She pulled her hands from beneath her coat. One was cradling the other, wrapped in a towel.
Spence immediately reached for her. “What happened?”
“A new knife and a stubborn piece of chocolate.”
Emma grabbed her keys for downstairs. “Let’s go take a look.”
“No, I pick Dr. McHottie,” Serena said.
“Sorry. I’m the doctor on call,” Emma told her lightly, trying to save Spencer. At the very least, Serena would walk all over him. At the most, she’d eat him up and spit him out.
But Spencer smiled. “I’d love to earn my keep. I’ll be happy to take this one.”
Emma swiveled to look at him. “Earn your keep?”
“Seeing as you’ve put up with me all week.” He slid an arm around Serena’s waist and guided her down the stairs as if she was an invalid.
Not that Serena seemed to mind.
Emma followed. Earn his keep, her ass. Inside the clinic, she flipped on the lights and prepared a tray, but when she moved to wash her hands, Spencer was already ahead of her, washed up and unwrapping Serena’s hand to examine it. “Ouch,” he murmured sympathetically.
“Yeah.” Serena held her breath as he touched. “Bad?”
“No.” He smiled into her face. “Just a couple of stitches. Probably only two.”
“Oh boy.” Serena nibbled on her lower lip. “I don’t like needles.”
Must be a Wishful thing, Emma thought, and opened her mouth to say something, like consider it Karma with a capital K, but Spencer spoke first.
“Don’t you worry about a thing,” he told Serena. “I’ll make sure you’re comfortable.”
“Really?” Serena’s eyes locked on his. “Can you do that?”
“I specialize in it.” He glanced at Emma with the unspoken question, and with a shrug, she gestured him to go ahead.
The bedside manner he’d mentioned didn’t escape her notice. He was good at that, making a patient forget their pain, putting them at ease. He could read a person like no other, and know what they needed in any given moment.
In Serena’s case, a little harmless flirting had taken her mind off her pain, and Serena would never forget him. As Emma brought him the tray with everything he’d need, she thought of her last needle-phobic patient.
She’d treated Stone to a textbook T. Yep. She’d fixed up his body and he’d heal quickly and wouldn’t scar.
But she’d ignored his other needs.
As much as she hated to admit being second best at anything, her very lack of “bedside manner” is what made Spencer a better doctor than her.
She watched him continue to keep Serena at ease and wished she’d learned the art of it. Why hadn’t she?
Because she was focused.
Because she tended to be concerned first and foremost with a patient’s physical well-being.
In Stone’s case, because she’d been unnerved by him and her reaction to him.
There.
That was the bottom line, the truth.
And it shamed her. She’d always prided herself on being the best she could be, on giving the best care she could, and in doing so, she’d actually concentrated on herself more than her patients.
By now, Spencer had Serena leaned back and was making her comfortable, distracting her with an easy smile and quiet voice.
“So are you Emma’s?” Serena asked him.
“Nah,” Spence said easily. “She wouldn’t have me.”
“She always was shortsighted.”
Spence grinned.
“We’re just friends,” Emma said a little tightly. “Though sometimes I wonder why…”
Spencer kept on grinning, thoroughly enjoying himself.
“Are you from New York, too?” Serena asked him.
“Yep. Dr. Spencer Jenks, but any friend of Emma’s can call me Spence.”
“Oh, we’re not friends,” Serena told him, still studying his face. “I used to torture her in first grade. But I did try to make it up with brownies the other day. Double fudge, warm, soft, out-of-this-world brownies…”
Spencer groaned appreciatively. “Now you’re just teasing me.”
Serena smiled. “I have a fresh batch…I could share.”
“I like the sound of that,” Spence assured her. He had the syringe in his hand, low at his hip where Serena couldn’t see.
Emma had always scoffed at that practice. In her opinion, assuming the patient wasn’t a kid, she believed they wanted things upfront and honest.
“What else do you make?” he asked Serena.
“Name it.”
“Really? God, I love a woman with talent in the kitchen.”
