Instant Gratification (8 page)

T
o Emma, Spencer was cute in a Clark Kent sort of way; dark hair, dark eyes, and a helpless smile made all the more disarming for the simple sexy dimple that went with it. He had a lean runner’s body that belied how much he ate, and a career in the surgical world that men twice his age would kill for.

But he had a fatal flaw. Emma called it Fickle-ality. He couldn’t settle, on anything.

Period.

Still, as a best friend, it worked, and while she ran the clinic that day, he happily occupied himself in the great outdoors; kayaking, hiking…

That night, not content with the stack of casseroles to choose from, he cooked. Emma sat on the small kitchen counter and watched him throw some ingredients into a pan, from which came forth the most mouth watering scent. “What is that?”

“Roasted tomato mozzarella and eggplant pasta.”

It never failed to amaze her—a professional water burner—that Spence was every bit as talented in the kitchen as he was in the operating room.

“Oh, Kate dumped me,” he said, topping off their glasses.

Ah. That explained why he was here early. He’d gotten bored. “Didn’t you date her only twice?” she asked. “That doesn’t count as a dumping.”

“Yes it does,” he said. “Which also qualifies me for make-up sex.”

“Kate’s in the Sierras?”

“I meant you.” He smiled, his dark eyes warm and affectionate. “I get another shot at you.”

Yeah, right. He wasn’t looking for another shot at her, he wasn’t looking for anything but fun and they both knew it. It was why they made such good friends, because they didn’t need anything from each other—perfect—as they didn’t have anything to give each other. It was a selfish relationship on both sides, and also the only lasting relationship in
either
of their lives.

He came close and ran a finger over her jaw, rimming her ear.

“Let me save you some time on the foreplay action. We’re not sleeping together, Spencer.”

He merely topped off her wine with a small smile, clearly confident he’d change her mind.

After dinner, she showed him to the tiny spare bedroom. Spence caught her hand there in the hallway and flashed her a quick grin. “So what size bed do you have in your room?”

With a laugh, she looked him in the eyes. His thick hair was as unruly as his heart, dipping low over his forehead. He wore designer threads, and managed to look like he’d just thrown them on. He was rich, incredibly talented with a scalpel, and fun.

If she’d taken him inside her heart, he’d have broken it in half a long time ago.

Which was okay. She didn’t have the urge to take him into
her heart. She didn’t have the urge to take anyone in her heart. Her life was good as it was.

So good.

And she couldn’t wait to get back to it. “A queen-size bed.”

“
Nice
.”

“Perfect for one.”

“Or two.”

“Or one.”

“Aw, Em.” He stepped into her, pressing that runner’s body to hers as he slid a hand up her side, gently squeezing her waist. “It’s been awhile.”

“Yes, since you were dumped on your sorry ass by Margarita.”

“As I recall, you comforted me quite nicely.”

“You don’t need comforting, Spencer. Not tonight.”

“Sure I do.” Bending his head, he nuzzled her neck. “I’m in the big bad Sierras. I’m scared, Emma.”

She laughed and pushed him away. “Stop it. You don’t need me tonight. We both know it.”

He cocked his head, studying her in the dimly lit hallway. “Actually, I think that’s in reverse. You don’t need me.”

“Not in my bed, no.” She took his roaming hands in hers and then hugged him. “But I needed you here, and you came.”

With a sigh, he hugged her back. “I’ll always come for you, Emma. Always.”

The next day, Emma woke up to dark, wet skies, which fit her mood. She called to check on her dad, who was in the middle of fishing. She treated three thirteen-year-old boys, brought in by their scolding mothers. Seemed that the boys had been pretending to be the Wilder brothers, and had gone hiking in a gully near a river to catch crawdads, and instead had caught poison ivy.

