It's in His Touch (16 page)

The corners of her mouth twitched, and a hidden smile danced in her eyes. It took a second, but her self-control won, and the smile never fully formed. She looked out over the backyard, Sarge carrying the stick toward them. “I just can’t. It’s impossible on so many levels.”

He shook his head as Sarge scampered up onto the porch again. Blake grabbed the stick and threw it for another round. “Complicated, maybe. But not impossible. Complications can be worked out. It’s called compromise.” And that was the problem, wasn’t it? She didn’t like to compromise. She liked to win.

“Professionally, it’s not possible.”

“And what about personally?”

She wouldn’t look at him. Wouldn’t answer him.

“Is this about your ex?” Blake didn’t even want to say his name.

“No.” A muscle in her jaw flexed. “This has nothing to do with him.”

“I get that it’s difficult because of our legal situation, but if it’s not about your ex, then what
is
it about?”

Her hand went to her chest, her palm flattening against her breasts. “What if it comes back?” A tremor threaded through her voice.

Ah. She still hadn’t let go of the fear. He’d seen it in some of his patients. Once they let themselves slide down into that hole, it was hard to climb out. “What if it doesn’t?”

“It wouldn’t be fair to put anyone through that again. I couldn’t stand to see the resentment in your . . .” Her voice trailed off as she looked out over the expansive backyard. “. . . someone’s eyes.”

“If you’re comparing me to Gabriel, don’t. I deserve a little more credit than that, and aren’t you being kind of arrogant?”

“Beg your pardon?” Angelique gaped.

“I’m a
doctor
for Chrissake. And I’m a grown man, unlike that little boy you were engaged to. Maybe you should let me decide for myself whether or not I want to get involved with you, instead of making the decision for me.”

Angelique hugged herself, drawing inward. Away from him. Disengaging. “I couldn’t go through the rejection again. Everyone has a breaking point, and I think that would be mine.”

“You’re willing to be alone the rest of your life?” Alone sucked. Emotional isolation had destroyed his mother, robbed her of every ounce of joy. Pushed everyone in her life away who wanted to help, including him. That wasn’t living. It was hell.

“I’ve got my family.” Angelique looked at her feet. “And my career, of course.”

“For being so tough, you’re a chicken.”

Her gaze snapped to his. Finally. Whatever worked. Her eyes darkened.

“You got a raw deal with your illness. That’s no excuse to stop living.”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “You couldn’t possibly understand what it was like. What it took from me. And it’s none of your business.”

“You’re right, it’s not.” But he wanted it to be. Damned if he didn’t want
her
to be his business in all of her stubborn glory. He ran a hand through his hair. “My mother died of breast cancer when I was in med school,” he blurted.
Hell.

Angelique’s mouth fell open.

“You got a second chance, Angelique. Don’t waste it.” He set his coffee on the small table by the chair and walked off the porch. Stopping, he tossed a look over his shoulder and stuffed both hands in his pockets. “Maybe if you focus on people instead of wins, none of this would be so complicated. Because it seems pretty simple to me.” He strolled toward home.

He really needed to practice what he preached, because he’d let his life get a whole lot more complicated by getting involved with such a headstrong woman. Give him a case of appendicitis to diagnose, and he was a genius. Give him a strong-willed woman, and he became a blithering idiot who was begging for trouble.

C
hapter
T
hirteen

Angelique took a drink of the new concoction in her martini glass and smacked her lips. She had to admit, Mixology 101—number fifteen on the bucket list—wasn’t so bad. Putting her lips to the rim, she drew on the fancy glass again and let the mixture slide down her throat. Yes. Yes, the amateur bartending class was actually quite fun. Much more relaxing than gambling or arctic dog sledding. And Angelique needed a little relaxation after her confrontation with Blake a few hours ago.

Blake.
Since when did she start calling him by his first name?

Oh, yeah . . .

Heat crept up her neck, and she tossed back the rest of her cocktail.

After losing his mom to breast cancer, why would he be interested in Angelique? Why would he chance putting himself through that again, unless he pitied her? Gah!

She and Kimberly stood at one of the bar-height mixing tables at the Andalucia Vineyard and Winery, Kimberly studying the cocktail recipe chart like it was part of the bar exam.

Angelique’s phone rang. Well, shouted the ringtone of Jack Nicholson yelling, “You can’t handle the truth!” She looked at the number and growled.

“Douchebag?” Kimberly asked, looking up from the recipe chart.

“How’d you know?” Angelique let it go to voicemail.

“The grizzly bear snarl kind of gave it away.” Kimberly returned her attention to the chart.

Angelique waited for the phone to beep, and then she listened to the message.

“Ang, it’s Gabriel.”

It irritated her that he still called her Ang.

