiding something.
He couldn’t put his finger on what, but something had her buzzing about the prospect of returning to Armadillo Lake.
“Tell me about your hometown.”
Her face pinched into a scowl. “Not much to tell.”
Right.
“I’m going to your reunion this weekend. Don’t you think I should know a little about your past?”
“Not really.” Her nose curled, as if she’d taken a sniff of something vile. “We’ve known each other for what—four years? What you don’t already know, you don’t need to know.”
“I disagree.” What did he know about her past? Not much. Just that she’d grown up in a small town in Alabama, gone to medical school in Knoxville, on full scholarship, and had decided to stay in Tennessee after he’d jokingly suggested opening a practice together. Surprisingly, since he hadn’t made up his mind on where he’d end up, when Darby had said yes, he’d known practicing with her was exactly what he wanted to do. Not once had he regretted that decision, and for the first time since his grandfather’s death he had roots.
“Oh?” She might have meant the word to be nonchalant, but the slight squeak gave away her anxiety.
A good person might have let the subject go, not put her on the spot, but Blake had never claimed to be good. Not in that sense, at any rate.
He zeroed in on the one name she’d let slip on the day the invitation had arrived. “I want to know more about Mandy Coulson.”
Darby sighed, rolling her eyes toward the hospital cafeteria’s ceiling. “You would want to know more about her, wouldn’t you?”
He shrugged. “She’s the only non-related person from your hometown I’ve ever heard you mention by name.”
Her eyes flashed blue fire and her chin lifted. “Trey Nix.”
Blake paused, fry midway to his mouth, dangling from his fingers. Trey Nix? “Who’s he?”
Why did he instantly dislike him?
Face full-bloom pink, Darby pretended fascination with her chicken salad, raking her fork through the half-eaten entree. “No one.”
Clearly she regretted having mentioned the name.
“No one?” He wasn’t buying that. “Then why bring him up?”
“You insisted upon another name, and I knew you wouldn’t quit until I gave you one.”
“And Trey Nix—” what kind of name was Trey Nix, anyway? “—was the person who popped into your head?”
“It’s just a name.”
Uh-huh.
“Interesting.”
Her gaze lifted to his. “What’s so interesting?”
“That you mention a sworn enemy and then a guy.” Pink blotches spread across her throat and Blake’s suspicions rose. “Were you in a love triangle with Mandy and what’s-his-name?”
“A love triangle?” She laughed. “You’re crazy.”
But the half-strangled way she said the words hinted that he’d hit the nail over the head.
“Besides I never said Mandy was my sworn enemy.”
“No?” Good thing Darby had wanted to go into medicine and not acting. Not even the most gullible bloke would buy the bull she was attempting to feed him. Not liking how his fries weighed heavily in his stomach, he waited until her gaze met his. “Who was she?”
Better still, who was Trey Nix, and what had he meant to Darby?
Setting her fork next to her plate, she arranged the utensil on the tray. “For the first fifteen years of my life Mandy was my best friend.”
Best friend? Now, there was a twist Blake hadn’t seen coming.
The cafeteria wasn’t crowded, or particularly noisy, but he had to strain to hear her next words.
“But that was before.”
“Before what?”
She shook her head. “Let’s change the subject. I’ve had enough of the past for one night, and no amount of poking or prodding from you is going to get me to say more, so let it go.”
She dug into her salad with gusto. She’d been playing with her food all evening. He doubted she was even hungry. But apparently she didn’t want to talk about Mandy and was sending a loud message for him to back off.
Her tone had switched to Darby bossy. The tone she used when he’d pushed as far as she would allow him to push.
Fine—he’d let the topic of Mandy go. For now.
“At least tell me what you expect of me this weekend.”
She paused mid-bite. Startled eyes lifted to his. “What do you mean? I told you what I expected. Just pretend you’re madly in love with me—as if I’m the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you and you can’t live without me.”
“Okay,” he said slowly, taking measure of the panic in her eyes and wondering at his own rising panic at her words. “I can do that.”
In many ways, meeting Darby was the best thing to ever happen to him.
“How long have we been dating?”
She blinked at him, as if he’d spoken in an alien tongue. “Pardon?”
“There are things inquiring minds will want to know. Questions that are usually asked when a person sees someone they haven’t seen in a while.” He gave her a pointed look. “How long have we been dating?”
“The simpler we make this, the better.” Glancing down at her plate, Darby stared at her food. “We’ll say we’ve known each other for years, but only recently became romantically involved. Let’s stick to the truth as much as possible.”
Why was she so nervous? Because she was going to see the man from her past she’d mentioned? What did it matter to Blake? He should be happy if she reconnected with some long-lost love.
Was Nix a long-lost love?
Blake’s fries threatened to stage an uprising. “The truth works for me.”
“Except that you’re in love with me,” she pointed out.
His irrational reaction to the idea of Darby having a long-lost love irritated Blake. “I got that.”
Her gaze dropping to her plate, she nodded. “I just wanted to be clear.”
“As crystal.”
Her cellphone rang. She pulled out the phone and looked at the number. Grimacing, she shoved the phone into her pocket.
“Who was that?”
“Rodney.”
Her ex? Why was he calling? “You didn’t change your mind about getting back with him?”
He hoped not. Really hoped not.
He didn’t like the idea of Darby with Rodney. She was way too good for the guy. Plus, crazy as it was, he wanted to go with her this weekend, wanted to meet Mandy. And maybe even Trey Nix, just so he could figure out what Darby’s relationship had been with the man—although he had a pretty good idea.
An idea he didn’t like any better than the idea of Rodney.
“No,” she sighed, looking tired, as if this trip home weighed heavily upon her mind.
He knew she hadn’t gone home last Christmas, but she had made the trip when her niece was born. During the four years he’d known her she’d gone home a few times a year, but never for more than a night.
“Part of me wonders if I should beg him to take me back rather than bring you to my hometown.”
No, she shouldn’t bring Rodney with her. Blake wanted to meet her family, see where she’d grown up, figure out what it was about her hometown that made a woman he admired for her confidence so unsure of herself.
Darby was his partner and she needed his help. More than she even realized. Whatever her issues were with her hometown, he’d help her. He owed her that for keeping him on task throughout his residency and the beginning of his medical career.
“I can behave myself. Even in a place named Armadillo Lake.” He chuckled, letting the name roll off his tongue. “Sounds like a fun place to grow up. Is there really a lake?”
“Yes.”
“And armadillos?”
“Yes.”
“Your school team were the Armadillos?”
She gritted her teeth. “Yes.”
“Let me guess—your school mascot was a giant armadillo?”
Gaze lowered to her plate, Darby nodded.
“Bet that went over great at football games.” He chuckled. “An armadillo.”
Darby had grown still. She looked as if she were praying he wouldn’t put two and two together. Where Darby was concerned Blake always put two and two together. He grinned.
“You were the mascot, weren’t you?”
The next morning Darby had barely climbed out of her car before Blake fell into step beside her in the clinic’s employee parking lot. “I checked on Mr. Hill this morning. He’s insisting on going home, and he’s only been there one night.”
She ignored him, just as she’d been ignoring him since he’d burst out laughing at her admission she’d once worn an armadillo suit to all major school sport events.
Not a cute little armadillo suit that showed off her legs—if such a suit even existed. No, she’d been in a full-bodied, hot-as-Hades, head-to-toe vinyl Armadillo suit that looked like something straight off a cheap Godzilla movie. And all to impress a guy—to prove that she was more than a brainy girl, that she had a sense of humor and could be fun. What had she been thinking?
“He’s giving the nurses a hard time.” With his usual persistence, Blake continued, following her down the clinic’s hallway toward their offices. “The night nurse said he pulled out his IV line. She put the line back in, and threatened to strap his hands to the bedrails if he pulls it out again.”
Darby already knew all this. She’d visited Mr. Hill, too. Blake had beaten her to the hospital, thanks to her sleeping late, but she had checked on her two patients this morning.
No wonder she’d overslept. Most of the night she’d lain in bed having nightmares about the upcoming weekend. Nightmares in which she’d shown up at the reunion not decked out to the nines as planned, in the new killer dress she’d bought, but wearing that awful armadillo suit. Trey hadn’t been the one laughing at her. Blake had been the one shaking his head, pointing his finger, not understanding her desire to fit in. Not understanding how she desperately wanted him to notice that she was alive. The truth, she’d realized, was that this weekend was more about him than her class reunion.
She’d awakened in a cold sweat, certain she’d made a grave miscalculation—that thinking she could make Blake notice her as a woman was as foolish as wearing that armadillo suit had been.
Despite having sent in her RSVP, she didn’t have to go. Most likely no one would even notice if she was there or not.
No, that wasn’t true.
Mandy would know. Wasn’t that why she’d sent Darby’s invitation late?
If she didn’t go, she was saying that she was okay with her and Blake’s relationship never being more than what it was. And, although what they had was wonderful, Darby wanted more.
She was going.
Not only was she going, but she was going to have fun.
And in the process of making Blake notice her she’d make Trey eat his heart out because he’d chosen the head cheerleader over the geeky, too-smart-to-be-understood school mascot. What had he been thinking?
She’d risen beyond her high school experiences and was a desirable woman who held the power over her life. Wasn’t that what her wannabe-shrink roommate during her first four years at university had said—making Darby repeat the phrase while looking in the mirror each morning, insisting Darby go for formal self-confidence-boosting therapy?
She was in charge of her life. Dr. Darby Phillips, a woman worthy of respect and admiration. A woman who’d come a long way from wearing a dumpy armadillo suit and longing for a man she couldn’t have.
Her gaze fell on the man keeping stride next to her.
Well, no one could accuse her classy navy pants and cream-colored blouse of looking like a scaly animal, at any rate.
“Ah, come on, Dilly, surely you aren’t still mad at me?”
Why had she told him the mascot’s name?
Blake being Blake, of course he’d tease her, call her by that name. She spun to where he’d followed her into her office.
Knocking his hand away from her plastic heart model, she straightened to her full five feet three inches and poked his thick chest. “Don’t you ever make fun of my having been an armadillo again—do you hear?”
His eyes widened slightly at her outburst, but a smile curved his full lips. “Ah, Darby, come on. I’m sure you were a cute armadillo.”
She glared. He was supposed to be groveling, shaking in fear, apologizing, not still laughing.