One of the mothers paid with a chicken cheese casserole. Another paid with a check that couldn’t be cashed until the first of the month. The third had a credit card and enough gossip to leave Emma’s head spinning. She learned a whole host of things she didn’t care about, but the one bit of supposed news that stuck with her was that Big Foot had made another sighting—Big Foot?!—but everyone was pretty sure it was just Old Man Pete terrorizing the tourists again.

Good to know.

When the stupid cow bell jangled midday, a woman came in and shook off her wet, lightweight jacket. Emma recognized her as the woman she’d seen in the frozen aisle of the grocery store, the one who’d told Stone she hoped that Cam got dumped by his new fiancé. She wore black jeans and a black t-shirt, with a white and black checkered apron that said Wishful Delights. She was carrying a matching black and white bag that smelled like heaven as she limped to the front desk. “I hope to God you and your big city airs can handle a toe infection.”

Emma did her best to hide her irritation at the “big city airs” comment. “Toe infections welcome.”

The woman, dark brunette, exotic and beautiful, laughed, a low husky sound that probably drew men like moths to a flame. “So it’s true then, you did actually find yourself a sharp wit. Thank God.”

When Emma just stared at her, her patient let out a breath. “You don’t remember me.”

“I remember you from the grocery store. You have a dislike for the Wilder brothers.”

“Ha! No, that’s actually not quite accurate. I had the great misfortune of loving one. But that’s another story altogether. I’m Serena Salvo, from your first grade class. Class bitch,” she clarified.

“The teacher’s pet,” Emma said, remembering now. “You were the one who always got to go out to recess first.”

“Ah, now it’s coming back to you.” She grimaced. “Remember, it was all a long time ago, right?”

A rush of childhood memories hit her. Emma had been the quiet bookworm, a nerd in-the-making, in a town that prized athletics over brains. Her school life had been hell. “You sat behind me and cut my ponytail off.”

“Okay now that was an accident,” Serena said over her shoulder as she limped toward the exam rooms.

“You lifted it up like a trophy and laughed.”

“Hello, first class bitch, remember? But if it helps, I’m extremely remorseful.”

“Only because you got caught.”

“Well that,” Serena agreed, preceding Emma into the first room. “And because I lost dance lessons for a month.”

“I looked like a boy for three months.” Emma sat on the doctor’s stool and began a new chart.

“Yeah.” Serena winced as she sat on the table. “Jeez, I was thinking you’d be over it by now, but just in case, I brought incentive.” She held up that delicious smelling bag. Wriggled it. “See? I’ve turned over a new leaf.”

“What is it with people bringing food instead of cash?”

“Oh, I have a checkbook, too. Now aren’t you glad to see me?”

Emma studied her face. She had been a beautiful little girl and that hadn’t changed. She’d been mean-spirited, and Emma hoped like hell that
had
changed. “You once ratted me out for copying, when it was you who copied. I lost hall monitor privileges.”

“Ah, so you still have the memory of an elephant. Excellent. Do you by any chance remember what happened to the
pearl necklace I stole from my mother and lost right before Christmas vacation that year? She’s never forgiven me.”

Emma sighed again and guided Serena’s foot up to the table. “Your father was mayor. He was a nice man.”

“He had a heart attack and died when I was in fifth grade.”

“I’m very sorry.”

“He was screwing my teacher in the lunch room and the custodian found them. On second thought,
that
might be what my mother hasn’t forgiven me for.”

“How was that your fault?” Emma asked, horrified.

“My teacher.” Emma shrugged. “Who knows. Listen, make this toe thing painless, and I’ll keep you in brownies for the rest of the month.”

Emma blinked. “No promises about being nice?”

“Trust me, you’d rather have my brownies.”

“I don’t intend to be here that long, but I’ll do my best on the painless part.”

Spencer stuck his head in the exam room door. “Hey, Em. I’m going into town, need anything?”

“Yes. More patients.”

Spencer smiled, and looked at Serena. Predictably, he got that look in his eyes that all guys got in the presence of a gorgeous female who knew how gorgeous she was.

