The Awakening of Dr. Brown

the way-Tom Applegate. He’s one of two guys I do my best not to inconvenience. The other one is Carl Friedenburg-I’ll introduce you to them when I get a chance. If they lose track of me they have to answer to my dad-or my stepmom, which is much worse-so I try to be a good boy.”

He spoke lightly, but it vexed him, she could see-the loss of privacy. She knew how he felt, of course. It occurred to her that, as different as their lives were in so many ways, she and this particular doctor might have some things in common. She could use that, she decided. She would play on it, their commonality.

“I met them once, you know,” she said, tackling the spaghetti again. “Your parents. The president and First Lady.”

“Really?” He paused with fork halfway to his mouth. “At the White House?”

“Uh-uh-it was in Dallas. About…five years ago. A benefit concert-world hunger, I think. Maybe you remember it?” He shook his head; Phoenix shrugged. “The Parish Family were among the organizers. That’s your mom, right?”

“Stepmom.”

“Right. Anyway, they came-President and Mrs. Brown. There was a big reception afterward, so we all got to meet them. Nice people, I thought-especially Dixie.” She lifted her lashes and smiled at him. “Your dad seems a bit starched…”

“He can be that way sometimes,” Ethan said, smiling back. “Dixie keeps it from being terminal.”

Phoenix laughed, a rusty little chortle. “Really? And how does she do that?”

“I haven’t a clue,” said Ethan with a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s just a way she has, I guess. She’s always been that way-she…brings out the music in people.”

“Interesting…” Phoenix murmured.

“What?”

She shook her head. But she was thinking now about Ethan’s father, President Everett Charlton Brown. And that, if Dixie Parish, of the world-famous folksinging Parish Family, had managed to find music beneath that Mount Rushmore facade…well. It was interesting, that’s all.

“I met your sister, too,” she said, twirling spaghetti on the tines of her fork. “And her husband-he’s Indian, right? A sheriff, or something like that.”

Ethan nodded, perhaps not a wise move, given the forkful of spaghetti he was about to deliver to his mouth. “Native American. Apache. Arizona. Oops…damn.”

Phoenix casually reached across the table and wiped the tiny smear of marinara sauce from a bare patch of his chin with her thumb. But inside, her heartbeat stumbled; she felt a surge of something she told herself was triumph.

“One of the advantages of being a rock star is that nobody expects you to be politically correct,” she purred, licking the sauce from her thumb. She could still feel him there, like the residual tingle of electric shock-the slightly sandpapery texture of his skin…the coarse-silk weave of his beard against the backs of her fingers.

“I thought he was fascinating,” she murmured, as Ethan calmly wiped his beard with his napkin. She smiled down at her plate. Oh, the emotions were there, all right…the fire, the passion. She’d felt it. Getting to it-getting past that shaman’s calm, that incredible self-control of his-this was going to be fun. “I wrote a song about him. Believe it or not. What a coincidence, huh?” She slanted a look at him through her lashes. “It’s true, though. Your brother-in-law was the inspiration for ‘Wild Man, Gentle Heart.’ He has such a fierce look-like Ghenghis Khan about to wreak havoc on the villagers. And yet…he has this gentle way about him…”

Maybe, she thought, that’s all it is, this fascination he holds for me. I just happen to be a sucker for a gentle man.

“My sister apparently thought so,” Ethan said. He was so quiet now. Unnaturally quiet.

“What about you?” Yes, and it reminded her of something, that quietness, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Bronco’s a good man.”

“No, I mean, where were you that night? I seem to have met your whole family. Except you. Imagine, Doc, if we’d met five years ago…”

He picked up his water glass and held it, almost like a shield between them, it seemed to her. “Five years ago I was a med student-overworked and stressed out in L.A. I doubt I’d have been much fun.” Over the top of the glass his eyes watched her…dark, quiet, wary.

Yes, that was what he reminded her of. A stag, hiding in the underbrush, watching the hunter. He was on his guard now, fortified against her. Time to back off a little, she thought, enjoying the game. Give him some breathing room.

She laughed, her husky trademark chuckle. “No offense, Doc, but you’re not exactly a barrel of laughs now.”

And as she’d thought he would, he smiled. It was a wry and self-deprecating smile, and it banished the wariness from his eyes. As she’d thought it would. But what came in its stead was something she didn’t want to see. Something bleak and sad…like dark pools reflecting back the face of tragedy.

“Sorry,” he said softly, “I didn’t think this was a particularly funny situation.”

She caught her breath and looked away, and Ethan didn’t know whether the lurch he felt in his chest was triumph, or regret. In the strange verbal fencing match they were engaged in, he knew he’d just scored a touche. He felt no sense of victory, and yet…he wasn’t sorry for it, either.

“We have-” The sports watch on his wrist emitted a tiny electronic beep. “I have to get back to the clinic,” he said with an exhalation, without glancing at his wrist. He was conscious of conflicting feelings, now-both relief and regret. “Can we-”

Phoenix nodded and signaled to the waiter with a platinum American Express credit card. Out of the corner of his eye Ethan saw Tom Applegate fold his napkin and push back his chair.

“What I was going to say,” said Ethan, “was, can we get together again to talk about this?” He hadn’t wanted the job, dammit. But since he’d been designated spokesman for the residents of The Gardens, he supposed the responsibility for protecting their interests was his, like it or not. He told himself that was his only reason for wanting to see this woman again. He told himself that beyond that they had nothing in common, that she would complicate his life in unimaginable ways. A woman like this could easily make a man lose his sense of direction, make him forget his principles, his purpose.

I need to get away from her, he thought. I need to get my bearings.

“Listen,” he said, “you don’t have to leave if you’re not-”

“I’m done here.” She kept her face averted as she scrawled a signature across the check the waiter had brought in its leather folder, as brisk and efficient as any executive or attorney concluding a power lunch. Try as he would without seeming too obvious about it, Ethan couldn’t make out the signature or the name on the card. She snapped the folder shut and shoved the credit card carelessly into the pocket of her dove-gray suit and rose. “Shall we go?”

“Sure.” Her face was somber, Ethan noted. So still and set…the way it had been just before she’d walked out of the conference room. He wondered if it was just her way, to run when confronted with something she didn’t want to deal with.

He followed her out of the restaurant, pausing at the entrance, as he’d learned to do, to let Tom Applegate go ahead of him. He waited for Tom’s nod, then pushed through the door and found Phoenix waiting for him on the sidewalk, watching the interaction between him and his bodyguard and smiling a little half smile.

“Tom,” Ethan said, “I’d like you to meet Phoenix.”

The Secret Service agent nodded, deadpan, and said, “Nice meeting you, ma’am,” like the well brought-up Southerner he was. He allowed himself to glance only briefly at the world-famous rock star before his eyes moved on, looking all around, up and down the street, watching the sidewalk…watching everything. Everyone.

In a voice rich with amusement, Phoenix said, “Nice meeting you, too, Tom.” Then she linked her arm through Ethan’s and murmured out the side of her mouth as they moved together down the sidewalk, “Can’t be easy keeping a low profile when you’ve got six and a half feet of bodyguard following you everywhere.”

He gave a huff of laughter but didn’t reply. He didn’t-because her scent was inside his head and her heat was