His Medicine Woman. Stella Bagwell

her into his arms and tell her how much he loved her, wanted her, needed her. But since that was never going to happen, she might as well settle for a simple breakfast.

      “All right.”

      While he was putting away the groceries and gathering the things for her meal, Bridget tried to relax and rest. God only knew how exhausted she was, but being in Johnny’s presence made unwinding her coiled nerves impossible. In spite of her orders to look at the walls, the floor, the cabinets, her gaze insisted on fixing itself to him. With his back to her, it made it doubly easy for her to stare and measure the faint changes she could see against the vivid memories she’d carried with her for all these years.

      Time had only made him more of a man, she recognized. Hard muscle now bulked his shoulders, arms and legs, while his bronze features were honed to lean, tough perfection. She didn’t think Johnny had ever been aware of just how potent his looks were to women. And even if he had known it, he’d never been the type who’d use those looks for his advantage. There was nothing pretentious or frivolous about the man and she supposed that quiet deepness about him was the very thing that had drawn her to him. And had never let her go.

      Before long, the coffee began to perk and the rich aroma blended with the scents of frying chorizo. Bridget’s stomach was growling with hunger and though she wanted to cross the room and help herself to a cup and the granite coffeepot, she waited patiently for him to serve her. To do anything else would offend him. And that was something she’d never wanted to do to Johnny Chino.

      Eventually, he switched off the burner beneath the iron skillet and filled a plate with the food he’d prepared. Once he carried it and a cup of coffee over to the table and placed it on the table in front of her, he said, “It isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing.”

      “It’s more than enough,” she assured him. “Thank you.”

      While he went after a cup of coffee for himself, Bridget dug into chorizo and scrambled eggs wrapped in tortillas.

      “I should have picked up something for breakfast before I left town,” she commented between bites, “but I didn’t want to waste the time.”

      The coffee was scalding hot and very strong, forcing her to take one careful sip at a time. The jolt of it helped to push away her fatigue.

      He took a seat across from her, yet he didn’t turn his gaze in her direction. Instead, he focused on the nearby window. In some ways it was a relief not to have him staring at her with those all-consuming brown eyes of his. Yet a part of her missed the connection, missed the words his eyes spoke that his lips would not.

      “What about your clinic?” he questioned. “Do you normally see patients at this time in the morning?”

      Bridget glanced at the watch on her wrist. “Usually. But there are days when I have emergencies to tend to at the hospital or urgent house calls to make. My staff knows how to handle things. The patients I miss this morning, I’ll work in later in the week. Except for the ones with more serious issues, and those I’ll remain at the clinic late this evening to see.”

      As she sipped her coffee, she could see a faint grimace pull at the corners of his mouth. Clearly he didn’t like the idea that he and his family were causing such an upheaval in her schedule. Or maybe he didn’t like the idea that she was still willing to do so much for him.

      “Will you need to see Grandmother tonight?” he asked.

      “That depends on you.”

      That brought his head around and he stared at her with misgivings. “What do you mean?”

      “I’m going to call you later on this evening and have you report on how she appears. You will tell me the truth, won’t you?”

      His features tightened. “I have always told you the truth. Why would that change?”

      Her eyes still clinging to his face, she lowered her cup to the tabletop. “Because I think you’d do most anything to keep me away from here—from you.”

      Chapter Three

      His brown gaze broke connection with hers and dropped to the tabletop. “Not at my grandmother’s expense,” he said flatly. “I want her to get well. My feelings about you don’t matter.”

      Bridget was suddenly choked with all the emotions she’d been trying to stem since last night when she first laid eyes on him. “I wasn’t aware that you still had any feelings about me,” she said in a low, strained voice.

      “Bridget.”

      Her name came out more like a warning than anything and the whole idea that he wanted to keep everything tamped down, all the hurt wrapped up and locked away on a shelf, sent a shaft of anger ripping right through her.

      “You don’t have to scold me, Johnny. I understand that you don’t want to talk about us.”

      His jaws clamped tightly. “There is no us. There never was.”

      He was like an unmoving piece of iron and Bridget wondered what it would take to push the right buttons to make him react, to force him to expose the emotions hidden behind his dark face.

      “A moment ago you said you would never lie to me,” she pointed out. “Yet you’re doing it now.”

      His nostrils flared. “I’m not lying. Yes, we were together. But not in the fairy-tale way you want to imagine.”

      Before he could guess her intentions, she reached across the table and snared his wrist with her thumb and fingers. The pressure of her grip apparently surprised him because he glanced at the hold she had on his wrist before he finally lifted his gaze to her face.

      “I can’t speak for you, Johnny. But nothing about our time together felt like make-believe to me. When you kissed me, touched me—made love to me, it felt very real.”

      His stoic features didn’t flinch, but deep in his eyes she saw something flicker and knew that her words had reached him, perhaps even hurt him.

      She hoped it wasn’t the latter. She didn’t want to hurt this man. Far, far from it. She wanted to jar him, shake him into admitting that he’d been wrong to put a wall between them.

      “Why are you doing this?” he asked bluntly. “It’s been five years. All of that ended back then.”

      “Not for me.”

      As she watched his lips harden to a thin line, her fingers unconsciously tightened around his wrist.

      “Little fool,” he muttered.

      Jerking her hand free of his wrist, she stood so abruptly she swayed. Before she could latch a steadying grip on the back of her chair, Johnny was instantly at her side, sliding a bracing arm around her shoulders.

      Sucking in a harsh breath, she dared to glance at his dark face. “You don’t have to bother yourself,” she said tightly. “I’m all right.”

      He cursed under his breath. “You’re exhausted.”

      “I’ll get over it.”

      But I’ll never get over you.

      The unspoken words hung between them like a charged atmosphere on a stormy night. And then slowly, achingly, his gaze drifted downward to settle on her lips.

      “Do you know what this is doing to me?”

      Even though his question was spoken in a clipped whisper, she could hear agony and desire coating his words, twisting his voice.

      “Yes,” she answered simply.

      For one split second she thought he was going to drop his arm and move away. But then a groan sounded deep in his throat and before Bridget could anticipate his next move, she found his lips hovering over hers, his warm breath caressing her cheeks.

      Desire stabbed her so deeply that she actually whimpered out loud. “Johnny.”