He placed the rest of the dishes inside the washer with the same methodical care before shutting the appliance door.
“The weeks where I’m on call are the toughest since I go in at all hours.” He rinsed and dried his hands. Turned to watch her as she wiped down the small island countertop. “Micah and Brandon will take Ruby out if their father is busy with other things, so she’s in good hands.”
“I’m glad you have extra help. She doesn’t go to the hospital?”
“There are plenty of jobs where service dogs are allowed, but ICU is a very different workplace.”
“You must miss her, then.” Setting aside the sponge, she rinsed her own hands then stood near him, where he leaned against the granite.
Her kitchen had never felt crowded before, but with a tall, sexy doctor beside her, dominating the space, she was all too aware of the tiny square footage.
“Surgery is my job.” His jaw flexed, his gaze fixed on a point beyond her shoulder. “It’s the one thing I can perform no matter what else is going on around me.”
If she’d missed the defensiveness in his voice, she sure would have seen it his tense arms. His rigid shoulders. Ruby must have felt the tension, too, since she rose from her seat to sit beside him, pressing her head against his thigh.
Okay.
Abigail had tested his comfort level regarding the challenges of his work environment, and found that was a do-not-cross line.
“That’s another way our jobs are very different.” Drying her hands, she retreated to a seat at one of the bar stools at the island. “Some days it feels like all the stars have to be in precise alignment for me to find the inspiration to create.”
Rattling off a few of the things that could distract her when she was supposed to be working, Abigail was glad to see Vaughn’s shoulders relax by degrees as she spoke. Even Ruby chilled out, going from a sitting position by Vaughn’s knee to lying at his feet. Yet perhaps stepping on one of his personal land mines was a constructive reminder for her.
Vaughn Chambers was a magnetic man. Talented. Thoughtful. And charismatic when he wanted to be. But she couldn’t allow herself to forget he wrestled demons in his spare time, and they weren’t the kind that stepped aside to make room for a wishful heart like hers.
Five
Two nights later, Vaughn finished dictating his shift notes into his phone and sent them to transcription for updating his office files. Seated in a far corner of the nurses’ station, he tuned out the noise around him. He’d already done rounds with the next critical-care team on duty, but inevitably he found a few additional thoughts cropping up before he left the hospital for the day. His knife-fight victim was recovering nicely, with no major organ involvement. There would be therapy for a sliced knee tendon and, later, elective surgery to repair a torn labrum in the right shoulder, a result of his attacker pinning his arm behind him. All things considered, the guy was damn lucky.
Vaughn, too. He hadn’t lost a patient since returning from Afghanistan and wanted to keep it that way.
What he hadn’t wanted was to advertise his emotional shortcomings to Abigail when he’d gone over to her studio the other night. He’d planned to end their day together on a high note by bringing her the raw materials from his ranch—and some dinner, too. Their kiss had played out so many times in his memory that he found himself wanting more even though everything in him warned that being with her was going to be complicated.
So he’d gone over there and tried to keep things light. Romantic, even.
It had been working, too. Conversation flowed easily through a meal she clearly enjoyed. He’d been relaxed and having a good time, too. Had sensed another kiss was imminent.
Then things took a downward turn when she asked about Ruby and his job. He hadn’t shared the PTSD diagnosis with many people—period. So he hadn’t developed an ease with talking about it, which must have come across in his surly response.
“Dr. Chambers, you’re just the man I wanted to see,” a deep male voice greeted him, hauling Vaughn out of his thoughts.
Troy “Hutch” Hutchinson was a maternal-fetal specialist and a good friend. The guy was not only a gifted doctor, but also a generous one, donating time to Doctors Without Borders for a long stint in Africa.
Vaughn shoved out of the rolling chair at the nurses’ station, clapping Hutch on the back. “Did you have time to look at the patient in 2C?”
He’d had a seventeen-year-old accident victim transferred from a rural hospital late in his shift. She hadn’t required surgery, but her condition was critical, especially because of an early stage pregnancy.
“I just checked on your car-accident victim and her baby looks good.” He laid a file folder on the nurses’ station counter and helped himself to an apple from a gift fruit bowl delivered to the unit earlier in the day. “You up for tennis one of these days?”
Vaughn hadn’t played in months, but he’d spoken to Hutch a few times about getting together to hit. The other man lived in Pine Valley, but he belonged to the Texas Cattleman’s Club, too, so using the courts there presented no problem. Which brought to mind another question he had for his friend.
“I’m free all the time. You’re the one with triplets.” Vaughn remembered how happy the guy was when his wife, Simone, gave birth to three healthy babies.
“Right. And my serve is going to be rusty after devoting months to baby-rocking.” He grinned between bites of apple. “Not that I’d trade the dad duty for anything. But if I don’t stay in shape, I’m not going to be able to keep up when