Serena waggled her fingers in his direction and he smiled. “See you later, Em.”

When he was gone, Serena waggled a brow. “Who’s the hottie?”

Emma looked at the closed door. “A friend.”

“He looks like Jack from
Lost
, which is to say hot as hell.”

“He’s not your type.”

“
All
men are my type. Is he yours?”

“That’s really none of your business.”

Serena grinned. “You know, I remember you being a sweet kid. You’ve grown claws. I like that.”

Emma examined Serena’s big toe. Classic ingrown toenail. “Yeah, well, you’re not going to like this.”

“Oh, shit. Okay, just do what you have to. I’ll do what I always do when I’m nervous. I’ll ramble. So. Did you miss this place? Is that why you’re back?”

“I came to help out my father.”

Serena hissed out a breath as Emma disinfected the toe and surrounding area. “So you didn’t miss us then.”

Actually, she had at first. Until her mother had given her all the things she hadn’t been able to have here; ballet lessons, science camp…

See, darling. Getting out of here was a good thing. You can thank me later
.

Emma sighed. Sandy had worked hard, so hard, for years. Eventually she’d remarried though; a brain surgeon, one on the way up to Places That Were Important, and they’d been happy, though he’d been gone so much—working—that Emma hadn’t spent a lot of time with him. Or her real dad, for that matter.

“You were sweet to me,” Serena said through her teeth as Emma worked. “One of the few. Which is why I’m not going to yell and scream but holy shit—”

“Done.” Emma wrapped up the toe, gave Serena her instructions for care, and then was pleased to accept actual money.

And
the brownies.

Yeah, she might have once been a sweet kid, but she’d changed. She’d changed greatly. Sweet didn’t get the good jobs and sweet didn’t always help her patients. And sweet would not help her father’s practice.

That’s why she was here, to help him. To run his business. She’d have liked to do more but he’d made it fairly clear that this was enough.

Fine.

She could understand and appreciate that. Sure they were blood related, but that was about it. Besides, she had a life, a great life.

A busy life that didn’t include screwball romantic comedies and a different casserole every single night.

Her
life.

Which she couldn’t get back to until he was better. Dammit. At five o’clock she peered out the window, relieved that the rain had stopped and closed the Urgent Care. Spencer had come back with the truck and was happily cooking away in the kitchen. She went to the freezer and grabbed a stack of casseroles, the healthy ones she’d been saving over the past two days.

She got into the truck, eyed the sky, and gave herself a pep talk as she began driving. She knew in winter that these ten miles would be impassable without a snowmobile, and it boggled her mind, but her father actually liked it that way. Her great grandfather had built the cabin with his own two hands, her mother had told her so. It was how her father had talked her into living in it.

For a week, darling. For one week
.

Right. At the one week mark, her mother had found a lone wolf spider in her bed the size of a man’s fist, and she’d packed up and moved them into the upstairs of the Urgent Care. That had lasted until Emma had turned six.

Then Sandy had moved them to New York.

Emma was getting a little taste of how it’d gone down as she attempted to navigate the road, muddy from all the rains. She had to stop twice, once to let a group of deer finish crossing in front of her, and another to gather her courage to drive through a low running creek that was of questionable height.

She made it, barely. With a sigh of relief she finally pulled up to the cabin thirty minutes later.

And sat there in disbelief.

Just to the side of the cabin was a three-story tall rock that had been shoved here courtesy of the last ice age. Free-climbing the face was a group of teenagers, and her father. Not taking it easy. Not resting.

Climbing
.

At his side, doing the leading was one soon-to-be-very-dead Stone Wilder.

W
ith that inexplicable and annoying awareness tickling up her spine, Emma got out of the truck and strode to the rock. Up close, it wasn’t as tall as she’d first thought, maybe only twenty feet, and the kids were only about halfway, which meant that their feet were just about head level. Her father was slightly below the kids, Stone above them.