“Too bad I didn’t go to your school.” He tweaked her chin, his fingers sending shivers over her flesh. “I’d like to have seen you in that costume. Maybe you could wear it for me this weekend? I promise to show my school spirit.”
Couldn’t he be serious? Or at least pretend as if he felt threatened? Of course he couldn’t. Blake was one of those annoying perpetually positive folks. As much as that did annoy her at times like these, his disposition was also one of the things she liked most about him. One of the things that had always drawn her to him.
He made her laugh. Had from the moment they’d met. She’d been so serious, so determined never to let a man make a fool of her again, so focused on getting her medical degree, she’d forgotten how to laugh until she and Blake had been assigned an emergency room rotation together. She might have been up to her eyeballs in work, but one wink from Blake could reenergize her sleep-deprived body and have her smiling from the inside out.
No one had ever been able to make her feel good the way he could.
Fighting to hang on to her angry bravado, she rolled her eyes. “The only costume you need to see me in is a white lab coat.” She forced her brows into a scowl. “Isn’t it time for us to get started seeing patients?”
He sighed with exaggerated effort. “You’re in a foul mood this morning, Dilly.”
She pursed her lips, crossed her arms and glared up at him. Way up. Why had she worn flats? “No more armadillo jokes.”
She refused to back down. She didn’t want Blake seeing her in the same light Trey had. After a moment of their facing off—her feigning anger, him grinning—he nodded.
“Fine, no more school mascot jokes.” He put his fingers up in a Scout’s Honor symbol. “If I get the urge to tease you, I’ll just dill with it.”
She looked heavenward. “This isn’t funny.”
He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “From where I’m standing, it’s pretty funny.”
“Because you weren’t the one wearing that horrible suit.”
Perhaps she’d let too much of her past pain bleed through, because Blake stared at her a little too closely.
“Last I heard, folks aren’t forced to be school mascots,” he pointed out. “They volunteer for the job.”
“Well, Mr. Know-it-all, sometimes there are extenuating circumstances that cause a girl to wear ugly suits and play a fool.”
“What extenuating circumstances?” His dark eyes saw too much, and Darby fought from shifting her weight.
“It’s complicated.” Complicated? Yet another word for humiliating herself in an effort to get Trey’s attention
Looking way too serious, Blake crossed his arms in a similar stance to her own. “I’ve got time.”
There were some things that shouldn’t be repeated. Her high school blunders were just a few of them. She glanced at her watch. “I don’t. I need to see my morning patients. Bye.”
She grabbed her stethoscope and rushed from the office. Without turning to check, she could feel his gaze burning into her, could feel the heat scorching her cheeks.
She also sensed his amusement. His curiosity.
“See you later, Dilly,” he called from behind her, no doubt brushing his fingers over her heart model.
What had she been thinking when she’d told him about that wretched costume? About her nickname? Next thing she knew she’d tell him she’d been voted most likely to die a virgin and had yet to do anything to prove her classmates wrong. For a woman who prided herself on her intelligence, she sure was making a lot of stupid choices.
But there came a time when a woman had to either don an armadillo suit—or invite a man to spend a weekend in a hotel with her in hopes of being noticed or accept not registering on his radar.
As insane as her frustration was, Darby was tired of not making a bleep on Blake’s radar.
She wanted his radar bleeping. For her.
Which just went to prove how little intelligence she really had.
Bleeping on Blake’s radar would likely ruin everything she held dear, so why was she bleep, bleep, bleeping in her heart?
The closer Darby and Blake got to Armadillo Lake on Friday afternoon, the more Darby’s stomach churned.
What was wrong with her?
She should be looking forward to the opportunity to return home and show her old schoolmates they’d been wrong about her on most accounts. And she should be excited at the prospect of maybe making Blake see her as a desirable woman…
After all, hadn’t that been the idea behind her last-minute shopping trip to her favorite lingerie shop? She should be a lot of things, but she suspected if Blake wasn’t the one behind the wheel she’d turn the SUV around and head back to Tennessee pronto. For so many reasons—not the least of which was that she was afraid of what the weekend might do to her and Blake’s relationship.
But if she wanted more than what she had—and she did—she had to shake things up. Sleeping in the same bed should do that—had he even considered their sleeping arrangements when she’d invited him?
Darby stole a glance toward him and fought a very feminine sigh of appreciation. God, he was breathtaking. And, for the weekend, he was all hers.
“You’ve barely spoken the last thirty miles of our drive.”
“You’ve talked enough for the both of us,” she pointed out.
He had. Blake could carry on a conversation with a stump. His gift of the gab was a trait she envied. Although she’d taken classes to help her overcome her shyness, she’d been introverted for the earlier years of her life. She hadn’t wanted to be shy, but when you preferred to have your nose stuck in a book than to drive into Pea Ridge to cruise the shopping mall—well, popularity wasn’t your middle name.
“Didn’t your mom tell you not to do that? Your face might get stuck like that.”
Designer aviator glasses protected Blake’s eyes from the blazing sunshine brightening their drive. If the manufacturer could hire him to model those shades, they’d sell billions. He made them look that good.
“Like what?” she asked, thinking life was unfair if one man could have been blessed with so many talents. Looks, intelligence, wit. Yet, Blake wasn’t one of those men who walked around thinking he was a million bucks. Despite his teasing about his many charms, he was one of the most genuine persons she knew. Actually, he was the most genuine person she knew. What you saw was what you got.
She liked what she saw way too much.
“Like we just drove past another chicken barn with the windows down.”
Darby bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. Not long after they’d crossed the Alabama state line Blake had rolled down the windows to experience some fresh country air. He’d gotten fresh country air, all right.
“Most likely we did pass another one.”
This time it was his face that wrinkled—him who looked like he might need to pull the SUV over.
“I’ll never eat chicken again.”
Darby laughed out loud. “There are chicken barns in Tennessee. So don’t tell me you’d never experienced a chicken barn up close and personal before.”
“Apparently I’m still a city boy at heart,” he admitted unashamedly. “From the car is as up close and personal as I want to get to a barn of any type. Especially one as foul as what we smelt earlier.”
“Foul?” Shaking her head at his double entendre, Darby laughed again. Just as well she wasn’t planning to take him with her when she dropped in on her folks tonight.
Her stomach jerked again. No doubt her brothers and their wives would start pushing for her to move home. They always did. Her family hadn’t been able to understand why she’d been so driven to leave Armadillo Lake, to get her degree and make something of herself, to see the world. They especially hadn’t understood when her plans to join a traveling medical program had taken a one-eighty turn and she’d stayed in Knoxville.
Then again, they’d never met Blake.
“What were you thinking about that made you scowl?”
She should have known he wouldn’t let her change the subject. He rarely did.
“About the reunion.”
He glanced away from the road just long enough for her gaze to meet the mirrored lenses that hid his eyes. He shook his head in confusion. “Most people look forward to high school reunions, to catching up with their old classmates, seeing who married who, who has the most kids, who gained forty pounds, who still has their hair.”
“Yeah, well.” She turned to stare out the window at the growing all too familiar landscape, her belly lurching. “I’m not most people, City Boy.”
“That you’re not.” He chuckled, then surprised her by reaching across the gap between their seats and taking her hand into his.
Clasping their fingers together, he squeezed.
Her belly gave another jolt, a much larger one than before, and she faced him.
“No worries, Darby. Whatever it is that has you wound so tightly about this weekend, everything is going to be fine. You’re going to dazzle all your old classmates with your intelligence, success, beauty, and especially with your impressive date.” Smiling, he briefly dipped his head, glancing at her from above the rim of his shades. His black eyes bored into her. “I promise.”
The warmth emanating from Blake’s hand to hers almost made her believe everything would be all right concerning the reunion—that every fantasy she’d ever had of returning to Armadillo Lake and making everyone eat armadillo…er…crow, would come true.
Regarding the way every single cell in her body surged to life at how his hand still held hers, at how much she liked his hand holding hers, at how many hopes she had pinned to their spending the weekend together—well, that was another matter altogether.
CHAPTER THREE
FOR the dozenth time since they’d arrived at the Armadillo Lake Lodge, Darby stared at the queen-sized bed monopolizing the standard hotel room.
“Forget it,” Blake warned, stepping next to her. His hands rested on his lean hips as he stared at the bed, too. “I’m not sleeping in a chair.”
He thought she wanted him out of the bed? What would he say if she admitted to having been imagining the two of them there? To wondering what it would be like to spend the entire weekend in bed with him? Laughing, playing…something more…?
He’d probably laugh and tell her to be serious.
She sighed, shaking the bottle of fruity disinfectant she’d sprayed onto the top of the gaudy brown and orange comforter that likely had been in use since the lodge had first opened.
“I didn’t say you had to sleep in a chair.”
If they didn’t share the bed, news would spread like wildfire. This was Armadillo Lake. Everyone knew everyone’s business. After cleaning the room, Gertrude Johnson would no doubt spill the juicy tidbit to anyone who’d listen. The Johnsons had run the only hotel within a thirty-mile radius for as long as Darby could remember. If not for the tearoom that served as the town’s only “nice” restaurant, and the large ballroom that hosted all major town events, the place would likely have gone out of business years ago. Armadillo Lake didn’t attract many tourists.
Just unsuspecting women returning for their high school reunion while trying to convince the man of her dreams that she was the woman of his dreams. No biggie.
She turned to look at him. Despite their six-hour drive, he looked crisp. Not a wrinkle on the gorgeous man’s khaki shorts that fell to just above his knees, nor on his expensive polo shirt. Just once she’d like to see him rumpled.
Her gaze shot back to the bed.
Okay, so she wanted to rumple him and rumple him thoroughly. More than once. A girl could dream, couldn’t she?
She swallowed.
She had to quit this fantasy stuff. Blake was here to help her. If their near proximity helped him see her as a female, then so be it—but she didn’t plan to throw herself at him. Either Blake wanted a relationship with her or he didn’t.
Her gaze fell on the bed again.
“The bed’s plenty big for the both of us. We’ll share.” She narrowed her eyes to what she hoped were menacing slits. “You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine.”
“Dibs on the top side.”
“Fine, you can have that top side, and I’ll take this top side.” She pointed to the side of the bed closest to the bathroom for herself.
