Coming Home (2 page)

Maybe that’s why she didn’t have room to really love anybody else.

"I have to say, I was surprised that you managed to squeeze time out of your busy schedule to play the dutiful daughter. Whatever will the Baltimore snobs do without you?"

Her dark brown eyes snapped with animosity but Wyatt held her gaze. His mind tried to open up and flood him with memories of the feel of her skin on each delicate curve of her face, and the fine line of her mouth. He thrust the thoughts out of his head.

"I'll take a cab."

"Be my guest," he drawled. "I just thought you were in a hurry. Most taxis aren't lining up outside at this time of night. But, I guess if you don't mind waiting around...."

Frustration rolled off her in heavy waves, and Wyatt nearly regretted baiting her. Nearly.

"All right. Just get me there," she ordered.

Wyatt took Nicole’s bag out of her hand, and walked toward the baggage claim area. He didn’t trust himself to stand and talk to her any longer. The temptation to grab her by the shoulders and shake the hell out of her was too overwhelming. The woman was in turmoil, in the midst of a tragedy. His own righteous fury would just have to wait. After all, he’d waited eleven years, hadn’t he?

Besides, he knew if he grabbed her to shake her, he just might haul her against his chest, and kiss the snarl off her full lips. Wyatt didn’t really know who to hate more for that realization--Nicole, or himself.

He didn’t notice if she followed, though he assumed she would. No way could he allow her to lead the way. He couldn’t trust himself to look at her. She was a blow to his senses. Little Nicole, who’d grown from a pest to a pretty teenager, who’d blossomed like a flower opening to the rays of the sun in his arms...had turned into a damned beautiful woman. She hadn’t grown an inch in height since he’d last laid eyes on her. The top of her head would still come to rest just under his chin, and, against his own will, he remembered how she’d press her lips to the base of his throat when they’d stood just that way.

But her figure had definitely changed. She’d outgrown her skinny, gawky teenage years, and her clothes clung to her curvy body. He wasn’t prepared for that. Wyatt still carried in his mind the image of her when they’d first become lovers. She’d been sweet and innocent, worried he wouldn’t be pleased with her slender young form, trying to cover her nakedness with her long hair as she lay in the moonlight and waited for him. He, nearly as inexperienced and as unsure as she, trying to reassure her, drinking in her beauty as he swept aside the long tresses.

Her hair was shorter now, falling just past her shoulders in a simple cut. He’d heard she’d made it as a vet, and figured the style suited her work and her lifestyle. She looked sophisticated, intelligent, and competent.

Too bad
, he thought, dashing the painful memories of their first romantic encounter out of his mind. He’d half-hoped she’d turned into a frumpy hag.

The airport was about a forty minute drive from Windover, the small town where Nicole's father lived, but her Dad was at a large hospital in Gainesville. Silence hung heavily in the cab of the pickup during the drive. The tension between them was thick enough to spread on toast. With each mile, Nicole stared out the window, willing herself to ignore the man in the much-too-close driver's seat. She'd come to Florida for one reason. For Dad. To hell with Wyatt Clayton.

“So, from what your father says, you went ahead and became a veterinarian, just like you always said you would,” he finally said after about ten minutes of silence.

Nicole nodded wordlessly, still wondering why Wyatt, of all people, had been the one to come pick her up. She would have thought he wouldn’t have had the nerve to face her. Of course, one thing Wyatt could never be accused of lacking was nerve.

“Guess that’s appropriate. You always cared a heck of a lot more for animals than people.”

“Animals don't set out to betray and destroy each other," she replied softly, even as she flinched at his harsh words.

"Tell that to the zebra taken down by the lion," he shot back.

"That's called self-preservation."

"Yeah, you've had a lot of experience with that."

"Only out of necessity," Nicole said as she glared at him.

She curled closer to the passenger side door of the truck as if putting physical distance between them could diminish the anger hanging in the air. Though offended by his accusations, a part of her was also hurt by his bitterness. The change in him was dramatic. He had been so full of laughter as a young man. Now the frown he’d worn since he picked her up led her to believe he never smiled anymore. And, goodness, his smile had been something to see in those days.

Wyatt Clayton had been hell on wheels as a teenager, a grandchild of the richest man in Windover. His photograph could have been in Webster's next to the word "heartbreaker". Wyatt could charm his way out of any mess, and into the good graces of any female within a thirty mile radius. Nicole at seventeen had been completely unable to resist that charm. What if she had? What might have happened in her life if she'd never fallen so desperately in love at such a young age?

Honestly, she didn’t want to think about it. Everything that had happened, every step she’d taken, had led her down the path that had brought her to the good life she had now. So, no, she wouldn’t change, wouldn’t step off that path if she had the chance to go back and do it all again.

Well…perhaps she’d harden her heart a little before that one fateful step when she’d been seventeen. The end result would be the same, but oh, God, did she wish it hadn’t hurt as much.

“So, do you take care of rich ladies poodles and parakeets?”

She heard the disdain in his voice and felt annoyance crawl through her. “No. Large animals. Most of my 'patients' run at Pimlico.” She caught him glance out the corner of his eye in surprise. “What? You think because I’m a woman that I’d only be qualified to treat small animals? Good grief, didn’t seeing me tromping through hay and muck with Dad teach you anything about me when we were younger?”

Wyatt stared at her intently for one brief moment. “I thought I knew you very well. I had plenty of lessons to teach me all about Nicole Ross.”