“Are you kidding me?” she asked, eyeing the kids on the rock and thinking of cracked skulls and broken bones, all of which would be utterly needless injuries. “Where are the safety ropes?”

Stone twisted around to look down at her, his jeans going taut across his butt.

It was quite the impressive butt.

In fact, everything about him was impressive. Arms and legs stretched out, muscles tight and strained, he was spread-eagle, holding onto what appeared to be nothing more than tiny crevices in the rock.

“We use ropes on the higher climbs,” he said.

“It doesn’t look safe.”
Not the rock, and certainly not you.

Her father began to work his way down toward her while Stone stayed with the kids. Stone’s faded gray t-shirt was snug
across his broad shoulders, loose around his waist, gaping out enough to reveal a tanned, sleek back. He was no longer wearing bandages over all the road rash, and she could see his injuries were healing quite fast and well as he moved along with easy grace.

Yeah,
that’s
why she was staring at him, to make sure he’d healed properly.

Her father hopped to the ground. “Emma.” He smiled at her, light and welcoming. “Nice surprise. Nobody needing you at the Urgent Care then?”

“No.” With baited breath, she watched the group of five kids work the rock safely with Stone’s quiet reassurances. “Who are they?”

“A group of local foster kids. Stone takes them out of their element and on mini-expeditions.”

She’d already heard from Missy that he did this but it became real when she saw it firsthand. It was yet another layer of Stone revealed. Hard to keep picturing him as nothing but a mountain bum when he kept unraveling like a damn onion.

“He’s big on making sure the kids don’t fall through the cracks,” her dad said. “Like he and his brothers did.”

Tilting her head up, she watched Stone give each kid a fist bump as they got to the top. Hard to imagine him as a little boy, much less a vulnerable one.

“Anyway.” Her father slid off his baseball cap. His gray hair was wild as always. “Today is rock climbing day, as you can see. We’re rafting next week.”

“We.”

“I help with the kids when I can, which is more often now.”

Ironic, she thought. He was there for those kids, when he’d never been there for his own.

The kids were preparing for their descent. She wanted to point out how dangerous this sort of thing was, but hell, the teens in New York faced their own daily dangers, and if there
was someone to steer them through surviving out here, so much the better.

But that it was Stone…Yeah, it really put a dent in the whole ski bum rep.

“You’re doing okay at the clinic?”

She looked at her father. “I accepted three more casseroles and two gossip sessions today. I had a case of poison ivy, a wicked toe infection, and…nothing. Nothing else. I’m not sure how I managed to handle it all.”

He nodded sympathetically. “Different pace here, yeah?”

“You could say that. Dad…” She’d given up so much to be here, so damn much, and he was rock climbing. “What are you doing?”

“Well, Stone here and I will make dinner for the kids, and then—”

“I mean…” She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. “How is it that you can rock climb and not work?”

“Oh.” He moved toward his front porch with a surprising spryness for a sixty-one-year-old heart-attack victim, minor or otherwise. “Yeah. About that.”

“You’re improved enough to come back to work,” she said.

Her father scratched his head. “Well…”

“Frankly, I think it’s rude of you not to tell me so.” They were on his porch now, separate enough from the others that they could have some privacy. “I’ve been asking to see your chart, to help you monitor your recovery, but you’ve chosen not to involve me. Fine, I get it, you have your life. But I have mine, too, Dad. A busy one, and I need to get back to it.”

Her father’s smile slipped some. “I didn’t involve you in my care because it can be disconcerting to read the medical records of a close family member.”

“As I buried mom only six months ago, I think I can handle it. Actually, I can handle anything. The bottom line is that I came to help you, and clearly you don’t need it. I would have
appreciated knowing that, as this hasn’t exactly been a vacation for me.”

“I didn’t think so, Emma.”

“Well, what did you think? That I’d appreciate, after all this time of no contact, having to drop everything and come do your work for you?”