“That wasn’t exactly what I meant.” He laughed, watching her lift the comforter and spray disinfectant between the sheets and on the underside of the comforter. “You’re the only person I know who disinfects hotel room beds.”
Darby shrugged. She wasn’t exactly a germ-a-phobe. But she’d seen one too many television specials about what crawled around in hotel room beds not to come prepared, and she always brought her own pillow.
“Here.” She tossed the spray bottle to him. “You’re a big boy. Disinfect your own side.”
Catching the bottle, he grinned. She turned to unpacking her clothes. Holding her breath, she pulled a black lacy number from her suitcase and dropped it into the drawer she’d also disinfected.
She glanced up in time to see Blake’s gaze following her movements as she dropped another pair of tiny panties into the drawer.
His feet shifted. He swallowed. He tugged on the collar of his polo shirt.
When his gaze met hers, Darby had no doubts.
If this weekend accomplished nothing else, Blake had just realized she was a woman.
A woman who had a predilection for fancy undergarments.
In that moment, Blake wanted her.
She’d wanted him always.
Now what? Could her fantasies become realities, or would her hopes only lead to disaster?
Still fighting his reaction to the skimpy silk scraps Darby had pulled from her suitcase, Blake hung his clothes in the hotel room’s tiny closet.
All these years he’d never known she had a penchant for sexy lingerie.
But why would he have known? They didn’t have that type of relationship. Not one where they discussed boxers or briefs, granny whites or spidery webs of black silk. They were business partners—and he’d be a wise man to remember that instead of wondering how that tangled lace would look hugging her bottom.
The sound of something falling to the bathroom floor was followed by Darby mumbling something he couldn’t make out through the closed door.
Pausing at the closet, he eyed his suit, hanging side-by-side next to Darby’s brilliant blue dress. He reached out, ran his fingertips over the soft material of her dress.
Maybe he should pretend to sleep in the chair.
Pretend because even if the curved wooden chair that was designed more for looks than comfort was the most comfortable chair in the world there was no way he’d rest with Darby sleeping in the same room.
He hadn’t thought doing this favor would be a big deal, but he’d never spent the weekend in a hotel with a beautiful woman he wasn’t having sex with.
He sure hadn’t ever slept in a bed with a woman he wasn’t having sex with.
Especially when he wanted to be having sex with that woman.
But sex with Darby could never be just sex.
She was his business partner, his friend, someone he cared about.
All reasons why sex wasn’t a good idea.
As much as he wanted to see Darby in those tiny bits of silk, sex between them would ruin everything. Darby didn’t do casual sex, and Blake didn’t do anything but.
The bathroom door opened. Blake faced the woman he’d just been imagining in her underwear. Again. Trapped steam from her recent shower kissed his skin—or maybe that was sweat from his thoughts of what she had on underneath her clothes. She’d changed into a pair of white shorts that showed off her toned legs and a trendy top that showcased her full breasts and made her waist look tiny. Dampness clung to the hair at the base of her neck. The rest of her blonde hair was clipped by a toothed hairpiece that could double as a torture device.
“I’ll be back in a few hours.” Her eyes didn’t meet his. “Don’t wait up.”
Which of those silk numbers did she wear beneath her clothes?
He swallowed, trying to dislodge the brick stuck in his throat. Granny panties, Blake. She’s wearing big, ugly granny panties. Just keep telling yourself that and eventually you’ll forget what you saw, what you want to see wrapped around Darby’s curvy body.
“Blake?” Her forehead wrinkled with concern. “You okay?”
Okay? No, he wasn’t okay. His imagination was working overtime. What she’d said registered in his lingerie intoxicated mind.
“If you’re going out, I’m going with you.” Wherever she was going, she wasn’t leaving him in the hotel room. With her underwear and his over-active imagination. Hell, no.
“No.” Her tone held full Darby bossiness. “You’re not.”
“If you think I’m sitting in a hotel room alone while you go out, think again.” He closed the closet door, for once not appreciating her bossy attitude. “Where are you going anyway?”
“To my parents’, and you’re not going. End of discussion. ”
Her parents? Of course. Darby’s family lived here. Just because his mother made moving house a hobby that didn’t mean normal families changed addresses on an annual rotation. Why hadn’t he considered that she’d want to visit while in Armadillo Lake?
“I’m coming with you,” he said matter-of-factly, knowing he’d win this argument, “and you should be grateful.”
Bingo. She lifted confused eyes to his. “Huh?”
He gave a smug smile. “How will it look if the man who is madly in love with you doesn’t go to meet your parents? Tsk, tsk, Darby,” he scolded, crossing his arms. “You’re the one who said you wanted this to appear real. Twiddling my thumbs in our hotel room while you visit with the family doesn’t work.”
He watched the unhappy realization that he was right wash over her heart-shaped face, watched as she searched for a feasible argument, summarily dismissing each one.
“I don’t want you to go.” She dropped onto the bed in an unladylike flounce that had visions of skimpy underwear flashing in his brain again. “My parents don’t know you’re with me. But they do know I’m here.” Her voice had taken on an unfamiliar whiny tone. “I have to go, but you can’t go with me.”
“Did you plan to hide me away in the hotel while you snuck in the obligatory visit with the family?” The guilt on her face said that was exactly what she’d intended. “I’m an easygoing guy, Darby, you know that. But I’m not doing room service while you go to your parents.” He frowned. “We’ve been partners for almost a year and I’ve never met your family. Why is that?”
She’d met his mother on the rare occasions Cecelia had dropped by Knoxville for a visit. But he hadn’t met a single person from Darby’s pre-Knoxville life. Not even at the grand opening of their clinic.
“Fine. You can come.” She stood, eyed him as if she’d rather kiss a sewer rat than introduce him to her family. “But just remember you insisted upon going and that I was going to spare you the drama.” Then her eyes took on a delighted spark. “Oh, and by the way, City Boy, there are chicken barns. Four of them. Hope you’re real hungry for some of my momma’s chicken and dumplings. Mmm, chicken.”
Darby winced. No, her mother hadn’t really just pulled up her shirt to ask Blake’s opinion on the “bug bites” on her abdomen. Not at the dining room table. Not with the entire family present. Not while they were eating dinner.
Yep, Nellie Phillips had.
To his credit, Blake was taking her family—all twenty-two of them present and accounted for, and sitting at various places throughout the farmhouse—in his stride. Actually, he seemed amused by the chaos that was a permanent fixture at the Phillips home.
Standing there with her floral print shirt pulled up, her mother revealed a tiny sliver of thick white cotton and a wide expanse of pale white skin, marred only by the bright red vesicles clustered over her lower ribcage and wrapping around her trunk on her left side.
Concern replacing her mortification, Darby squinted at the “bug bites”. “Are you sure something bit you?”
Blake examined the rash. “Looks more like Herpes Zoster.”
Darby agreed. Those angry clusters were isolated to a single dermatome, and hadn’t been caused by an insect.
“Herpes Zoster? Is that serious?” one of her brothers asked, leaning toward his mother for a closer look. “See, Mom, I told you to let me drive you into Pea Ridge to be checked.”
Nellie gave Jim a silencing look. “Don’t be silly. Herpes Zoster is a fancy term for shingles.”
“Shingles?” Darby’s dad spoke up from where he sat in his honored spot at the head of the table. He lowered his glass of iced tea and scratched his graying head. “Earl Johnson from down the road—you remember him, Darby? You used to clean house for him? He had shingles early in the spring. Had me kill my rooster for him.”
Knowing Blake didn’t want to hear about old wives’ tale remedies for certain ailments, Darby scooted her chair closer to the table and reached for the bowl of fried potatoes. “Mom, how long have you had the rash? Are you taking anything to help dry it up?”
“Tell Darby about those spells you’ve been having.”
Darby’s gaze cut from her mother to her oldest brother and back again. “What spells?”
Her mother waved her hand. “No big deal. Just a few twinges of pain. I thought from the bug bites.”
Concern sparked in Darby’s chest. “What kind of pain? Haven’t you been feeling well?”
“I’m fine. Fit as a fiddle.” Darby’s mother didn’t meet her eyes, but instead passed a bowl full of greens to Blake. “I remember my mother having shingles. She had a lot of pain even after the rash disappeared, complained with her side hurting for months.”
“Pain is normal with shingles.” Blake accepted the bowl, staring at the contents with speculative eyes. He tentatively dipped out a small spoonful. “You should schedule an appointment with your doctor to get on an anti-viral and some pain medication.”
“I don’t like pills. Never have.” Nellie smiled at Blake. “I’m like my mother that way.”
Darby’s niece came running into the kitchen, squealing that her brother had spilled his juice. Rosy jumped up to check on the spill, but Nellie placed her hand on her daughter-in-law’s arm. “Let me.”
Darby followed her mother into the living room and helped clean the juice puddle.
Watching her mother, Darby noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes. Dark circles she hadn’t really noticed—probably because she’d been so distracted with worrying about Blake and his reaction to her family, worrying about her family’s reaction to Blake. She also noticed the fatigue plaguing her mother’s face, the deepening wrinkles, the slight tremble to her hand when she wiped the towel across the floor.
Her mother had shingles. Not the end of the world, but how long had she been suffering, ignoring the pain? Why hadn’t she let Jim drive her to Pea Ridge to be checked? Why hadn’t she mentioned the rash to Darby when they’d talked on the phone earlier in the week? Even if her mother didn’t understand why she’d become a doctor, why she’d had to get away from Armadillo Lake, she knew she was a darn good one.
When they’d wiped up the last of the juice from the scuffed hardwood floor, Darby met her mother’s gaze and felt as if she was five years old.
“Mom,” she began, before they stepped back into the kitchen, “you didn’t have to ask Blake about your rash. I would have checked it for you.”
“Nonsense.” Re-entering the kitchen, her mother waved her hand. “He’s a real doctor.” She shot an admiring glance toward where Blake sat talking with Darby’s father. “No sense in you having to worry yourself over some little rash.”
A real doctor. What was she? A pretend one?
Darby sighed.
Might as well be, since she was faking everything else this weekend.
Blake didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to see that Darby was irritated with most of her family.
As the youngest of five children, and the only girl, her family treated her as if she were incapable of doing anything for herself. At each point Darby attempted to do something, even if it was only to refill her glass of tea, someone jumped in and did the task for her. Couldn’t they see what a talented young woman she’d grown into? How much their attitude annoyed her?
