The Texan's Business Proposition

“That’s how Pat earns his big fees. Makes up all kinds of ailments so his patients have to keep coming back to him.”

Sally shook her head sadly. “You are so in denial.”

He looked up to glare at her. “If I say there’s nothing wrong with me, nothing is.”

She turned away with a shrug. “Then there’s no need for me to stay. I’ll just give Dr. O’Connor a call and tell him I’m going home.”

She made it as far as the door before he stopped her.

“Wait.”

She turned and lifted a brow in question.

“Don’t call Pat. He’ll come over.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Damn right it is! He’ll just drag me back to the hospital.”

She wrinkled her nose in sympathy. “Probably.”

Grimacing, he dragged a hand over his hair, then dropped it with a sigh to grip the edge of the bed. “I guess you’d better stay.”

“I don’t know,” she said uncertainly. “My purpose in being here is to see that you follow your doctor’s orders. If you aren’t willing to cooperate, you really should be in the hospital where someone can look after you.”

He paled at the mere suggestion. “I can’t go back. I’ll go crazy, if I do.”

What little bit of patience she had for him snapped. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Vince. Don’t be such a baby. There’s nothing wrong with hospitals.”

“Spend a month in one and try telling me that again.”

Something in his voice told her he was speaking from experience. “You spent a month in a hospital?”

“Yeah. When I was a kid.”

Curious to learn more, she crossed to the bed and sat down beside him. “Were you sick?”

He gave her a bland look. “No. I was on vacation.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay. Stupid question. So what was wrong with you?”

“Spinal meningitis. Spent a week at home in bed before the doctor admitted me. Another two weeks after he released me.”

She stared, unable to imagine the severity of an illness that would require a child to remain bedridden for almost two months. “How old were you?”

“Nine. Missed two months of school. Had to drop out of the summer baseball program.”

“Wow. That must have been tough.”

“It sucked big-time.”

“Were you left with any lasting effects?”

“Yeah,” he said dryly. “I hate hospitals.”

She hid a smile. “Yeah. I got that.” She rose. “I’ll bet you’re hungry. When did you last eat?”

“I don’t know. Sometime yesterday, I guess.”

“I’ll see what I can whip up.”

He stood, too, though more slowly. “Have I got time to shower?”

She eyed him doubtfully. “Are you sure you’re steady enough?”

“Positive.”

She hesitated a moment longer, then turned away, deciding the alternative—bathing him herself—wasn’t something she was willing to do.

“Fifteen minutes,” she called to him.

After showering, Vince felt somewhat better and definitely more alert. He pulled on sweatpants and a T-shirt, keeping his movements slow to avoid another dizzy spell. Not that he was sick, he assured himself. He was healthy as a horse. He’d simply experienced a little…blip in his system. Nothing to be alarmed about, and certainly nothing that required hospitalization. He’d kick back for the remainder of the weekend, watch a little TV. By Monday he’d be as good as new and ready to get back to work.

Having resolved his health issues in his mind—and mentally conceded to a twenty-four-hour vacation to appease his doctor—he headed for the kitchen where he found Sally chopping vegetables at the island, dressed in, of all things, a bikini. He squeezed his eyes shut, sure that his mind was playing tricks on him, but when he opened them, her breasts were still pushing at the tiny electric-blue triangles that covered them. Beads of perspiration dotted the valley between her breasts. His mouth suddenly dry, he wet his lips and would swear he tasted salt and coconuts.

“Vince?”

He snapped his gaze to hers. He swallowed hard, then stole a quick look to confirm what she was wearing, and found the bikini was gone, replaced by shorts and a top. Wondering if the bump on his head had done more damage than he first thought, he asked hesitantly, “Did you change clothes?”

She looked at him curiously. “Well, yeah. While you were in the shower. Is that a problem?”

He gulped again, not wanting to ask but needing to know. “Do you own a blue bikini?”

Her eyes narrowed to slits.

He held up a hand. “Just answer the question. Do you own a blue bikini?”

“You know very well I do, since I was wearing it this morning when you arrived home.”

He sagged his shoulders in relief. Thank God. He wasn’t going crazy. A little addled maybe, but he wasn’t delusional.

She slammed the knife to the counter. “Would you mind telling me what this is all about?”

“I…I was testing to see if the fall had affected my memory.”

Though he could tell she didn’t buy his story, thankfully she didn’t question him further and began to chop again.

“I thought we’d eat on the patio,” she said. “It’s nice out.”