He didn’t say anything to that.

“I need to be in New York,” she said quietly.

“Putting in eighty hour work weeks.”

Minimum. With her mom gone, her stepdad gallivanting around the world, and nothing else going on, what did it matter? “I like the work.”

“There’s more to life than work.”

“Dad.” She rubbed a weary hand over her eyes. “It’s a little late for the fatherisms, okay? If you’re better, I just want to know.”

He was quiet, and after looking at him, waiting, she turned away and nearly ran right smack into Stone, who’d climbed down the rock and come up onto the porch without a sound. The kids were in the yard, kicking a ball around. Stone’s usual smile was nowhere in place. “He’s not ready to go back to work, Emma. He’s—”

But her father put his hand on Stone’s arm, and whatever else he’d planned to say never left his lips.

Men. Stoic and silent and
stupid
. “I have three casseroles in the damn truck,” she said, giving up. “I brought them to you so you’d have food.” She stalked back to the vehicle; stacking the dishes up together when the skin at the nape of her neck did that prickle thing, a phenomenon which had never happened to her before Stone.

Not something she wanted to think about.

But damn him.

She whirled around and yep, there he was. Funny how fast the guy could move when he wanted to, like a cat, she thought, looking up, up, up into his eyes, which for the first time were
closed off to her. A big, tough, wild
leopard
. Or a tiger. Something surprisingly silent and edgy and dangerous in worn jeans, his t-shirt molding to his broad shoulders and chest and abs. His wayward surfer hair was spiky today, as if he’d used his fingers instead of a comb. His face—“Hey.” She ran her finger over his temple. “Your stitches.”

“I took them out.”

Yeah, he was most definitely dangerous, at least to her mental health. “You what?”

“Admit it, I did a good job.”

The cut had healed, perfectly. “You should have let me.”

“To be honest, I was never going to let you.” He paused. “Emma—”

“No.” She didn’t want to hear it. She understood his role as protector, that he was there for her father. But she was pretty damn tired of everyone having someone at their back but her.

Damn tired. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Too bad, since I do.” He turned to make sure no one could overhear. “He came to see you, Emma.”

“What?”

“When you were young. He tried to see you, multiple times in fact. But your mother always caught wind of it and whisked you off on a trip somewhere.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He sent letters and called too. He tried to be a part of your life, but she told him that it wasn’t going to happen. That it couldn’t happen, because she was aiming high with you, higher than him.”

“No.” Emma shook her head. “She wouldn’t say that.” But…but how many times had Sandy said those very words, that Emma was to aim high, far higher than her own roots.
Oh, God
. “I don’t believe it.”

“I know it must be hard, after being raised by her, to hear the other side.”

No. No, it wasn’t hard. She knew more than anyone that there were two sides to every story. But this, this couldn’t be right.

Yet the look on his face, the utter empathy, the utter certainty…“Why?” she whispered. “Why did he let her tell him that he couldn’t see me?”

“Because he owed her. He felt responsible for her losing those years of her life when she stayed out here, the years she blamed him for.”

Sandy
had
resented those years, bitterly. Just as she’d bitterly resented every single wrinkle on her face, the ones she’d blamed on the high, harsh, Sierra sun. “He came to New York to see me.”

His eyes softened, revealing his honesty. “Yes.”

“And she turned him away.”

“Yes.”

Emma stared blindly at the granite rock, the rough, rugged pines. “She didn’t want to share me.”

“I imagine not, though it hurt him. And because he had time and love to give, he turned to other kids. Me, for one. And others.” She heard him take a step toward her, his feet crunching on the fallen pine needles. “He’s a good guy, Emma. A really good guy.”

She closed her eyes at the emotion in his voice.

He cared about her dad. She absorbed that a moment, then went still at the feel of his hands pulling her around to face him. His arms slid along hers as he took the casseroles from her, his body warm and sinewy. “Stone?”