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Janice Lynn
Dr Di Angelo’s Baby Bombshell
Janice Lynn
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u4640cb24-a429-53c3-9021-4a78e88d7a26)
Title Page (#u34ac603d-8608-5f03-ad60-7e4d4d6342a8)
About the Author (#u598c2f57-df5f-5f6b-8d1c-5b19ae851387)
Dedication (#uea827808-606e-5d4f-9823-b9444f0a6dab)
Chapter One (#u5bcb440e-1960-52da-be4b-3b691b3a39dc)
CHapter Two (#u9f69f7ab-999c-5dc9-9f58-280ad574152d)
Chapter Three (#u98365003-d5b2-555e-b8a6-8d60934acb1f)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Janice Lynn has a Masters in Nursing from Vanderbilt University, and works as a nurse practitioner in a family practice. She lives in the southern United States with her husband, their four children, their Jack Russell—appropriately named Trouble—and a lot of unnamed dust bunnies that have moved in since she started her writing career. To find out more about Janice and her writing, visit www.janicelynn.com
To Anna Sugden—true friends are precious treasures and you’re a jewel that sparkles brightly in my life. Thank you for the years of laughter, shared tears, and unfailing support. Love you!
CHAPTER ONE
“I NEED you to pretend to be madly in love with me.”
Startled by the request, Dr. Blake Di Angelo tapped his thumbs against the sleek surface of his mahogany desk, thinking that perhaps the petite blonde pacing across his Knoxville medical office had already gone mad.
“You’ll have to repeat that, Darby.” He leaned against his leather chair’s backrest, eyeing her with more than a little curiosity. “Because I don’t think I heard you right.”
His business partner paused long enough to bestow a glance on the bluest eyes that side of the Mississippi. Eyes that were usually sparkling with laughter. Not today. Today, her fingers clenched around a card of some sort, Dr. Darby Phillips’ eyes were clouded with displeasure.
“You owe me.” Her expression dared him to deny her claim. “Last weekend of the month. You’re going with me to Alabama and you’re going to pretend to be goo-goo-ga-ga, head-over-heels in love with me the entire time.”
His brow arching at her determined expression, Blake grinned. God, she was bossy. He liked it. Had always liked Darby’s assertiveness and self-assurance. From the time he’d met her four years ago, she’d been driven to be the best at everything she did.
“Why am I going to do this?” He couldn’t resist teasing. Mostly because he knew how to push her buttons to have her going from zero to through the roof.
She started pacing again. “Because you owe me, and I’m collecting.”
Blake’s eyes traveled over her curvy little frame encased in a no-nonsense navy business suit, exposing shapely legs beneath her skirt hem. The shirt was tucked into a waist that his hands would probably fit around. Her breasts—well, he knew better than to let his thoughts go there. He valued their business relationship too much to acknowledge her as the desirable woman she so obviously was.
“And because of this.” She tossed the embossed card onto his desk and shuddered. “Which I’d completely forgotten about.”
She turned those big baby-blues on him again, stared with such beseeching that his insides shifted off axis enough to make his world wobble, to make him want to take her into his arms and promise he’d fix whatever had her so upset.
“How could I have forgotten that was this year? This month?” Panic brewing in the blue depths, her gaze bored into him. “I really don’t need the headache of looking for a date who’ll no doubt get the wrong idea by an invitation to something so personal. But I do need a man for that weekend.” Taking a deep breath, she lifted her shoulders and took on the expression of a seasoned soldier, readying for battle. “Tag, you’re it.”
Blake picked up the card and studied the fancy maroon and gold embossing more closely. Armadillo Lake Ten-Year High School Reunion. “Don’t they usually give folks more notice than two weeks for these kinds of things?”
Darby muttered something under her breath. “Usually.”
“You could go without a date.”
“Oh, no.” Stray pale blonde tendrils loosened from her upswept hair danced at her almost violent headshake. “I’d rather not go than go dateless.”
“Then don’t go. Problem solved. No one says you have to go to your high school reunion.”
Although he had meant to, he hadn’t gone to his. Darby had been sick with the flu and he’d covered for her at the hospital instead. No big deal, since he’d moved so often he’d never gotten particularly attached to any of the numerous private prep schools he’d attended.
She let out an exasperated sound. “It’s not that simple. Besides, you owe—”
“Yes, I know,” he conceded. “I owe you for bailing me out last month, when it was my turn to be on call and I wanted to go out of town.” A weekend that had ended in disaster when his then girlfriend had got wedding bells on her brain. He liked his life as it was and had no intention of marrying. For one reason or another, marriages didn’t seem to work in his family. Besides, he was enjoying bachelorhood too much for that.
“So you have to go to your reunion.” He dropped the invitation back onto his desk. “Why the ‘in love’ stuff?”
“Mandy Coulson.” Darby’s agitation tripled. Quadrupled.
Blake’s curiosity grew accordingly. Even when under intense pressure, Darby rarely lost her cool. God, he’d loved to watch her work when they’d been in residency—still did. Calm, cool, in control. Today she was hot under the collar, sweating like any normal person, and not because of his teasing. No, although Blake had thought he knew better than anyone how to get a rise out of his pretty little partner, apparently this Mandy person and a high school reunion had him beat.
He didn’t see what the big deal was, but he was intrigued as to why Darby did.
“And Mandy is…?” He stretched his hand out in question. “Who?”
“Every shy kid’s worst nightmare.” The words hissed from Darby’s pursed lips like air escaping a rapidly deflating balloon.
Interesting. He had a hard time imagining the confident young woman he knew as shy. Ever.
This trip might prove to be educational.
He tossed the invitation on his desk and waggled his eyebrows mischievously. “Okay, darling, I’ll be your boy toy.”
Boy toy? As if. Darby rolled her eyes before meeting her partner’s black-as-sin gaze. As attractive as she found Blake, the man went through women as if he were competing for a world record. That didn’t mean she wasn’t crazy about him—just that she knew better than to feed his oversized ego.
“Keep that up and you’ll leave me no choice but to call Rodney,” she threatened, knowing Blake had never liked her recent attempt at dating. “If I pander to his ego a little—” a lot “—and tell him how rotten you are—” Rodney had been jealous of the “Italian Stallion”, Rodney’s label for Blake, not Darby’s “—he’s sure to go with me.”
Although they’d only gone out for a couple of months, he was still calling her, trying to convince her they could make things work if only she’d have sex with him. Yeah, right. Not during this lifetime.
There was only one man she wanted to sleep with, and he had no clue that was how she felt.
“The hell you say,” Blake growled. “He was the most suspicious man I’ve ever met—dropping by here all hours of the night.” His strong jaw clenched, emphasizing the slight cleft in his chin. “What did he expect? To catch me with my pants down?”
For the first time since she’d stormed into his office her lips twitched. “Actually, that is what he expected.”
And then some. She hadn’t been able to convince Rodney that Blake was nothing more than her business partner. Maybe because from the time they’d met she’d hoped Blake would see her for more than her brain and medical skills. After four years of his treating her much as one of her brothers did, she’d decided she didn’t register on Blake’s female radar. Just as well. None of the women he was interested in ever lasted long. Blake’s love-life consisted of a revolving door and multiple women. She wanted him forever, not just for a few weekends.
So she’d waited, hoped, become more and more frustrated.
“He thought you were getting lucky.” Since Rodney hadn’t been getting lucky, he’d automatically assumed Blake, being the only other man in her life, must be. Men.
Blake waggled his brows again. “Well, you can’t blame the guy for thinking I’d get lucky. I am irresistible.”
“And so modest, too.” She snorted at his mock-innocent expression. “Luck has nothing to do with how you get women.”
His lips twitched. “Enlighten me. How do I get women?”
Any way he wanted them.
“With that jet-black hair and those dark-as-midnight eyes you don’t have to get women, they get you.” The laughter in those black eyes had her feet wanting to shift—or run for the closest exit. How had the conversation even taken this turn? Her face grew hot and her skin clammy.
“At least, women try to get you,” she rushed on, hoping he didn’t notice how uncomfortable talking about his love-life made her. “You’re oblivious to most, yet they keep chasing you. So, like I said, you don’t have to get women, they get you.”
“And, like I said—” he rocked back in his chair and blatantly eyed her with amusement“—I’m irresistible.”
Dimples cut into his cheeks, making her think perhaps he was right. Certainly she’d always wanted him. Then again, with so little experience when it came to men, how could she be expected not to fall for someone so skilled in the ways of the opposite sex?
Because if Blake’s love-life was a revolving door, Darby’s was a vault that had rusted shut long ago from lack of use.
“For example,” he continued, “I was recently propositioned to spend the weekend with a beautiful woman.” His black eyes twinkled. “I even get to pretend to be in love with her. How much luckier can a guy get?”
Picking up a spongy ball—a stress-reliever advertising a pharmaceutical firm—she tossed it at him. “I wouldn’t count on getting lucky that particular weekend if I were you. You’re not that irresistible.”
At least not that she’d ever admit. But if she thought there was the slightest chance Blake could love her, she’d throw caution to the wind and make him notice she was a woman the weekend of the reunion.
He caught the stress ball with ease. “Come to think of it, my luck’s never been that good. Just look at the last female who found me.” He cringed with revulsion and gave an exaggerated shudder.
Darby bit back a smile.
So the foolish physical therapist he’d been dating on and off for a few months had thought Blake was taking her out of town to pop the question. Instead, the Yankees had been in Atlanta, and a friend had given him Braves tickets. Blake’s proposal had consisted of, “Do you want mustard or ketchup on your hot dog?” When the game had ended, with no highlighted proposal on the scoreboard, Kristi had issued an ultimatum she’d regretted the moment Blake had waved goodbye.
He interrupted her thoughts. “But you have to admit I am better than Rodney.”
True, but Rodney had been an okay boyfriend—a good start to her late-in-life attempt to develop dating skills. Well, an okay boyfriend except for his jealousy of Blake and how he’d pushed for sex. After Blake had dumped Kristi in Atlanta, Rodney’s possessiveness had suffocated Darby. He would view going to her high school reunion as moving their relationship into another realm. A realm where she didn’t want to go, as she had no intention of having sex with him. Ever.
Blake was right. He was the better choice in so many ways.
No one from her past would expect to see her with a man like Blake. With him at her side she could pretend she wasn’t still the geeky girl who’d left Armadillo Lake with big dreams and stars in her eyes.
