Lone Star Baby

On the other side of the room a wooden trestle table provided additional kitchen counter space. It held a microwave, toaster oven and what looked like an electric skillet. The small refrigerator stood next to that. A white wrought-iron patio set now served as the dining room table and chairs.

There were no shades or drapes on the tall casement windows that lined either side of the room, which was where she had placed the Conestoga wagon. Its rounded, white-canvas top would come in handy, he realized, since the flaps could be tied shut on either end, allowing her complete privacy. For changing and—

He didn’t need to be thinking about that.

What she wore—or didn’t wear—to sleep in was none of his business.

Violet looked at the dusky light outside and switched on the overhead lights. Mounted close to the ceiling, they let off the kind of bright fluorescence the hospital corridors afforded. A bonus, given the fact he was a little too interested in the way her thigh-length shorts, faded college T-shirt and sneakers cloaked her spectacular body.

“Do you have the questionnaires?” she asked brusquely, bringing his attention back to where it needed to be once again.

He lifted the manila file amiably. “Right here.”

A faint blush highlighted the elegant contours of her cheeks. She looked around until she found something to write with. “A pen?”

Gavin patted his pocket. Found his cell phone but nothing else. “Ah, no.”

“No problem. I think I have some extra in my bedside drawer. I’ll be right back.” She headed up the stairs and disappeared into the covered wagon.

While Gavin waited, he checked out the ventilation in the room, which seemed comfortably cool despite the warmth of the summer day. Further investigation showed why. Long-handled cranks opened the tall, abundant windows along the very top quarter of the glass. The ceiling fan whirred overhead, cooling and dispersing the fresh air. As a result, the room smelled like the sunny autumn day it had been. Fresh and clean, like the great Texas outdoors.

He could see why she liked it out here, although it had to be lonely, too, he thought. Especially at night.

Almost too quiet.

In the wagon, however, it was anything but.

He could hear things being shifted, occasional muttering and...was that swearing? There was a small crash, a shift of bedsprings and then an even bigger crash.

Followed only by silence.

Gavin waited.

Still nothing.

He began to get a little worried. “Violet? You okay in there?”

The bedsprings creaked.

There was a muffled cry.

“Violet?” he called out again.

And then he heard what sounded like a small, furious scream. What the...?

Gavin took the steps up to the wagon two at a time. He threw back the flap that hid the interior from view.

Violet lay facedown on the bed, her head burrowed in the pillow, one arm tucked awkwardly between the mattress and the end table next to it.

“What the heck are you doing?”

She moaned and lifted her head slightly. “I’m stuck.”

* * *

“STUCK,” GAVIN REPEATED STUPIDLY.

“I had a box of pens and pencils and I knocked them behind the nightstand. I was trying to reach it without moving all my suitcases, storage boxes and garment bags.”

Of which, Gavin noted, there were many. All crammed together in the available space between the mattress and the high wooden sides of the wagon.

He tracked the silky dark mane over her face and shoulders. “You’re really stuck?”

She groaned again and pounded her forehead lightly against the mattress beneath her. “No. I’m just lying here for the fun of it.”

He grinned. A sensually indisposed Violet was a sight to behold. Her temper only added to the allure. “Hang on.” He sprang into action. “I’ll move some of these suitcases.”

A feat that was easier said than done, he quickly discovered. Some boxes were wedged in there pretty tight. Plus, the stack was two and three high on all sides. “What did you pack in these, anyway?” He succeeded in freeing a storage box from the stack, only to have the snapped lid fly off in the process and a whole array of sexy undies come spilling out. About half of which landed on her shoulders and head.

Another string of muffled, surprisingly unladylike profanities filled the silence. She turned her face to his. “Did you do that on purpose?”

“Ah, no.” The last thing he needed to see was what kind of undergarments she wore. Now he’d be imagining how she looked in all that sexy satin and lace. “Sorry.” He rescued the rest of her undies and stuffed them all back in the box, snapping the lid on.

“Are these all clothes?”

“Yes. It’s everything I might need for the next three months and then some.”

“Sounds like a woman.” His sisters were notorious clothes-hounds, too.

“And spoken like a man. Are you hurrying?”

Gavin lifted another box of undies and a half-open suitcase of what appeared to be silk pajamas and nightgowns. Who knew she dressed so sexily when she wasn’t at the hospital? Except, in the past five years, she had almost always been at the hospital.

“Gavin?”

“Almost there.”

She moaned.

He shifted the suitcase wedged against the side of the queen-size mattress and the wagon.

She tried to pull free. Groaned again, in what seemed to be real pain this time. “Still stuck...”

No kidding. Her arm remained clamped tight between the nightstand and the bed.

Deftly, Gavin slid one arm between her and the mattress, simultaneously pushing down on the bed while supporting the weight of her chest. Then, still supporting her weight and keeping her trapped arm in place, he used his free hand to shove the mattress several inches away from the nightstand, toward the other side of the wagon.

That gave her just enough wiggle room.