Serena smiled. “Honey, I’ve got talents in every room of the house, trust me.”
He laughed again, clearly enjoying the unmistakable hum of attraction between them. “Not fair,” he said. “I hiked all day and I’m starving. Tell me what you have in your front case,” he directed, “and I’ll pretend it’s right here in front of me.”
“Oh, you should see today’s pies.” Serena’s eyes were closed and she smiled dreamily. “I love pies. They’re my specialty.” Her lips curved. “Amongst other things, of course.”
“Of course. But what’s your favorite?”
“Pumpkin. My pumpkin pie is completely and totally out of this world.”
“I bet. A quick prick now,” he murmured. “That’s it, that’s all there is. Keep breathing. So do you use whipped cream on that…?”
Much later that night, Emma lay in bed staring at the ceiling trying to figure things out. Why she suddenly felt so restless. So out of place in her own skin.
So…alone.
She didn’t have to be. Stone had made that clear. What she hadn’t told him was exactly how tempted she was to go to his cabin and take him up on his offer.
He could alleviate all her restlessness, and leave her humming with pleasure while he was at it. But…
But.
Something about his challenge to connect with him scared her, because she knew that she could connect with him, big time.
And then she’d leave.
It was in the cards, the plan all laid out—as soon as her dad was better, she was gone.
Even she couldn’t repair a broken heart.
Chapter 20
Emma dreamed about Stone and woke up wishing he was in bed with her. What was up with that? She got up and showered, and thought about how it’d feel to have him soaping her up.
Okay, this Stone obsession she had? It had to stop. In fact, she wasn’t going to think about him again.
For at least five minutes.
Helping with that, Spencer made an extravagant breakfast, waiting until she took her first bite and moaned in amazed culinary pleasure before he leaned in. “Em.”
“Ohmigod.” The perfect way to put Stone out of her head—with food. “This is fantastic.”
“Of course it is. Listen, you know I’m leaving in two days. I have a little favor.”
“Anything,” she murmured, shoveling in more food. “Name it.”
“I want to ask Serena out.”
She slid her gaze to his. “Serena, bitchy Serena?”
“She’s not all bitch.”
“Don’t fool yourself. She’s purebred bitch.”
“I can handle myself. Now take me out of my misery. Yes or no?”
She set down her fork. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“You won’t let her skin you and eat you alive?”
“Not on the first date,” he promised.
Emma picked her fork back up. The food was too good to let it go cold just because he wanted to get his heart kicked. “Will you still cook for me?”
He grinned. “Always.”
Later that morning, Missy Thorton came by the clinic carrying a casserole dish and Emma sighed. “What’s wrong today, Missy?”
“Nothing. Just wanted to bring you this.”
Emma peeked inside the ca
sserole dish and went still.
“It’s tom yum goong. Hot and sour soup with shrimp.”
“Homemade Thai food?” she asked in disbelief.
“Stone mentioned you were lonely for it. My nephew’s niece spent a summer in Thailand. She has the most amazing recipes.” She tapped the dish. “I’ll need this back of course.”
With that, she turned and walked away.
Emma was still staring down at the dish in stunned amazement when Harley stopped by for a tetanus shot because she’d sliced her finger on a rusty nail. In return, she fixed all the squeaky doors and gave the truck a tune-up.
Emma had three other patients that morning, and not one person asked for a real doctor, or suggested she confer with her dad. As a bonus, each paid with a check or cash.
This damn town. It’d sneaked up and snatched her damn heart when she hadn’t been looking. Not good. Not good at all.
She needed out.
At lunch, she drove to see her dad. She wanted his damn medical records and an ETA for his return to work, and the subsequent return to her life—a life that did not include nice but busy-body patients who knew all her business, a life that didn’t include one certain tall, sexy Wilder brother who was starting to haunt her every waking—and sleeping—moment.
She found her father in front of his cabin, tending to a fire pit and cleaning the trout he’d just caught in the lake. He still wore his vest and hat, and the distinct smell of fish.