She picked up the invitation to return to Armadillo Lake, Alabama. Her hometown.
She had to go.
Had to prove Mandy Coulson wrong. Prove her entire class wrong. Prove to herself that she really was the confident young woman she looked at in the mirror each morning. She was, wasn’t she?
Her hand clenched around the invitation Mandy had no doubt delayed in sending.
She’d go home with her head held high, with a gorgeous hunk attending to her every whim, and she’d show them all how wrong they were.
Or pretend to, at any rate.
And if along the way Blake discovered she was a girl behind her lab coat and high IQ—well, that would be icing on the cake, now, wouldn’t it?
Blake stepped into Darby’s office during the week of the reunion. “Can I get your opinion on Mr. Hill’s leg?”
It was late Tuesday evening and Darby had already finished with her last patient for the day. She glanced up from the computer screen where she researched an unusual plethora of symptoms a patient had come in with that morning.
“Nathan Hill, from Strawberry Plains?”
“That’s the one.” He skimmed his fingers over the model of the heart on top of her bookshelf. It was a running joke that he had heart envy. Every time he came into her office he touched the plastic heart. Someday she’d give the darn thing to him.
“I just examined him,” Blake continued, “but since you were the last one to see the ulcer on his lower extremity, I wanted your opinion on whether you think it’s improved. ”
“Sure thing.” She bookmarked her page on the web and followed him into the exam room.
“Hi, Mr. Hill.” She washed her hands and slid on a pair of disposable gloves. “Dr. Di Angelo has asked me to take a look at the place on your leg since I’d checked you a week or so ago.” She smiled at the thin gentleman, patted his wrinkled hand. “How do you think it looks? Better? Worse? Or about the same?”
“Better,” the seventy-year-old said. Unfortunately, Mr. Hill would say his leg was doing better even if his toes were black. Very simply, the man wouldn’t complain. He’d just smile his toothless smile and tell her how he was doing just fine.
Squatting to examine his leg, Darby winced at the oozing ulcer that encompassed a good portion of his shin.
“Have you been taking the antibiotics I prescribed?” she asked, concerned that he’d gotten worse rather than better. “The culture I did on the area says the one prescribed should clear the infection, but obviously the medicine isn’t working.”
“I got the prescription filled.” He scratched his mostly bald head with a thickened yellow nail that curved over the tip of his arthritic finger. “Only took a few. Figured I’d wait and see if I really needed them.”
What was he waiting for? His foot to fall off? For the bacteria to build resistance to the antibiotics since he’d taken just enough to tease the infection?
Darby shook her head. “I stressed the importance of taking the antibiotics because they are vital to this area healing.” She looked to where Blake stood. He’d entered the room with her, had been ready to assist if she needed anything, but was confident enough to stand back and let her do her job. She liked that about Blake. He trusted her, found her competent. Turning her gaze back to her patient, she gave him her most serious look. “I’d like to admit you to the hospital, give IV antibiotics for a few days, and keep a close eye on your leg.”
Not liking Darby’s assessment, Mr. Hill turned to Blake for another opinion. “Doc?”
“Admitting you to the hospital is what I was thinking, too, but you kept insisting you were better. Since I hadn’t seen the way the area originally looked, I gave you the benefit of doubt.” Blake raised a brow at Mr. Hill, who had the grace to blush. “Obviously you over-exaggerated.”
Darby removed her gloves and tossed them into the appropriate disposal bin. She wrapped her arm around the older man and gave him a hug. “Obviously.”
“It’s not that bad,” he insisted, giving Darby’s hand a pat. “Definitely not bad enough to go to the hospital.”
“You know I try to listen to my patients, Mr. Hill, and to take earnest consideration of their desires, but your leg is serious enough to warrant a hospital admission.” Stepping back slightly, she took his hand into hers. “If the infection doesn’t clear you could lose your foot. Do you understand? That isn’t something I take lightly. Neither should you.”
That got the older man’s attention. She hadn’t been meaning to scare him, but his ulceration was a big deal, and truly could result in amputation in someone with his poor circulation and diabetes. She spoke with him a few more minutes while Blake wrote admission orders to give to the man’s daughter, who was waiting in the reception area.
Blake stuck the orders inside an envelope. “You give these to the lady at the admission desk. She’ll register you.”
They saw him out and spoke with his daughter, letting her know what was going on and stressing that even if her father changed his mind about going to the hospital, he really did need to go. When she’d brought the car around they saw him into the passenger seat, then made their way back toward the office.
“Do you want me to look in on him this evening and do the admission history and the physical?” Blake held the front door open for her to enter ahead of him. “Technically, I was the one to see him today.”
“If it’s all the same, I’ll do the H and P when I check on Evie Mayo.”
“Is she any better?”
Darby shook her head. “Unfortunately no. Her liver enzymes are through the roof and I can’t find a reason why. Her hepatic ultrasound and her CT scan were both essentially normal. Only fatty streaks showed.”
“Hepatitis profile okay?”
“All normal.”
“You want me to take a look at her? See if I can come up with anything?”
Darby shrugged. “If you’d like. Maybe I’m missing something.”
“I doubt that,” he assured her, lightly punching her shoulder in a move her older brothers had often done when she’d been growing up. How long had it been since she’d seen Jim, John, Jerry and Ralph? Too long, since she’d opted to work last Christmas instead of making the six-hour drive to Armadillo Lake. She’d meant to go, but after Blake’s mother had canceled plans last-minute to come to Knoxville for the holidays Darby hadn’t been able to bear the thought of him alone at Christmas.
“But it never hurts to have a fresh eye give a second opinion,” he continued. “Speaking of second opinions, what do I need to pack for this weekend?”
Dread filled her stomach. Was she really going to subject Blake to her humiliating high school experiences?
Of course, she was. Because she wasn’t that shy, geeky girl who’d rather have had her nose stuck in a book than in a fashion magazine. She was a successful doctor with a fabulous life.
Okay, so she didn’t have a real boyfriend, and was bringing her business partner instead, but no one had to know that the scrumptious man with her wasn’t madly in love with her.
Her gaze landed on Blake. He was scrumptious to look at—the classic tall, dark and handsome—and she was half in lust with him, so that had to count for something, right?
No one would accuse her of being a virgin when she had a virile man like Blake making googly eyes at her. Which should be enough to ease the bile burning her throat, yet wasn’t.
Why wasn’t she eagerly anticipating the chance to prove to Armadillo Lake just how wrong they’d been about her? Surely she wasn’t still intimidated by her classmates? By Mandy?
No way.
Or maybe she was intimidated, because at times she wondered if they’d been right about her. After all, she was a twenty-eight-year-old virgin. By choice, but still a virgin.
Maybe her nervousness stemmed from the man before her. Had she really asked Blake to pretend to be in love with her? To spend the weekend with her, share a hotel room with her?
“Saturday afternoon is a picnic at the town park, so something casual for that. The reunion itself is being held at the Armadillo Lake Lodge’s ballroom and will be dressy. Not tuxedo formal, but you’ll need a suit.” She raked her gaze over him, imagining him at the party. He’d look good in a tux, but that would definitely be overkill. A tux would scream “trying too hard”. She wanted their relationship to look real, not make-believe.
She wanted their relationship to be real, not make-believe.
She bit back a sigh. Their relationship was real. They had a great business relationship, were ideal partners. Anything beyond that would only make life complicated, because if she and Blake ever became involved that way she’d end up hurt and losing everything. But what if…?
“Picnic and dressy.” Winking, he shot her with his finger. “Gotcha.”
Fighting to look as if her mind wasn’t racing in unwanted directions, she lifted her shoulders. “Wear that blue button-down you bought for the hospital Christmas party last year. I like how that looks on you.”
His brow quirked. “Tell me, which part do you like?”
Darby winced. Had she really just said that she liked how his shirt fit him?
“The part that covers you up,” she quipped, stepping into the back hallway leading to their private offices. No way would she admit to liking how the material emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist.
“Now, now,” he chided, “that’s not how you should be talking to the man you’re madly in love with.”
Certain her heart throbbed in her throat, despite knowing such a feat was physically impossible, Darby froze, rounded on him. “I’m not madly in love with you.”
She might have feelings for Blake, but she didn’t do love. At the young age of sweet sixteen she’d learned that love hurt way too much, and credited herself with being intelligent enough not to make the same mistake twice.
“Oh?” His brow lifted again, high enough that a lock of his inky hair hid the top of the arch. “Is this a one-sided love affair, then? I’m insane for you, but you’re immune to my charms?” His lips twitched. “Or are you just using me for phenomenal sex?”
Trying not to think of phenomenal sex and Blake in the same context, Darby gulped. “You’re crazy.”
Perhaps she was crazy, too. Otherwise why would she have asked him to go to Armadillo Lake? Even forgetting how she’d deal with spending a weekend in a hotel room with him, he’d tease her mercilessly over the things he’d learn about the old Darby. She’d never live down the jokes, the puns.
“We really should get our story straight before this weekend.” He took her elbow, led her into her office, pausing only long enough to caress the heart model as they passed by the shelf. “Maybe we should practice.”
“Practice?” Darby’s ears roared. Her heart thudded, pounding wildly against her ribcage and threatening to once again leap into her throat. Her gaze dropped to his lips and the desire to practice hit so hard she thought she might faint.
Then the most brilliant idea hit her. One in which she’d risk everything—but some risks were worth taking.
CHAPTER TWO
“DO YOU even like the people you went to school with?” Blake stuck a French fry in his mouth. Although he usually ate healthily, French fries were his Achilles’ heel. The hotter and saltier the better. Thanks to the hospital cafeteria ladies knowing his vice, they always put on a fresh batch just for him.
“Of course I like them,” Darby insisted, but color rose in her cheeks. “I went to high school with them.”
“Doesn’t mean you like them.” He stuck another fry in his mouth, assuring himself the five miles he ran each morning would clear out the excessive cholesterol. “I’ve never heard you mention anyone you went to school with.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t like them. I had some good friends back in school.”
“So good that you’re bringing a fake date to impress them?”
She didn’t meet his eyes, took a sip of her water. “You should be flattered, since you get to be the impressive fake date.”
“There is that,” he mused, studying her, trying to get a feel for whatever it was she was hiding.
And Darby was hiding something.