“We need to talk.” His voice was desperate. “Monthly finance reports are due soon, and I need my case files. I’ve got work to do for those clients. If the money and the files don’t turn up soon, I’ll have to tell the partners, and they’ll want an explanation. Call me back. Soon.” His last word turned angry.

Hmm
. Gabriel wasn’t giving up, and a desperate Gabriel could be bad news. What if he really did try to pin this on her? How convenient since she wasn’t around to defend herself.

She tossed the phone back into her purse. “Next weekend would you help me with something?” she asked Kimberly.

Kimberly poured ingredients for the next cocktail. “Does it require shovels and Gabriel’s lifeless corpse?” She covered the metal cocktail shaker and shook the daylights out of it. The tip of her tongue clenched between her teeth on one side of her mouth, she concentrated on the ice pinging against metal.

“Um, no. No bodies, and remind me never to piss you off.”

Finally the shaking stopped—thank God, because it made Angelique a little dizzy—and Kimberly poured her newest mixture into fresh glasses. “It won’t be as much fun as duct-taping Gabriel and forcing him into my trunk, but you know I’d do anything for you.” She threw two olives in each drink.

Angelique snagged one of the new cocktails and sipped. Okay, gulped.

Flipping the chart to the next recipe, Kimberly started organizing bottles of vermouth, gin, and bitters. “So what is this thing you need help with next weekend?”

The tasting room filled with a buzz of tipsy chatter from the dozen and a half people who had signed up for the Sunday afternoon class just to get schnockered. Really, did no one go to church anymore?

Angelique hiccupped.

“I got a second chance. You know, with my health.” Hadn’t Blake said that? She’d gotten a second chance, unlike his poor mother. “I think I have a way to pay it forward. There’s this nice German couple in Red River, the Ostergaards. They own the pastry shop on Main Street. Mrs. Ostergaard is going through chemo.”

Angelique put her empty martini glass down and picked up Kimberly’s drink. Plucking out the cocktail pick, she pulled the olives off with her teeth one at a time. She gazed at the late-afternoon sky through the tasting room windows and chewed.

“Maybe it’s a stupid idea.”
Since the Ostergaards won’t be in business much longer
. “But when a person’s ill—like big C ill—a small gesture can boost their morale. Help them get through one more day.” Angelique knew that all too well. Some days she’d felt like an arcade duck at a county fair all shot up with holes. The physical and mental battles started on day one of the diagnosis.

Angelique hadn’t been able to forget the image of a rosy-cheeked Mrs. O wearing a head scarf to cover her balding head. The sight had melted Angelique’s heart into a puddle right there on the bakery floor, and that’s where it still lay.

“I got off easy with only oral meds as treatment. I can’t imagine what it would be like to go through chemo or radiation.”

Kimberly stopped mixing and studied Angelique. “That’s the first time you’ve said you had it easy. The first time you’ve looked at the bright side of your illness. Did Dr. Tall, Dark, and Hot-some have something to do with that?”

“No.”
Yes. Dammit.

Angelique’s fate after the diagnosis could’ve been much worse, and she was finally beginning to see that. Thanks to Mrs. Ostergaard. And Blake. Angelique shook her head. Hell’s bells, she needed to stop thinking of him as
Blake.
She needed to stop thinking of him period. Except that Blake Holloway was
all
she thought about anymore. Somehow, he’d invaded her mind, her body, and her life, and she wasn’t sure how to walk away from him. Wasn’t sure she could.

“I thought we could help the Ostergaards bake. Their display cabinets were kind of bare, and I think it’s because Mrs. O is ill.”

A warm smile lit Kimberly’s face, and she stared at Angelique. “You’re so sweet.”

“I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but
sweet
isn’t one of them.” Another hiccup, this one a little louder, and Angelique giggled behind one hand. “Most people just think I’m bitchy and intimidating.”

“Okay, then you’re one classy bitch. I’ll drive in next weekend, and we can bake our brains out for the Os.”

Angelique knocked back the rest of her drink. “I knew I could count on you.” She hiccupped again.

Kimberly eyed her. “Think you should slow down with the cocktails? I’m just having a taste of each recipe since we have to drive home.”

Angelique gave her head a decisive shake. The alcohol was nice. Liquid courage. She’d pop over to Blake’s cabin when they got home and make him understand why she had to sever their . . . their . . .

Hell’s bells. There was no
their.
Their
didn’t exist. Not really.

They were just a one-time thing. Just sex. Nothing more. Just hot, sensual, passionate, mind-altering sex. That she was never going to experience again. Her whole. Entire. Life.

“Give me another one.” She held out her glass and hiccupped again. “I’ll drink. You mix and drive.”

Kimberly placed her untouched drink in front of Angelique since she was now the designated driver, and Angelique sucked half of it into her mouth, swishing it around before she swallowed.