He turned his eyes back to the road and Nicole sat heavily in her seat. Indeed, he had known her very well. Against her own will she found her mind flooded with memories of lazy summer afternoons she and Wyatt spent picking oranges in the groves. And hot summer nights sneaking into his grandfather’s pool for a midnight swim. On one such endless night he’d tried to convince her to skinny dip, sliding the thin straps of her bikini over each shoulder and kissing a path down her neck and over her breast as he bared her skin in the cool water.

“No,” she said, forcing the sultry images from her mind.

“No, what?”

They pulled up in front of the hospital. Nicole nearly sighed in relief that she’d soon be able to escape from the close confines of his truck. She remained silent for a moment, then said, “No, you don’t know a damn thing about me.”

Not waiting for a response, she opened the door to step out into the thick Florida night. Heat assaulted her. It was nearly one a.m., but the air was still heavy and hot, with that not-totally-unpleasant smell found only in the south. A mixture of citrus, flowers, paper mills and suntan oil, her father had once said.

As they walked across the parking lot, Nicole shrugged off her suit jacket and draped it over her arm. The green silk blouse she wore beneath was sleeveless. She knew she'd probably soon be chilly in the air conditioned building, but as they entered the lobby of the modern-looking hospital, she silently savored the cool relief.

"Your father's in the cardiac intensive care unit," Wyatt said. "It's on the fourth floor."

As they walked to the elevator, Wyatt tried not to look too closely at Nicole. He figured she must have been uncomfortable in that expensive, tailored jacket she wore. He wished she'd kept it on. It was bad enough that the skirt was too short and caught his eye again and again during the endless ride from the airport. Now, the sleeveless, silky blouse she wore outlined every curve of her body and was damned distracting. The last thing Wyatt Clayton wanted was to be distracted by Nicole Ross. How could he be distracted by the one woman who’d ever broken his heart?

"You don't have to stay," she said in a tight voice as they boarded the elevator.

"What would you suggest I do with your suitcase? Dump it in the parking lot?"

She flushed lightly, obviously realizing how rude she'd sounded. "I'm sorry. I’m not thinking clearly right now," she admitted.

He knew the apology was difficult for her.

“Thank you for picking me up,” she added.

"Forget it. I was the one who dragged your father out into my stables in the middle of a stifling hot day. I can help out.”

She nodded. When they reached the fourth floor, she rushed out of the elevator before the door had fully opened. "My name is Nicole Ross, my father was brought in here today," Nicole said as she approached a woman standing at a nurse's station.

"Yes, he is in unit eight. But, I'm sorry. Patients in the CICU are only allowed one visitor for ten minutes every hour. Someone just visited with him forty minutes ago. A Miss Sanchez? I believe she went down to the coffee shop," the woman replied with an impersonal smile.

Nicole looked like she wanted to punch something. She began to protest when Wyatt took her by the arm and said, "Settle down, Nicole. They make these rules for the good of the patients, not the convenience of the family members."

Nicole sighed, silently acknowledging he was right. "So how is my father?" she asked the nurse. "What is his condition?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the woman said apologetically, "I can't give you much information. I'm sure the doctor will be up to speak with you shortly."

Obviously frustrated and impatient, Nicole went to the ladies room, then returned to pace the corridor a few times. Leaning against a fake stone column near the elevator, Wyatt watched her, understanding the pain and stress she felt, but certainly not in any position to comfort her.

"If you're so crazy about your father, why'd you refuse to ever come visit him?" Wyatt finally asked when she paused to take a drink from the water fountain.

Nicole straightened immediately, wiping some cold water off her cheek with the back of her hand. She glared at him. "Aside from the fact that you of all people should know the answer to that question, it's really none of your business."

He didn't reply, because she was right on the one hand—it was none of his business. But as for the other? Honestly, he had no idea. He couldn’t imagine that their teenage fling, which obviously hadn’t meant much to her, had been enough to keep her from visiting a much-loved parent. But what the hell did he know about kids and parents? He’d certainly never experienced much of anything like love from his own.

Nicole knew she was stalking around the waiting room like a shark circling chum, which was pretty funny since Wyatt had been the great white who’d taken a huge bite out of her heart. Part of her wished he’d leave. Another part wanted someone else who cared about her father—as she knew Wyatt did—to be here with her.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the nurse told her she could go in. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she slowly made her way through the unit to her father's bed. Nicole bit her lip uncertainly. Machinery surrounded him, beeping and glowing, with numbers and lines that made her think of hospital shows on television. She felt sick thinking of what that line on the heart monitor meant, wondering how she'd handle it if the slow, weak little jerks on the screen suddenly went flat.

"Dad?" she said quietly as she moved to his bedside.

Her father's eyes were closed. His face looked thin and pale, much older than his fifty-nine years. Beneath the bed covers his strong body appeared smaller, but she told herself it was her imagination.

Finally, he stirred. "Nicky, baby?"

"Yes, Dad, it's me," she said, forcing a weak smile to her face as he opened his eyes and stared up at her.

"Such a fuss," he whispered. "Didn't mean for you to be dragged down here."

She shook her head, and bent to gently kiss his forehead. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be right now. And I’ll stay here just as long as it takes to make sure you are healthy and home where you belong."

Even if staying here meant doing something she’d avoided for more many years: dealing with Wyatt Clayton.

While Nicole visited her father, Wyatt waited outside the CICU. The pretty nurse at the desk tried to engage him in conversation a few times. He barely responded, busy wondering how Nicole was holding up next to her father's sickbed.

"Are you a family member?" the nurse asked with a smile.

"No. Just a friend of the Ross's. From way back."

Way, way back.

As far back as he could remember Wyatt had known Doc Ross. It seemed the man had been at the Clayton ranch for every major event the family had ever experienced, from the birth of Charlemaine, who had gone on to win the Derby, to the death of Prince Pride, who could have one day been a champion.