Dr Di Angelo's Baby Bombshell (3 page)

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 re-energize 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 manufac
turer 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.

F
OR
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.”