What The Cowboy Prescribes.... Mary Starleigh

the Lemon House. She gulped and forced herself to think realistically. With Steve Hartly on staff, she could keep her clinic open. And she might be able to get some much-needed sleep. The last thought wreaked havoc with her rationale. If anything, Steve’s presence in the house would preclude her sleeping.

      Meg imagined Steve’s fingers tracing against her skin, his body warmth enveloping her.

      With a jolt she stood. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t about to be attracted to another man uncommitted to his medical career. The experience with Andy had been enough for one lifetime.

      Oh, for goodness’ sake, Meg. Get a grip. You just met the guy and already you’re comparing him to Andy.

      She was acting silly. She was tired and worried about her patients and the clinic. Meg sank down again and groaned. Steve Hartly created havoc within her. What in the world would he be able to do when he was living in her house? She rubbed her eyes.

      This kind of thinking had to stop. Getting involved with Steve physically wasn’t going to help the situation—it could only hurt it. She had to convince the man to work at the clinic. The insurance company meant business with that letter, and she wasn’t going to let her clinic close.

      She tapped her bottom lip with her finger. Steve had been adamant about not practicing, but she only needed his help for maybe three months at the most. Just until she could get another doctor to move out to Jackson. And what was so terrible about rescuing him from that awful house next door?

      The thought of anyone living in the Lemon House made her stomach knot. Why in the world would he buy a place like that?

      She heard the screen door squeak open and shut. Her gaze darted up. Carrying one suitcase, Steve made his way through the kitchen to the living room.

      “Can I help you bring in the rest of your bags?” Meg sprang off the couch, hoping to stop her heart from pounding so hard.

      He lifted the bag a little. “This is it.” He’d taken off his jacket and his forearm muscles rippled.

      “Your room’s on the right. Bath’s the next door,” Meg announced, and plopped on the couch again. Trying to seem unruffled with her new houseguest was hard work.

      “Thanks.” He tramped down the hall and found the guest room.

      Meg watched his every step.

      “If you don’t mind, I’ll take a shower, then hit the sack,” he said over his shoulder. He placed his bag against the wall and flipped on the light. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and looked around.

      “There are extra towels in the cupboard under the sink. Help yourself,” Meg called. Steve moved out of her sight, and she stared at the carpet. From the gentle rustle, she knew he was taking off his shirt.

      “Hope I’m not keeping you from anything.” His words brought her chin up, and she gazed at the man standing in the hallway. His chest was bare, his right shoulder braced against the wooden doorjamb.

      Meg tried to keep her eyes off her new neighbor’s torso but found it impossible. Hard muscles etched an almost perfect physique. A fine matting of curly hair enhanced his chiseled chest.

      She consciously closed her eyes. Maybe she was asleep, and Steve Hartly, standing in her hallway half-naked, was a sadistic dream her subconscious had conjured up.

      Opening her eyes, she shook her head. Nope! There he stood in all his sexy glory. The first man to stand in her hallway looking like that, ever!

      She drew in a breath and tried to relax. “Make yourself at home. If you need anything, just look around.” She stood and prayed her legs would hold her.

      “Thanks.” The sensual sound of his voice was all Meg needed to propel her into the kitchen—as far away from Steve Hartly as she could physically get.

      Chapter Four

      The whoosh of water told Steve that Meg was up and getting ready for another hectic day. He’d had many hurried days in the Houston ER. Days when there wasn’t enough time to even think clearly. Yet his work had been very fulfilling.

      Steve made his way out of bed to the window. The pale gray morning was slipping the bonds of night, and the beginning of a Texas sunrise splashed across the sky.

      Not far away the Lemon House sat in all its rundown glory. Steve shook his head. He was determined to get the place in shape and livable.

      He stepped back to the bed and straightened the twisted covers. He’d thought the dreams troubling him would go away when he left Houston. But early this morning, when he’d found himself soaked in cold sweat and the sheet wrapped around his legs, he knew the move to Jackson hadn’t helped at all.

      The scent of Meg’s perfume trailed down the hall and under the door, jarring him fully awake. Her fragrance reminded him of how beautiful she was. He raked fingers through his hair, then picked his clothes off the floor.

      Moments later he padded out to the living room, hoping she hadn’t left the house yet. He couldn’t help himself; the need to see her again overwhelmed any other emotion. Lights were on in the kitchen, and he caught a glimpse of Meg as she crossed from the table to the counter.

      Steve stopped in the kitchen doorway. Meg’s shiny hair was tousled and she looked sleepy and warm. She was wearing jeans and a pale blue T-shirt. The softness of the shirt outlined her delicate shoulders and hugged her full breasts. A tiny red logo stretched across the supple curve of her bottom. His glance traced down to her bare feet. A slash of pink nail polish caught his eye before his gaze drifted up again.

      The rich fragrance of coffee filled the air. Sniffing, he enjoyed the homey smell. “Good morning,” he said, managing to keep his tone of voice neutral.

      She met his gaze with a welcoming smile. Her face was bare of any makeup and she looked natural and pretty. “I thought I heard you. How about some coffee?”

      “Sounds good.” His body loosened a little. He couldn’t stop staring at her. He hadn’t been with a woman in the gray, quiet morning for a long time. And standing in the doorway of the kitchen studying Meg caused him to feel, for a split second, alive and at peace with himself.

      Meg turned back to the coffeepot and checked it. Steve remained in the doorway, and she felt his eyes on her. She tried not to enjoy the idea that he might be admiring her as she pulled two cups down from the cabinet.

      Suddenly she yawned as she placed the mugs on the counter. Early this morning Steve’s voice had woken her. At first she’d sat straight up in bed, her heart pounding but then she’d remembered he was in the next room. She’d fallen back against the pillow, her heart still thumping.

      As she listened, he’d moaned a little and called out in a husky, sleep-ridden voice. She couldn’t decipher anything he said; the only thing she knew for sure was that his voice was filled with torment.

      “Coffee smells good,” he said from the doorway.

      She glanced over her shoulder and motioned him into the room. “Sleep well?”

      “Yeah.” He remained where he stood, his body filling much of the space. “How about yourself?”

      She nodded despite the fact she hadn’t been able to go back to sleep after his nightmare. All she could do was lie in the dark and think…about him.

      She wanted to question him now, but knew she needed to mind her own business at six o’clock in the morning. Besides, after last night, she knew that kind of conversation would be much too intimate, and she was afraid he’d bolt. She needed to keep emotionally distant from him, for the clinic’s sake.

      She placed the mugs on the table and poured coffee into them. He found a chair and sat. “Thanks.”

      Smiling, she took a seat with the glass coffeepot still in her hand. “I bet you take it black.”

      He nodded.