He couldn’t put his finger on what, but something had her buzzing about the prospect of returning to Armadillo Lake.
“Tell me about your hometown.”
Her face pinched into a scowl. “Not much to tell.”
Right.
“I’m going to your reunion this weekend. Don’t you think I should know a little about your past?”
“Not really.” Her nose curled, as if she’d taken a sniff of something vile. “We’ve known each other for what—four years? What you don’t already know, you don’t need to know.”
“I disagree.” What did he know about her past? Not much. Just that she’d grown up in a small town in Alabama, gone to medical school in Knoxville, on full scholarship, and had decided to stay in Tennessee after he’d jokingly suggested opening a practice together. Surprisingly, since he hadn’t made up his mind on where he’d end up, when Darby had said yes, he’d known practicing with her was exactly what he wanted to do. Not once had he regretted that decision, and for the first time since his grandfather’s death he had roots.
“Oh?” She might have meant the word to be nonchalant, but the slight squeak gave away her anxiety.
A good person might have let the subject go, not put her on the spot, but Blake had never claimed to be good. Not in that sense, at any rate.
He zeroed in on the one name she’d let slip on the day the invitation had arrived. “I want to know more about Mandy Coulson.”
Darby sighed, rolling her eyes toward the hospital cafeteria’s ceiling. “You would want to know more about her, wouldn’t you?”
He shrugged. “She’s the only non-related person from your hometown I’ve ever heard you mention by name.”
Her eyes flashed blue fire and her chin lifted. “Trey Nix.”
Blake paused, fry midway to his mouth, dangling from his fingers. Trey Nix? “Who’s he?”
Why did he instantly dislike him?
Face full-bloom pink, Darby pretended fascination with her chicken salad, raking her fork through the half-eaten entree. “No one.”
Clearly she regretted having mentioned the name.
“No one?” He wasn’t buying that. “Then why bring him up?”
“You insisted upon another name, and I knew you wouldn’t quit until I gave you one.”
“And Trey Nix—” what kind of name was Trey Nix, anyway? “—was the person who popped into your head?”
“It’s just a name.”
Uh-huh.
“Interesting.”
Her gaze lifted to his. “What’s so interesting?”
“That you mention a sworn enemy and then a guy.” Pink blotches spread across her throat and Blake’s suspicions rose. “Were you in a love triangle with Mandy and what’s-his-name?”
“A love triangle?” She laughed. “You’re crazy.”
But the half-strangled way she said the words hinted that he’d hit the nail over the head.
“Besides I never said Mandy was my sworn enemy.”
“No?” Good thing Darby had wanted to go into medicine and not acting. Not even the most gullible bloke would buy the bull she was attempting to feed him. Not liking how his fries weighed heavily in his stomach, he waited until her gaze met his. “Who was she?”
Better still, who was Trey Nix, and what had he meant to Darby?
Setting her fork next to her plate, she arranged the utensil on the tray. “For the first fifteen years of my life Mandy was my best friend.”
Best friend? Now, there was a twist Blake hadn’t seen coming.
The cafeteria wasn’t crowded, or particularly noisy, but he had to strain to hear her next words.
“But that was before.”
“Before what?”
She shook her head. “Let’s change the subject. I’ve had enough of the past for one night, and no amount of poking or prodding from you is going to get me to say more, so let it go.”
She dug into her salad with gusto. She’d been playing with her food all evening. He doubted she was even hungry. But apparently she didn’t want to talk about Mandy and was sending a loud message for him to back off.
Her tone had switched to Darby bossy. The tone she used when he’d pushed as far as she would allow him to push.
Fine—he’d let the topic of Mandy go. For now.
“At least tell me what you expect of me this weekend.”
She paused mid-bite. Startled eyes lifted to his. “What do you mean? I told you what I expected. Just pretend you’re madly in love with me—as if I’m the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you and you can’t live without me.”
“Okay,” he said slowly, taking measure of the panic in her eyes and wondering at his own rising panic at her words. “I can do that.”
In many ways, meeting Darby was the best thing to ever happen to him.
“How long have we been dating?”
She blinked at him, as if he’d spoken in an alien tongue. “Pardon?”
“There are things inquiring minds will want to know. Questions that are usually asked when a person sees someone they haven’t seen in a while.” He gave her a pointed look. “How long have we been dating?”
“The simpler we make this, the better.” Glancing down at her plate, Darby stared at her food. “We’ll say we’ve known each other for years, but only recently became romantically involved. Let’s stick to the truth as much as possible.”
Why was she so nervous? Because she was going to see the man from her past she’d mentioned? What did it matter to Blake? He should be happy if she reconnected with some long-lost love.
Was Nix a long-lost love?
Blake’s fries threatened to stage an uprising. “The truth works for me.”
“Except that you’re in love with me,” she pointed out.
His irrational reaction to the idea of Darby having a long-lost love irritated Blake. “I got that.”
Her gaze dropping to her plate, she nodded. “I just wanted to be clear.”
“As crystal.”
Her cellphone rang. She pulled out the phone and looked at the number. Grimacing, she shoved the phone into her pocket.
“Who was that?”
“Rodney.”
Her ex? Why was he calling? “You didn’t change your mind about getting back with him?”
He hoped not. Really hoped not.
He didn’t like the idea of Darby with Rodney. She was way too good for the guy. Plus, crazy as it was, he wanted to go with her this weekend, wanted to meet Mandy. And maybe even Trey Nix, just so he could figure out what Darby’s relationship had been with the man—although he had a pretty good idea.
An idea he didn’t like any better than the idea of Rodney.
“No,” she sighed, looking tired, as if this trip home weighed heavily upon her mind.
He knew she hadn’t gone home last Christmas, but she had made the trip when her niece was born. During the four years he’d known her she’d gone home a few times a year, but never for more than a night.
“Part of me wonders if I should beg him to take me back rather than bring you to my hometown.”
No, she shouldn’t bring Rodney with her. Blake wanted to meet her family, see where she’d grown up, figure out what it was about her hometown that made a woman he admired for her confidence so unsure of herself.
Darby was his partner and she needed his help. More than she even realized. Whatever her issues were with her hometown, he’d help her. He owed her that for keeping him on task throughout his residency and the beginning of his medical career.
“I can behave myself. Even in a place named Armadillo Lake.” He chuckled, letting the name roll off his tongue. “Sounds like a fun place to grow up. Is there really a lake?”
“Yes.”
“And armadillos?”
“Yes.”
“Your school team were the Armadillos?”
She gritted her teeth. “Yes.”
“Let me guess—your school mascot was a giant armadillo?”
Gaze lowered to her plate, Darby nodded.
“Bet that went over great at football games.” He chuckled. “An armadillo.”
Darby had grown still. She looked as if she were praying he wouldn’t put two and two together. Where Darby was concerned Blake always put two and two together. He grinned.
“You were the mascot, weren’t you?”
The next morning Darby had barely climbed out of her car before Blake fell into step beside her in the clinic’s employee parking lot. “I checked on Mr. Hill this morning. He’s insisting on going home, and he’s only been there one night.”
She ignored him, just as she’d been ignoring him since he’d burst out laughing at her admission she’d once worn an armadillo suit to all major school sport events.
Not a cute little armadillo suit that showed off her legs—if such a suit even existed. No, she’d been in a full-bodied, hot-as-Hades, head-to-toe vinyl Armadillo suit that looked like something straight off a cheap Godzilla movie. And all to impress a guy—to prove that she was more than a brainy girl, that she had a sense of humor and could be fun. What had she been thinking?
“He’s giving the nurses a hard time.” With his usual persistence, Blake continued, following her down the clinic’s hallway toward their offices. “The night nurse said he pulled out his IV line. She put the line back in, and threatened to strap his hands to the bedrails if he pulls it out again.”
Darby already knew all this. She’d visited Mr. Hill, too. Blake had beaten her to the hospital, thanks to her sleeping late, but she had checked on her two patients this morning.
No wonder she’d overslept. Most of the night she’d lain in bed having nightmares about the upcoming weekend. Nightmares in which she’d shown up at the reunion not decked out to the nines as planned, in the new killer dress she’d bought, but wearing that awful armadillo suit. Trey hadn’t been the one laughing at her. Blake had been the one shaking his head, pointing his finger, not understanding her desire to fit in. Not understanding how she desperately wanted him to notice that she was alive. The truth, she’d realized, was that this weekend was more about him than her class reunion.
She’d awakened in a cold sweat, certain she’d made a grave miscalculation—that thinking she could make Blake notice her as a woman was as foolish as wearing that armadillo suit had been.
Despite having sent in her RSVP, she didn’t have to go. Most likely no one would even notice if she was there or not.
No, that wasn’t true.
Mandy would know. Wasn’t that why she’d sent Darby’s invitation late?
If she didn’t go, she was saying that she was okay with her and Blake’s relationship never being more than what it was. And, although what they had was wonderful, Darby wanted more.
She was going.
Not only was she going, but she was going to have fun.
And in the process of making Blake notice her she’d make Trey eat his heart out because he’d chosen the head cheerleader over the geeky, too-smart-to-be-understood school mascot. What had he been thinking?
She’d risen beyond her high school experiences and was a desirable woman who held the power over her life. Wasn’t that what her wannabe-shrink roommate during her first four years at university had said—making Darby repeat the phrase while looking in the mirror each morning, insisting Darby go for formal self-confidence-boosting therapy?
She was in charge of her life. Dr. Darby Phillips, a woman worthy of respect and admiration. A woman who’d come a long way from wearing a dumpy armadillo suit and longing for a man she couldn’t have.
Her gaze fell on the man keeping stride next to her.
Well, no one could accuse her classy navy pants and cream-colored blouse of looking like a scaly animal, at any rate.
“Ah, come on, Dilly, surely you aren’t still mad at me?”
Why had she told him the mascot’s name?
Blake being Blake, of course he’d tease her, call her by that name. She spun to where he’d followed her into her office.
Knocking his hand away from her plastic heart model, she straightened to her full five feet three inches and poked his thick chest. “Don’t you ever make fun of my having been an armadillo again—do you hear?”
His eyes widened slightly at her outburst, but a smile curved his full lips. “Ah, Darby, come on. I’m sure you were a cute armadillo.”
She glared. He was supposed to be groveling, shaking in fear, apologizing, not still laughing.
