Midnight Remedy (10 page)

“It scared me,” she said tightly. “When Grandpa had that angina earlier this summer, I realized he’s not going to be around forever. Then, when Sam called me today
 . . .
I
 . . .
I thought he’d had a heart attack.” Her blue eyes glistening with unshed tears, she looked up at Eric. “You probably think I’m a fool, that I’m overreacting.”

“No, of course I don’t.” He patted her back soothingly. “It could have been much worse, enough to frighten anyone.”

“But you said he was fine, and now I’m
 . . .
” She sniffled. “Crying like an idiot.”

“It’s perfectly normal to react this way.”

For a moment she stayed silent and then she sniffed again. “Thanks.” She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, which made him smile.

“Anytime.” His hand lingered on her shoulder. Though she looked better, her eyes were still anxious. She swayed toward him slightly. Suddenly comfort was the last thing on his mind. All he could think of was what it had been like when he’d kissed her the night before. And what it would be like when he kissed her again.

With static filled tones, the intercom postponed whatever he might have done. “Dr. Chambers, your next appointment’s here.”

“Typical,” he muttered. “Be right there, Effie.” Regretfully, he dropped his hand. “Better now?”

A nod. “Yes. Well, I’ll let you get to work.”

“Have Charlie make an appointment with Effie in a week to remove the stitches. See you later.”

“All right. Eric?”

He waited, his hand on the doorknob.

“Thank you. If I’d had to go to Alpine
 . . .
”

“He would have been fine, Piper. But I’m glad I was here.” Tempted to cancel his next appointment, he forced himself to leave.

It took her a day to work up the courage,
but Piper asked Eric to dinner. As a thank you for caring for Charlie, she assured herself. It had nothing to do with wanting to see him again. She was simply being polite.

Lasagna. The layered, mouth-wateringly rich beauty of it always charmed her, enough so that even though it was time-consuming to assemble, she liked making it. It was perfect, every calorie-laden inch of it waiting to be savored, indulged in, rolled over the tongue like a fine wine.

The phone rang and she tracked it to the bookshelf in the living room, sandwiched between the latest mystery bestseller and a book detailing organic pesticides. After hanging up, she absently set it down on the top of the TV and walked back to the kitchen. Horrified, she stared at the sight before her. Jumbo, his gargantuan paws planted firmly on the drain board, slurped up her prizewinning lasagna with tail-wagging enthusiasm.

“Jumbo, get down!” Grabbing a roll of paper towels, she whacked him on the head with it. Jumbo’s bushy tail brushed against her leg as he buried his snout more deeply into doggie nirvana. “Miserable mongrel!” She jerked on his collar with one hand and rained paper blows on his rocklike head with the other. Jumbo raised his head and belched.

“Oh, my beautiful lasagna.” She moaned, almost in tears. Then she wrenched the dish out from under Jumbo’s rampaging mouth and threw it in the sink.

Tongue lolling, his snout covered in tomato sauce and cheese, the dog regarded her hopefully. “You should at least have the decency to look contrite,” she said as she shoved him back outside. He stood at the back door and barked loudly.

Hurriedly she set about making another casserole, but everything that went right with the first one went wrong with the second. Assembled, it looked like dog food hash, but it would have to do. The important thing was that it tasted good, she comforted herself. At four-thirty, she covered it with plastic wrap, slid it into the refrigerator, and left to salvage what she could out of the potting schedule she’d abandoned that morning.

Two hours later she rushed into the house, having forgotten again about the broken clock in the greenhouse. “Grandpa,” she shouted on her way through the living room, where Charlie sat watching TV, “put the lasagna in the oven for me. I’m late.”

“Now, Piper, you know I can’t cook worth a durn.”

“Three seventy-five. Just pop it in, okay?”

No shirts, dammit. Why hadn’t she ironed yesterday? Naked and dripping, she stood in front of her closet and wished she dared wear a dress, but Charlie would never let her hear the end of it, and Cole was likely to say something about why she was so dressed up. It was enough of a novelty that she’d invited a man to dinner.

When the doorbell rang at precisely seven, Piper plastered a smile on her face, rubbed damp palms over her shorts and swung open the door. The words of greeting died on her lips. He wore a pair of stonewashed jeans and a crisp blue and white seersucker shirt sporting two huge, muddy paw prints on either side of his chest. One knee of his jeans was muddy, indicating he’d tried to protect himself with no success. Considering he was irritated as the dickens, she thought he looked quite handsome.

“Oh, Eric, I’m sorry,” she said, trying not to laugh. “Jumbo’s on my list too.”

His look of irritation vanished in a reluctant grin. “It’ll wash.” He handed her a bottle of wine. “I hope red’s okay. You didn’t tell me what we were having.”

The evening continued as it had begun. When they sat down to eat, Cole pulled his routine of not wanting his dinner. Once Piper tasted the lasagna, she couldn’t blame him. The only seasoning she’d remembered had been the salt
 . . .
which she’d remembered at least two or three times.

“Ooh, gross. What is this?” Cole asked, tearing away a clear stringy substance from the top of the casserole.