“Perfect timing,” he said with a smile. “I’m going to barbeque these up for lunch right now. State your preference; medium or well-done?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t really have time for lunch. I was hoping to see those medical records of yours, and get an ETA for your return.”
“Ah.”
That was all he said, just “ah”. She looked at him for a long moment, finding herself asking a question she hadn’t meant to ask at all. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that you came to see me in New York?”
He froze, then looked down at his fish. “Medium. No one likes well-done fish.”
“Dad.”
“Hey, that’s good.” He poked at his low burning fire. “You do remember what to call me.” He nudged a chair in her direction. “That’s a great start. Now why don’t you take it another step and have a seat.”
She gave him a long look, walked past him and into his cabin. On his square wood kitchen table sat two thick files. She opened the top one, saw that it was indeed his medical records and grabbed them, going back outside, where she sat in the chair next to him.
He began preparing the fish to be cooked, but as she opened and flipped through the first file, his hands fell still. As she read, she felt him looking at her.
After less than a moment, she knew why. She raised her head, unable to keep the accusation out of her voice. “You said it was a minor heart attack. As in minor.”
“I don’t believe I ever used the word minor, no.”
“You were hiking. You called TJ for help, but he was out of town. Stone came.” Her voice shook on her next line. “By the time he got to you, you weren’t breathing. He gave you C.P.R.” Why Stone had never mentioned it, she couldn’t imagine. “You were air lifted to South Shore. They’d resuscitated you twice.”
“Yes.”
“You almost died.”
“Yes.”
She closed the file. “You’re not going back to work any time soon.”
He hesitated while she held her breath, literally and figuratively. God. God, she didn’t want to hear his answer because it was going to change her life and she knew it.
“No,” he admitted, very quietly. “I’m not going to be going back any time soon.”
She surged to her feet and paced the length of the porch, the wood creaking beneath her feet. “You should have told me.”
“Should’ve, yes.”
“Dad.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes, then dropped her hands to her sides. “What was your plan? That I’d just stay? Forever?”
“Well…” His smile was self-deprecating and pretty damn irresistible, except she couldn’t—wouldn’t—be charmed.
“A man could hope his only offspring would want to take over his business.”
Oh, no. No, no, no…This was so much worse than she’d thought. She stared at him, stunned. “Dad.” At a loss for words, she turned in a slow circle. It was quiet. No traffic sounds, not even the hum of anything electronic, nothing but a light wind and the occasional bird cry.
So different from home. “I never intended to move here.”
“I realize that now.”
He was disappointed, and sad, and pretty much ripping out her heart because she could only imagine the pain of his realization—that he wasn’t going to go back to work, at least not fulltime, not for a while anyway. “Dad, have you thought about selling?”
He didn’t say anything to that and her gut sank. “I could make sure you get a great price for it,” she assured him. “You could fish the rest of your life, or whatever you wanted.”
“I know. Listen, Emma, it’s okay. Don’t you worry about it. I’ll figure it out.”
“Not to rush you, but how? How will you figure it out?”
“Well, I don’t know exactly.”
“It’ll just come to you? You have to make plans, Dad, and figure it all out.”
“No,” he said very gently. “That’s you. You like plans, you like to have everything all figured out.”
“Okay, fair enough. But do you expect me to continue to stay here until you come up with something?”
He turned from her, giving himself away. “Of course not.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared out at the sparkling lake. “As you’ve mentioned a time or a thousand, you have a life. I don’t wish to keep you from it. Let’s just both cut our losses now.”
Goddammit. “Dad.”
He turned and looked at her, and for the first time, he looked his age. Worse, he looked sad, which just about killed her. “It was wrong of me to bring you out here like this, and even more wrong to try to keep you. I just thought I’d try to do things differently with you this time.” He smiled, though it was a heartbreaking one. “It’ll be okay, Emma, you can stop looking at me like that. I appreciate what you’ve done. It means so much to me that you were willing to come out here and spend so much time, but reality has set in and it’s over now. I understand, I really do. It’s time to sell.” He moved to the small fire and set a grate over it for the barbeque.