“Too bad I didn’t go to your school.” He tweaked her chin, his fingers sending shivers over her flesh. “I’d like to have seen you in that costume. Maybe you could wear it for me this weekend? I promise to show my school spirit.”
Couldn’t he be serious? Or at least pretend as if he felt threatened? Of course he couldn’t. Blake was one of those annoying perpetually positive folks. As much as that did annoy her at times like these, his disposition was also one of the things she liked most about him. One of the things that had always drawn her to him.
He made her laugh. Had from the moment they’d met. She’d been so serious, so determined never to let a man make a fool of her again, so focused on getting her medical degree, she’d forgotten how to laugh until she and Blake had been assigned an emergency room rotation together. She might have been up to her eyeballs in work, but one wink from Blake could reenergize her sleep-deprived body and have her smiling from the inside out.
No one had ever been able to make her feel good the way he could.
Fighting to hang on to her angry bravado, she rolled her eyes. “The only costume you need to see me in is a white lab coat.” She forced her brows into a scowl. “Isn’t it time for us to get started seeing patients?”
He sighed with exaggerated effort. “You’re in a foul mood this morning, Dilly.”
She pursed her lips, crossed her arms and glared up at him. Way up. Why had she worn flats? “No more armadillo jokes.”
She refused to back down. She didn’t want Blake seeing her in the same light Trey had. After a moment of their facing off—her feigning anger, him grinning—he nodded.
“Fine, no more school mascot jokes.” He put his fingers up in a Scout’s Honor symbol. “If I get the urge to tease you, I’ll just dill with it.”
She looked heavenward. “This isn’t funny.”
He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “From where I’m standing, it’s pretty funny.”
“Because you weren’t the one wearing that horrible suit.”
Perhaps she’d let too much of her past pain bleed through, because Blake stared at her a little too closely.
“Last I heard, folks aren’t forced to be school mascots,” he pointed out. “They volunteer for the job.”
“Well, Mr. Know-it-all, sometimes there are extenuating circumstances that cause a girl to wear ugly suits and play a fool.”
“What extenuating circumstances?” His dark eyes saw too much, and Darby fought from shifting her weight.
“It’s complicated.” Complicated? Yet another word for humiliating herself in an effort to get Trey’s attention
Looking way too serious, Blake crossed his arms in a similar stance to her own. “I’ve got time.”
There were some things that shouldn’t be repeated. Her high school blunders were just a few of them. She glanced at her watch. “I don’t. I need to see my morning patients. Bye.”
She grabbed her stethoscope and rushed from the office. Without turning to check, she could feel his gaze burning into her, could feel the heat scorching her cheeks.
She also sensed his amusement. His curiosity.
“See you later, Dilly,” he called from behind her, no doubt brushing his fingers over her heart model.
What had she been thinking when she’d told him about that wretched costume? About her nickname? Next thing she knew she’d tell him she’d been voted most likely to die a virgin and had yet to do anything to prove her classmates wrong. For a woman who prided herself on her intelligence, she sure was making a lot of stupid choices.
But there came a time when a woman had to either don an armadillo suit—or invite a man to spend a weekend in a hotel with her in hopes of being noticed or accept not registering on his radar.
As insane as her frustration was, Darby was tired of not making a bleep on Blake’s radar.
She wanted his radar bleeping. For her.
Which just went to prove how little intelligence she really had.
Bleeping on Blake’s radar would likely ruin everything she held dear, so why was she bleep, bleep, bleeping in her heart?
The closer Darby and Blake got to Armadillo Lake on Friday afternoon, the more Darby’s stomach churned.
What was wrong with her?
She should be looking forward to the opportunity to return home and show her old schoolmates they’d been wrong about her on most accounts. And she should be excited at the prospect of maybe making Blake see her as a desirable woman…
After all, hadn’t that been the idea behind her last-minute shopping trip to her favorite lingerie shop? She should be a lot of things, but she suspected if Blake wasn’t the one behind the wheel she’d turn the SUV around and head back to Tennessee pronto. For so many reasons—not the least of which was that she was afraid of what the weekend might do to her and Blake’s relationship.
But if she wanted more than what she had—and she did—she had to shake things up. Sleeping in the same bed should do that—had he even considered their sleeping arrangements when she’d invited him?
Darby stole a glance toward him and fought a very feminine sigh of appreciation. God, he was breathtaking. And, for the weekend, he was all hers.
“You’ve barely spoken the last thirty miles of our drive.”
“You’ve talked enough for the both of us,” she pointed out.
He had. Blake could carry on a conversation with a stump. His gift of the gab was a trait she envied. Although she’d taken classes to help her overcome her shyness, she’d been introverted for the earlier years of her life. She hadn’t wanted to be shy, but when you preferred to have your nose stuck in a book than to drive into Pea Ridge to cruise the shopping mall—well, popularity wasn’t your middle name.
“Didn’t your mom tell you not to do that? Your face might get stuck like that.”
Designer aviator glasses protected Blake’s eyes from the blazing sunshine brightening their drive. If the manufacturer could hire him to model those shades, they’d sell billions. He made them look that good.
“Like what?” she asked, thinking life was unfair if one man could have been blessed with so many talents. Looks, intelligence, wit. Yet, Blake wasn’t one of those men who walked around thinking he was a million bucks. Despite his teasing about his many charms, he was one of the most genuine persons she knew. Actually, he was the most genuine person she knew. What you saw was what you got.
She liked what she saw way too much.
“Like we just drove past another chicken barn with the windows down.”
Darby bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. Not long after they’d crossed the Alabama state line Blake had rolled down the windows to experience some fresh country air. He’d gotten fresh country air, all right.
“Most likely we did pass another one.”
This time it was his face that wrinkled—him who looked like he might need to pull the SUV over.
“I’ll never eat chicken again.”
Darby laughed out loud. “There are chicken barns in Tennessee. So don’t tell me you’d never experienced a chicken barn up close and personal before.”
“Apparently I’m still a city boy at heart,” he admitted unashamedly. “From the car is as up close and personal as I want to get to a barn of any type. Especially one as foul as what we smelt earlier.”
“Foul?” Shaking her head at his double entendre, Darby laughed again. Just as well she wasn’t planning to take him with her when she dropped in on her folks tonight.
Her stomach jerked again. No doubt her brothers and their wives would start pushing for her to move home. They always did. Her family hadn’t been able to understand why she’d been so driven to leave Armadillo Lake, to get her degree and make something of herself, to see the world. They especially hadn’t understood when her plans to join a traveling medical program had taken a one-eighty turn and she’d stayed in Knoxville.
Then again, they’d never met Blake.
“What were you thinking about that made you scowl?”
She should have known he wouldn’t let her change the subject. He rarely did.
“About the reunion.”
He glanced away from the road just long enough for her gaze to meet the mirrored lenses that hid his eyes. He shook his head in confusion. “Most people look forward to high school reunions, to catching up with their old classmates, seeing who married who, who has the most kids, who gained forty pounds, who still has their hair.”
“Yeah, well.” She turned to stare out the window at the growing all too familiar landscape, her belly lurching. “I’m not most people, City Boy.”
“That you’re not.” He chuckled, then surprised her by reaching across the gap between their seats and taking her hand into his.
Clasping their fingers together, he squeezed.
Her belly gave another jolt, a much larger one than before, and she faced him.
“No worries, Darby. Whatever it is that has you wound so tightly about this weekend, everything is going to be fine. You’re going to dazzle all your old classmates with your intelligence, success, beauty, and especially with your impressive date.” Smiling, he briefly dipped his head, glancing at her from above the rim of his shades. His black eyes bored into her. “I promise.”
The warmth emanating from Blake’s hand to hers almost made her believe everything would be all right concerning the reunion—that every fantasy she’d ever had of returning to Armadillo Lake and making everyone eat armadillo…er…crow, would come true.
Regarding the way every single cell in her body surged to life at how his hand still held hers, at how much she liked his hand holding hers, at how many hopes she had pinned to their spending the weekend together—well, that was another matter altogether.
CHAPTER THREE
FOR the dozenth time since they’d arrived at the Armadillo Lake Lodge, Darby stared at the queen-sized bed monopolizing the standard hotel room.
“Forget it,” Blake warned, stepping next to her. His hands rested on his lean hips as he stared at the bed, too. “I’m not sleeping in a chair.”
He thought she wanted him out of the bed? What would he say if she admitted to having been imagining the two of them there? To wondering what it would be like to spend the entire weekend in bed with him? Laughing, playing…something more…?
He’d probably laugh and tell her to be serious.
She sighed, shaking the bottle of fruity disinfectant she’d sprayed onto the top of the gaudy brown and orange comforter that likely had been in use since the lodge had first opened.
“I didn’t say you had to sleep in a chair.”
If they didn’t share the bed, news would spread like wildfire. This was Armadillo Lake. Everyone knew everyone’s business. After cleaning the room, Gertrude Johnson would no doubt spill the juicy tidbit to anyone who’d listen. The Johnsons had run the only hotel within a thirty-mile radius for as long as Darby could remember. If not for the tearoom that served as the town’s only “nice” restaurant, and the large ballroom that hosted all major town events, the place would likely have gone out of business years ago. Armadillo Lake didn’t attract many tourists.
Just unsuspecting women returning for their high school reunion while trying to convince the man of her dreams that she was the woman of his dreams. No biggie.
She turned to look at him. Despite their six-hour drive, he looked crisp. Not a wrinkle on the gorgeous man’s khaki shorts that fell to just above his knees, nor on his expensive polo shirt. Just once she’d like to see him rumpled.
Her gaze shot back to the bed.
Okay, so she wanted to rumple him and rumple him thoroughly. More than once. A girl could dream, couldn’t she?
She swallowed.
She had to quit this fantasy stuff. Blake was here to help her. If their near proximity helped him see her as a female, then so be it—but she didn’t plan to throw herself at him. Either Blake wanted a relationship with her or he didn’t.
Her gaze fell on the bed again.
“The bed’s plenty big for the both of us. We’ll share.” She narrowed her eyes to what she hoped were menacing slits. “You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine.”
“Dibs on the top side.”
“Fine, you can have that top side, and I’ll take this top side.” She pointed to the side of the bed closest to the bathroom for herself.
