“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…
Something about his challenge to connect with him scared her, because she knew that she
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 casserole dish and went still.
“It’s
“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
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
“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?”
