His Medicine Woman

“The coffee was made for supper. It’s strong.”

“That’s fine,” she assured him. “I need for it to be strong.”

With the burner blazing beneath the simple pot, he turned away from the stove and as his dark eyes focused on her, Bridget felt exposed and all too aware of how she must look to him. She’d not taken the time to change from the formal clothes she’d been wearing for Conall’s wedding reception. Now she desperately wished she’d taken a moment to race upstairs and change out of the strapless dress fashioned of emerald-green faille. To make matters worse, diamonds glittered at her throat, her ears and hair, while high, high heels of the same emerald color adorned her feet. No doubt he was viewing her as someone who lived far away from his world and she hated that this unexpected reunion was displaying her in a way that didn’t depict her normal day-to-day life.

When he failed to make any sort of comment, she felt compelled to explain. “I—was—when you called—it was at the wedding reception for my brother, Conall. I didn’t want to waste time changing clothes. That’s why—I’m dressed this way.”

“I’m sorry I interrupted your evening. I didn’t want to.”

He was still brutally honest, she decided. She figured eating a sandwich of nails and sandpaper would have probably been easier than calling upon her for help. Not that he disliked her or even held ill feelings for her. No, the end of their relationship had been far more complex. There had been no hateful, judgmental words or spiteful arguing. They’d parted just as they had met, with love.

“I wasn’t complaining,” she told him. “Just explaining.”

“I don’t need that.”

He turned back to the coffeepot while Bridget closed her eyes and tried to get her breathing back on an even keel. Of course he didn’t need explanations from her, she thought. What she was wearing or what she’d been doing didn’t concern him.

Behind him, Johnny heard the coffee strike a boil and he turned his back to her in order to switch off the burner and gather cups from the cupboard. After he filled both of them with the dark, pungent liquid, he carried them over to the table where she sat, then went to the refrigerator to collect a can of evaporated milk.

When he placed the milk can in front of her, a faint smile crossed her face. “Thank you for remembering,” she said.

Johnny could have told her that taking milk in her coffee was not the only thing he remembered about her. And seeing her again tonight was bringing those recollections back in a violent rush. Oh, God, he’d rather have taken a knife blade to his chest than call her tonight. But she was the only doctor his grandmother would agree to allow in the house. And with Naomi’s health rapidly deteriorating, he’d had no choice but to ask Bridget for help. Now as he looked at her, he felt sick with wants and regrets.

Somehow these past years he’d managed to avoid running into her. It had meant declining invitations from her brother and his good buddy, Brady Donovan, to visit the Diamond D, and making sure he didn’t go near anywhere he suspected she might be. But that hadn’t taken much effort. His lifestyle rarely took him off the reservation and he’d never traveled in the same social circle as the well-to-do Donovans.

Pulling out a chair across from her, he eased onto the seat. “What do I need to do for Grandmother?”

She spilled a small amount of milk into her coffee and slowly stirred it with the spoon he’d left in her cup. “See that her room gets more heat and try to get as much liquid down her as possible. Things like chicken broth, fruit juices or even sports drinks. She hasn’t been consuming much food or drink, has she?”

“No. Only a bit of goat’s milk. It was the only thing she wanted.”

A soft sigh escaped her and Johnny’s gaze was drawn to her heart-shaped face. She was still breathtaking, he decided. Eyes as pure and green as a mountain meadow were framed by delicately arched brows and long lashes, both of which were a few shades darker than her copper-red hair. Smooth, milk-white skin was sprinkled here and there with pale freckles, especially across the bridge of her straight little nose and the crest of her shoulders. Soft, dewy lips, the color of a raspberry, were full and tilted sweetly upward at the corners.

The lips, the freckles, the white satin skin of her body had all been touched by his mouth, he thought. But not enough. Not nearly enough.

“That’s fine, too,” Bridget was saying. “Anything she’ll take to hydrate her and give her strength is good.”

She took another long sip of coffee, then spoke again. Though this time she kept her gaze on the liquid in her cup rather than him. Johnny decided it was almost a relief not to feel her green eyes on his face.