“That wasn’t exactly what I meant.” He laughed, watching her lift the comforter and spray disinfectant between the sheets and on the underside of the comforter. “You’re the only person I know who disinfects hotel room beds.”
Darby shrugged. She wasn’t exactly a germ-a-phobe. But she’d seen one too many television specials about what crawled around in hotel room beds not to come prepared, and she always brought her own pillow.
“Here.” She tossed the spray bottle to him. “You’re a big boy. Disinfect your own side.”
Catching the bottle, he grinned. She turned to unpacking her clothes. Holding her breath, she pulled a black lacy number from her suitcase and dropped it into the drawer she’d also disinfected.
She glanced up in time to see Blake’s gaze following her movements as she dropped another pair of tiny panties into the drawer.
His feet shifted. He swallowed. He tugged on the collar of his polo shirt.
When his gaze met hers, Darby had no doubts.
If this weekend accomplished nothing else, Blake had just realized she was a woman.
A woman who had a predilection for fancy undergarments.
In that moment, Blake wanted her.
She’d wanted him always.
Now what? Could her fantasies become realities, or would her hopes only lead to disaster?
Still fighting his reaction to the skimpy silk scraps Darby had pulled from her suitcase, Blake hung his clothes in the hotel room’s tiny closet.
All these years he’d never known she had a penchant for sexy lingerie.
But why would he have known? They didn’t have that type of relationship. Not one where they discussed boxers or briefs, granny whites or spidery webs of black silk. They were business partners—and he’d be a wise man to remember that instead of wondering how that tangled lace would look hugging her bottom.
The sound of something falling to the bathroom floor was followed by Darby mumbling something he couldn’t make out through the closed door.
Pausing at the closet, he eyed his suit, hanging side-by-side next to Darby’s brilliant blue dress. He reached out, ran his fingertips over the soft material of her dress.
Maybe he should pretend to sleep in the chair.
Pretend because even if the curved wooden chair that was designed more for looks than comfort was the most comfortable chair in the world there was no way he’d rest with Darby sleeping in the same room.
He hadn’t thought doing this favor would be a big deal, but he’d never spent the weekend in a hotel with a beautiful woman he wasn’t having sex with.
He sure hadn’t ever slept in a bed with a woman he wasn’t having sex with.
Especially when he wanted to be having sex with that woman.
But sex with Darby could never be just sex.
She was his business partner, his friend, someone he cared about.
All reasons why sex wasn’t a good idea.
As much as he wanted to see Darby in those tiny bits of silk, sex between them would ruin everything. Darby didn’t do casual sex, and Blake didn’t do anything but.
The bathroom door opened. Blake faced the woman he’d just been imagining in her underwear. Again. Trapped steam from her recent shower kissed his skin—or maybe that was sweat from his thoughts of what she had on underneath her clothes. She’d changed into a pair of white shorts that showed off her toned legs and a trendy top that showcased her full breasts and made her waist look tiny. Dampness clung to the hair at the base of her neck. The rest of her blonde hair was clipped by a toothed hairpiece that could double as a torture device.
“I’ll be back in a few hours.” Her eyes didn’t meet his. “Don’t wait up.”
Which of those silk numbers did she wear beneath her clothes?
He swallowed, trying to dislodge the brick stuck in his throat. Granny panties, Blake. She’s wearing big, ugly granny panties. Just keep telling yourself that and eventually you’ll forget what you saw, what you want to see wrapped around Darby’s curvy body.
“Blake?” Her forehead wrinkled with concern. “You okay?”
Okay? No, he wasn’t okay. His imagination was working overtime. What she’d said registered in his lingerie intoxicated mind.
“If you’re going out, I’m going with you.” Wherever she was going, she wasn’t leaving him in the hotel room. With her underwear and his over-active imagination. Hell, no.
“No.” Her tone held full Darby bossiness. “You’re not.”
“If you think I’m sitting in a hotel room alone while you go out, think again.” He closed the closet door, for once not appreciating her bossy attitude. “Where are you going anyway?”
“To my parents’, and you’re not going. End of discussion. ”
Her parents? Of course. Darby’s family lived here. Just because his mother made moving house a hobby that didn’t mean normal families changed addresses on an annual rotation. Why hadn’t he considered that she’d want to visit while in Armadillo Lake?
“I’m coming with you,” he said matter-of-factly, knowing he’d win this argument, “and you should be grateful.”
Bingo. She lifted confused eyes to his. “Huh?”
He gave a smug smile. “How will it look if the man who is madly in love with you doesn’t go to meet your parents? Tsk, tsk, Darby,” he scolded, crossing his arms. “You’re the one who said you wanted this to appear real. Twiddling my thumbs in our hotel room while you visit with the family doesn’t work.”
He watched the unhappy realization that he was right wash over her heart-shaped face, watched as she searched for a feasible argument, summarily dismissing each one.
“I don’t want you to go.” She dropped onto the bed in an unladylike flounce that had visions of skimpy underwear flashing in his brain again. “My parents don’t know you’re with me. But they do know I’m here.” Her voice had taken on an unfamiliar whiny tone. “I have to go, but you can’t go with me.”
“Did you plan to hide me away in the hotel while you snuck in the obligatory visit with the family?” The guilt on her face said that was exactly what she’d intended. “I’m an easygoing guy, Darby, you know that. But I’m not doing room service while you go to your parents.” He frowned. “We’ve been partners for almost a year and I’ve never met your family. Why is that?”
She’d met his mother on the rare occasions Cecelia had dropped by Knoxville for a visit. But he hadn’t met a single person from Darby’s pre-Knoxville life. Not even at the grand opening of their clinic.
“Fine. You can come.” She stood, eyed him as if she’d rather kiss a sewer rat than introduce him to her family. “But just remember you insisted upon going and that I was going to spare you the drama.” Then her eyes took on a delighted spark. “Oh, and by the way, City Boy, there are chicken barns. Four of them. Hope you’re real hungry for some of my momma’s chicken and dumplings. Mmm, chicken.”
Darby winced. No, her mother hadn’t really just pulled up her shirt to ask Blake’s opinion on the “bug bites” on her abdomen. Not at the dining room table. Not with the entire family present. Not while they were eating dinner.
Yep, Nellie Phillips had.
To his credit, Blake was taking her family—all twenty-two of them present and accounted for, and sitting at various places throughout the farmhouse—in his stride. Actually, he seemed amused by the chaos that was a permanent fixture at the Phillips home.
Standing there with her floral print shirt pulled up, her mother revealed a tiny sliver of thick white cotton and a wide expanse of pale white skin, marred only by the bright red vesicles clustered over her lower ribcage and wrapping around her trunk on her left side.
Concern replacing her mortification, Darby squinted at the “bug bites”. “Are you sure something bit you?”
Blake examined the rash. “Looks more like Herpes Zoster.”
Darby agreed. Those angry clusters were isolated to a single dermatome, and hadn’t been caused by an insect.
“Herpes Zoster? Is that serious?” one of her brothers asked, leaning toward his mother for a closer look. “See, Mom, I told you to let me drive you into Pea Ridge to be checked.”
Nellie gave Jim a silencing look. “Don’t be silly. Herpes Zoster is a fancy term for shingles.”
“Shingles?” Darby’s dad spoke up from where he sat in his honored spot at the head of the table. He lowered his glass of iced tea and scratched his graying head. “Earl Johnson from down the road—you remember him, Darby? You used to clean house for him? He had shingles early in the spring. Had me kill my rooster for him.”
Knowing Blake didn’t want to hear about old wives’ tale remedies for certain ailments, Darby scooted her chair closer to the table and reached for the bowl of fried potatoes. “Mom, how long have you had the rash? Are you taking anything to help dry it up?”
“Tell Darby about those spells you’ve been having.”
Darby’s gaze cut from her mother to her oldest brother and back again. “What spells?”
Her mother waved her hand. “No big deal. Just a few twinges of pain. I thought from the bug bites.”
Concern sparked in Darby’s chest. “What kind of pain? Haven’t you been feeling well?”
“I’m fine. Fit as a fiddle.” Darby’s mother didn’t meet her eyes, but instead passed a bowl full of greens to Blake. “I remember my mother having shingles. She had a lot of pain even after the rash disappeared, complained with her side hurting for months.”
“Pain is normal with shingles.” Blake accepted the bowl, staring at the contents with speculative eyes. He tentatively dipped out a small spoonful. “You should schedule an appointment with your doctor to get on an anti-viral and some pain medication.”
“I don’t like pills. Never have.” Nellie smiled at Blake. “I’m like my mother that way.”
Darby’s niece came running into the kitchen, squealing that her brother had spilled his juice. Rosy jumped up to check on the spill, but Nellie placed her hand on her daughter-in-law’s arm. “Let me.”
Darby followed her mother into the living room and helped clean the juice puddle.
Watching her mother, Darby noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes. Dark circles she hadn’t really noticed—probably because she’d been so distracted with worrying about Blake and his reaction to her family, worrying about her family’s reaction to Blake. She also noticed the fatigue plaguing her mother’s face, the deepening wrinkles, the slight tremble to her hand when she wiped the towel across the floor.
Her mother had shingles. Not the end of the world, but how long had she been suffering, ignoring the pain? Why hadn’t she let Jim drive her to Pea Ridge to be checked? Why hadn’t she mentioned the rash to Darby when they’d talked on the phone earlier in the week? Even if her mother didn’t understand why she’d become a doctor, why she’d had to get away from Armadillo Lake, she knew she was a darn good one.
When they’d wiped up the last of the juice from the scuffed hardwood floor, Darby met her mother’s gaze and felt as if she was five years old.
“Mom,” she began, before they stepped back into the kitchen, “you didn’t have to ask Blake about your rash. I would have checked it for you.”
“Nonsense.” Re-entering the kitchen, her mother waved her hand. “He’s a real doctor.” She shot an admiring glance toward where Blake sat talking with Darby’s father. “No sense in you having to worry yourself over some little rash.”
A real doctor. What was she? A pretend one?
Darby sighed.
Might as well be, since she was faking everything else this weekend.
Blake didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to see that Darby was irritated with most of her family.
As the youngest of five children, and the only girl, her family treated her as if she were incapable of doing anything for herself. At each point Darby attempted to do something, even if it was only to refill her glass of tea, someone jumped in and did the task for her. Couldn’t they see what a talented young woman she’d grown into? How much their attitude annoyed her?
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