“Yeah?” He didn’t shift away, remaining so close she could feel his breath warm on her temple.

“Thanks for telling me,” she whispered.

He nodded, then shook his head. “He won’t thank me.” He set the casseroles on the hood of the truck, then stepped close again.

She’d never been so aware of a man’s body.

Or her own.

Not good.

Yet she didn’t move away. If anything, she shifted slightly closer.

“You look tense enough to shatter,” he murmured, lifting a hand to touch her cheek.

Shocked at herself and her utter lack of control, she shifted into him. A mistake, because as she knew all too well, chemistry was basic.

And they had it in spades. “You might have noticed, I’m not good at relaxing.”

His mouth quirked. “I can help.”

Her mind went there, to how she’d let him relax her, and all it came up with was getting naked.

Oh good Lord. This was all his fault. He practically oozed sex appeal, and being this close wasn’t helping. Nor was the hand he had on her arm. That and his eyes, on hers, weakened her defenses, tearing down a wall she’d put up a damn long time ago, leaving her feeling far too exposed.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his thighs bumping hers. “It’s definitely there.”

Knowing what
it
was—that Chemistry 101 she was thinking about, all that sheer, bare, physical need—she lifted her chin. One thing at a time, and right now, she was concentrating on her self-righteous frustration over her dad. “This…this whatever it is between us, isn’t going to be a problem.”

“No?”

“
No
.” She firmed up her voice. “No way, no how.”

“You trying to convince me?” he asked. “Or yourself?”

“I mean it. This would be a very bad idea.”

“A bad idea, huh?” His voice was low and shockingly seductive as he dipped his head down slightly so that their mouths were disconcertingly close. “If that’s what helps you sleep at night, Doc.”

His eyes were smoldering with a dark and enticing knowledge, and her knees actually wobbled. Other reactions occurred too, reactions she wasn’t ready to admit to. But she could admit this—for whatever reason, whether it was his sheer testosterone-fueled masculinity, or the fact that he was different from the men she usually let in her life—she was too vulnerable to him.

Far too vulnerable.

Turning, she picked the casserole dishes back up and shoved them into his arms. “You cook those at 350 degrees for about an hour.”

His lips were curved slightly, and she drank in his closeness. He smelled a little woodsy, a little citrusy, and a whole lot male. His face was tanned, with fine lines fanning out from his eyes and the corners of his mouth, assuring her that he laughed, and often.

She had no idea why that was so damn attractive. Maybe because she’d always wondered what it was like not to be ruled by her work.

But her work was her life. She’d made sure of it.

Stone rubbed his jaw. He hadn’t shaved that morning, maybe not yesterday either, and the stubble should have put her off.

Yeah. It so didn’t.

She needed something to put her off. Maybe he wore holey socks. Maybe he snored. God, she hoped he snored.

“You going to talk to him before you go?”

“I think I said enough.”

“You were pretty hard on him.” The casual bluntness of the words struck a chord deep inside her, mostly because he was right. Which she hated.

“Maybe you could find something else to say. Something kind.”

Ah, good, there it was, the putting off. Perfect.

But in the face of her silence, he just held her gaze, clear
and steady, and she sighed. Just say it, Stone. Say the rest of what you want to say.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “I get that in your world, you can back up that badass city girl thing you’ve got going on, but things are different here.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” she responded. “People around here tend to get all up in other people’s business, for one.” She shot him a meaningful look.

He smiled. “It’s called caring.”

“Oh. I thought it was called
nosy
.”

He shook his head. “You’re stubborn. You get that from him. He means something to me, Emma,” he said softly, with steel underlying every syllable. “Maybe you could cut him some slack.”

She wanted to promise him that she would, but that stubbornness reared its ugly head and she bit her tongue.

He looked at her for a long moment, then when she didn’t speak, nodded his thanks at the casseroles in his arms and turned and walked away.