“She’ll need to take several more medications. Early in the morning, I’ll fetch them and drive back.”

This jolted him. He’d only expected to see her just this once. Just long enough for her to diagnose his grandmother’s illness and prescribe medicine. He wasn’t sure he could take being around her any more than that.

This isn’t about how you’re feeling, Johnny. This is about your ailing grandmother and what she needs.

“Write the prescriptions and I’ll get them,” he told her.

She shook her head. “It would be a waste for you to make the trip when I’ve got to return anyway.”

“Why do you have to return?”

Her brows shot upward and he realized she considered his question stupid. And maybe it was. But having her here, seeing her so close was ripping him apart, like two hands tearing a piece of cloth. Much more of her presence and there would be nothing left to hold him together except a few fragile threads.

“I don’t think you understand the severity of your grandmother’s illness, Johnny. She needs an IV drip and that will have to be monitored. Plus, I’ll need to make sure her lungs haven’t worsened overnight.”

Her voice had gone firm and professional and he was glad for that. The sound jerked him out of the past and away from the time when her soft words had excited him, soothed him, nestled in his heart like golden sunshine saved for a dark and lonely night.

He let out a heavy breath. “And what if they have worsened?”

She pressed fingertips to the tiny crease in the middle of her forehead. “My plan is to keep that from happening. If it does … Then you or your grandfather will have to do your best to change her mind about the hospital.”

His grandmother was a stubborn soul, Johnny thought. Though she loved her husband and grandson, she had her own ideas about life and how she should live it. If she believed the Great Spirit was calling, then she’d give up her earthly fight to survive.

“My grandparents have very little money. But whatever charges you need to make I’ll see that you’re paid in full.”

Staring hard at him now, she lowered her cup to the tabletop. “I’m not here for money, Johnny,” she said stiffly. “Not any money.”

“I don’t expect such favors from you.”

“No,” she said softly, sadly. “You’ve never expected anything from me, have you?”

A tight fist was suddenly in his throat, twisting and clawing. He swallowed. “I’ve already taken enough from you, Bridget.”

She didn’t say anything. Instead, she reached across the small tabletop and touched her hand to the top of his. Something hit him deep in the gut and for a moment the room around them faded. The urge to lift her hand to his lips, to pull her from the chair and gather her close was gripping him like an iron claw.

But having her body next to his wasn’t part of his plan. She was a luxury he couldn’t afford. A sin he couldn’t commit. Not again. She belonged in her own world. Not his. But he didn’t offend her by jerking his hand away. Instead, he endured the sweet torture until she finally cleared her throat and pulled her hand back to her side of the table.

While he deliberately avoided making eye contact, she drained the last of her coffee and rose to her feet.

“I’ve done all I can do for right now,” she said. “But I’ll be back in a few hours with the medications she needs.”

By the time she drove to Ruidoso there wouldn’t be much left of the night, he realized. Rising from the chair, he said, “You should rest first. And your clinic is—”

“Accustomed to dealing with my emergency leaves,” she interrupted, then added with a faint smile. “Don’t worry, Johnny, I’m a doctor. I’m used to going on very little sleep.”

She was a doctor because she wanted to be. Not because she needed a job or the income. She was a giver. Not a taker. Yet she’d taken his heart and he’d never been able to get it back.

Nodding slightly, he said, “I’ll walk you to your Jeep.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“The dogs don’t know you,” he explained.

Starting out of the kitchen, she said with a bit of humor, “By the time I get Naomi back on her feet, I’ll have the dogs eating out of my hand.”

And what would she have him doing? Johnny wondered. Forgetting that he was a man of honor? Forgetting his vow to never touch her again? For his grandmother’s sake, he was going to have to push his emotions aside and deal with this woman in a reasonable way.

But there was nothing reasonable about the way he was feeling as he walked along beside her. He wanted to jerk her into his arms and kiss her. He wanted to carry her off to some dark place and make love to her as though they’d never parted.