“Do you think I’m intimidating?” Angelique leaned on the table because the room was a little tilted.

“Not at the moment, sweetie.” Kimberly took Angelique’s glass and led her to a chair. She dashed over to the hors d’oeuvres table and brought back a small plate of food and a tall glass of water. “Eat and drink this while I finish up.”

“Seriously.” Angelique grabbed a cream cheese roll-up and nibbled at it. “Do I scare people?”

Kimberly inhaled. “Let’s just say you have an authoritative persona, a characteristic that would be applauded if you were a man.”

Another hiccup escaped Angelique. “That sounds like a smooth way to say I’m bitchy and I scare people.”

“I say this with the utmost respect, but when it comes to your professional life, you’re like a bulldog in lipstick and stilettos. You’re the best at what you do, so roll with it. It’s a gift and a privilege to have your skills. Don’t let the opinions of others diminish that just because you don’t have a penis.”

Angelique laughed and popped a cube of cheese into her mouth. She chewed. “Yet another reason I keep you around,” she said around a mouthful of protein. “You like me the way I am.”

“Keep eating,” Kimberly said over her shoulder as she returned to the mixing table. “You’re going to need it to fight off a hangover.”

Angelique sighed, munching on another cube of cheese. Blake seemed to like her just the way she was. A lot. Especially when they were naked. But he wouldn’t once he saw her in action.

She didn’t see another way out of this, though. If she walked away from this case, she’d likely lose her partnership, and her client would find another lawyer to get the job done. Then what would she have left? A big fat nothing, because she didn’t have a future with Dr. Tall, Dark, and Hot-some, no matter how well they danced the horizontal two-step together. Even if he did seem to . . . enjoy her company . . . a lot . . . she couldn’t stand to see another man recoil from her if her illness came back. She had four more years before she hit the five-year mark and could rest easy. And even then, she doubted she’d ever really
rest easy
.

Nope. She needed to get her professional act together, see this through, and go back to Albuquerque where she belonged. Except that when she thought of Albuquerque, it didn’t feel like home anymore. Didn’t make her feel all warm and fuzzy inside like the cozy cabin in Red River and the friendly people that she inevitably bumped into every time she strolled down Main Street.

Angelique lowered her forehead and thumped it gently against the table.

And a certain country doctor with eyes and abs that made her toes curl wasn’t waiting for her back in Albuquerque, either. He was right here in this tiny town that was growing on her with each passing day. Unfortunately, both he and the town would be gone once she completed her objective and moved on.

Angelique’s dog showed up on Blake’s doorstep late Sunday afternoon, another prize clamped between his teeth. This pair was red.

Thank you, Sergeant Schnitzel.

Perfect excuse to hike across the footbridge again and knock on her door. Might earn him another chance to get her to see reason. Even if she accomplished her objective here, the firm she worked for back in Albuquerque probably wouldn’t be as loyal to her as she was to them. Her ex’s unchecked behavior had proven that, so why couldn’t she see it?

At any rate, he wouldn’t be able to keep her true purpose for being here a secret much longer. So he’d spent the last few hours devising a fallback plan because, yeah, he was getting desperate. If she’d give him a chance, he could show her what Red River had to offer. What
he
had to offer.

When Mrs. Barbetta answered the door and he’d set Sarge down in the kitchen, she’d made Blake an offer he couldn’t refuse—dessert and coffee. Good neighbors. He took another bite of tiramisu and licked a dab of mascarpone cheese from his fork. Really good neighbors.

“This is delicious, Mrs. Barbetta,” he said, taking another bite. Like a delicious piece of edible art; he’d had to restrain himself from moaning while he inhaled it.

“Oh, let me get you another piece.” Mrs. Barbetta stopped cleaning the kitchen and reached for the pan of tiramisu.

He waved her off. “Thanks, but I’ve had plenty.” Angelique’s parents didn’t know when she’d be back, and Blake couldn’t sit there all day eating dessert no matter how good it tasted.

Mrs. Barbetta continued to yammer at him as if he were a long-lost son, while Mr. Barbetta worked a crossword puzzle across the kitchen table from him. Nona slipped something from a flask into her mug when she thought no one was watching.

“What’s an eight-letter word for aggravation?” Mr. Barbetta asked. He was obviously a nice guy. A good family man. The Barbettas had spent the last thirty minutes talking about Angelique and her siblings, and Blake admired their strong family ties. Hoped to have the same in his life soon.

“Son-in-law,” Nona offered.

“Very funny,” Mr. Barbetta said. “Aha! Nuisance.” He glanced up at Nona. “Good word.” He scribbled it into the boxes.

By the time Mrs. Barbetta refilled his mug the second time around, he’d been asked for an effective treatment for the butt rash on their infant grandson who lived in Denver, and Blake knew which cousin hadn’t yet come out of the closet.