Piper stared at it and turned to glare at Charlie. “Didn’t you take the plastic wrap off before you put it in the oven?”

Eric choked.

“Nope. You didn’t tell me to,” Charlie said with relish. “I
told
you I couldn’t cook.”

“Oh for
 . . .
that’s not cooking, it’s common sense. Everyone knows to take the plastic wrap off before you cook it.”

“I didn’t.”

The smug smile on his face made her want to bop him.

Without a tremor in his voice, Eric said, “We can just scrape it aside, Piper. It’s not a problem.”

She transferred her gaze to him. Ordinarily she had a good sense of humor. Ordinarily she’d have found this funny. Tonight she found the whole race of men a pain in the behind. That damned dog was male too. “Dessert is ice cream,” she said, daring them to say a word. “Store bought.”

“Yum, ice cream,” Cole said, happy at last.

After a rousing video game, Piper dragged Cole off to bed, leaving her grandfather to entertain Eric. When she came back, both of them were sound asleep, Charlie in his easy chair and Eric on the couch. She woke her grandfather and he went to bed.

A smile hovering on her mouth, Piper walked to the couch. Now there’s an ego booster, she thought. Invite him to dinner and he falls asleep halfway through the evening. Studying him, she decided he wasn’t to-die-for good-looking. Not that he was ugly. Far from it. Sleep, however, hid some things about him. Such as his eyes, undoubtedly one of his best features. They changed with his mood, reminding her of the color of African violet leaves when they were gray and Jade plants when they were green. Very expressive, and, she thought ruefully, not a little seductive. His face was lean, and even-featured, like his personality. His even temperament held a reassuring appeal. But his jaw—that was square, strong, and unless she was terribly mistaken, stubborn.

Even though he was tall and lanky, his shoulders were broad, and his chest was surprisingly hard, she remembered. With a lot more muscle than was readily apparent. She knew exactly when she’d become aware of that too. The first time he held her against him and kissed her, that’s when.

Stop it
, she told herself.
You’re standing here practically salivating over the man while he’s asleep, like a Venus fly-trap lying in wait for the fly.

“Eric.” She put a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. He didn’t move a muscle. “Wake up.” This time she shook harder. He turned his head against the cushion and mumbled something. Her hand poised to try again, she thought about how tired he’d looked earlier. Sighing, she went to find a blanket.

Three hours later, in her quest for a sleeping aid, she wandered through the living room. She almost jumped out of her skin when she heard Eric call her name. “You scared me to death. I thought you were asleep,” she said softly, walking over to the couch. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” In the light thrown by the moon streaming into the window she could see his smile.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Do you do this often?” she asked him, grinning.

“Only when I haven’t slept in three days. It’s a talent, being able to fall asleep anywhere. During my residency I used to do it all the time.” He yawned. “My ex-wife hated it.”

“What’s she like?” Piper asked, before she thought.

“Dawn?” He considered that a minute. “Beautiful,” he said slowly. “Un
 . . .
” He halted and shook his head.

If he hadn’t been half-asleep, Piper imagined, he probably would have dodged that question entirely. She wondered what he’d been about to say, but it was plain he didn’t want to talk about his marriage. “Why haven’t you slept?”

Eric patted the couch beside him. “Why don’t you have a seat and share some of that milk?”

Not a good idea, she thought, eying his form stretched out along the length of the sofa. She sat anyway, assuring herself she could handle whatever feelings he provoked. “Help yourself,” she said, handing him the glass.

“First, my sister had twins.” He took a deep drink of the milk. “I flew out to Dallas a few days ago to see them. Dr. Forrest could only cover me for a day, and when I returned I had a baby to deliver and an older lady who thought she’d broken her hip.” After another drink he handed her back the milk.

“Gee thanks,” she said, looking at the nearly empty glass. “Billie Mae Stubblefield had her baby?”

“How did you know? Oh, never mind. I forgot about small towns. Yeah, a boy.”

“And the broken hip was Laura Simmons, right?”

“Not broken. But it took all night in the Alpine hospital to figure that out.”

Piper set the glass down on the coffee table. “I guess I’d better go to bed.”

“And I should leave, since I’m awake. Speaking of that, why didn’t you wake me up and kick me out?”

“You’ve got to be kidding. You sleep like the dead.”

“Sorry,” he said. He didn’t look sorry, he looked
 . . .
oh, Lord, he looked like he was going to kiss her. His hand slid into her hair and he let it tangle over his fingers. “Such beautiful hair,” he murmured. Her hair trailed over his arm and he rubbed his thumb gently over her lower lip.

Her blood began a slow heat, a simmer toward boiling. She tried to catch her breath, and couldn’t.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked her softly.

“You probably should.” The words came out in a whisper.

“But I asked if you wanted me to.”

He held her gaze. She wished that she were a young, carefree, innocent girl again. That she didn’t know what could happen when she got caught up in her emotions. But she was a woman now, with needs long denied, sitting in the moonlight with a man she found much too attractive for her own good. “No,” she finally said. “I don’t want you to leave.”

He exerted pressure on the back of her neck until her lips hovered within inches of his. “Kiss me good night, Piper.”