Welcome to Temptation: A Romantic Comedy (6 page)

Gator shrugged. “I had it coming. Sometimes I don’t know when to stop pushing.”

“I’d like the two of us to be friends,” she said, “since it looks as though we’re going to be spending the next couple of days together.” She glanced away. “There’s no reason to harbor bad feelings over something that happened sixteen years ago.”

Gator knew that she was right, that they should put their differences aside. And he
had
been holding a grudge all these years, he realized. When she’d run away from him that night, he suspected he had pushed her too hard. Or maybe she’d had second thoughts and figured him for some kind of yokel or redneck. She was a big-city girl, straight out of Baton Rouge, where, he’d been certain, the guys his age were more sophisticated. Besides, he was only eighteen years old, and, although he was taking a couple of classes at the community college, he had no idea what he was going to do with his life. What could he have offered her?

Gator forced his thoughts back to the present. Michelle was looking at him, waiting for an answer. She wanted to be friends. How could a man be friends with the girl he’d first loved? Well, he would try anything once. “Sure, I’ll be your friend,” he said, breaking for a stop sign. “Why not?” It was crazy to expect more from a woman who was carrying a torch for another man.

Michelle smiled. “Good, let’s shake on it.” She offered her hand.

Taking her hand in his was his first mistake. Gator realized the minute his fist closed over hers. He almost jumped, and felt as if two raw wires had just made contact. The effect was immediate, sending powerful currents up his arms, and he was certain the hair along his forearm was standing on end. He released her, but he could still feel the small imprint of her hand in his palm. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and drove on, but he could not take his mind off how it had felt to hold that dainty hand, or how that hand would feel on his body in a loving caress. It was clear to him he could not touch her without wanting her.

Michelle would have had to be blind not to notice the change in Gator. She, too, was shaken. How could an innocent handshake have such a powerful effect on her? This had nothing to do with mere friendship, she decided. His hand closing over hers had conveyed much more. She could imagine those leather-roughened hands on her skin. Those hands could yield strength and power or stroke a woman with a touch as light as dandelion fluff. The knowledge only heightened her awareness of him, and she wondered if there was a woman alive who was not susceptible to the very maleness of him.

Michelle returned to the shelter with Gator, but before they picked up Reba, she helped administer to several people with minor injuries. Gator watched, mesmerized. He could see the caring on her face and in the tender way he touched people. He could not help but develop a new respect for her.

It was late when Gator drove Michelle and Reba to his place, which turned out to be a blue, forty-foot-long houseboat located in a cove on the bayou. Surprisingly enough, it had sustained very little damage from the storm, except for a shattered window and some water leakage. His power was out, but that was the norm.

Using his flashlight to guide them, Gator helped Reba and Michelle out of the truck and led them onto the deck of the houseboat. He stopped at the door long enough to unlock it, then shined the light in so they could pass through first. “Watch your step,” he cautioned. “Just stay where you are till I find my kerosene lamp.”

As soon as they had light, Reba checked her hound and accepted Gator’s offer to take the dog out. Mister Ed began to squawk at the sight of them, but was quickly calmed by Reba’s voice. She draped a towel over his cage, and he went to sleep.

Michelle found herself standing in a living room of sorts, which was separated from a small kitchen by a counter. The living room furniture consisted of two sofa beds across from which stood a built-in bookcase holding a flat screen and stereo. The bookcase was filled with paperbacks and record albums, but it was too dark to see the titles. She held the lamp up to the entrance of a short hallway and found a small bedroom with an attached bath. Everything was surprisingly neat.

Reba yawned and stretched. “I’m so tired I could drop right here on the floor and it wouldn’t matter.” Michelle nodded, just as Gator came through the door with the dog.

“I found a couple of flashlights behind the seat in my truck,” he said, testing them to make sure they worked. He handed each of them one. “Maybe they’ll keep you from bumping into walls. You two can have the bed, and I’ll take the couch,” Gator said. “But first”—he paused and glanced at Reba, his look amused—“I’d better change the sheets.”

Reba merely chuckled, but Michelle rolled her eyes heavenward. “We’d appreciate it very much,” she said, sarcasm ringing loud in her voice. Heaven only knew what kind of unnatural acts he’d performed on those sheets.

In the end, Michelle helped him change them, all the while refusing to meet his gaze, which she knew was bright with silent laughter. The man was totally without scruples, she decided. She was thankful it was dark and he couldn’t see the bright blush on her cheeks.

“Would you like to wash up?” Gator asked as soon as they’d finished making the bed. “I have several jugs of water in the back of my truck. And I always keep a couple of toothbrushes on hand in case I have company.”

“Yes, I’ll just bet you do,” Michelle replied.

Her words seemed to amuse him even more. “Just let me find you and Reba something to wear, and then I’ll get the water.”

Once Reba had washed up and changed into fresh clothes, Michelle poured water into the bathroom sink and bathed her face and the back of her neck, then washed as best she could. Gator had given them both a toothbrush, and Michelle took great delight in brushing her teeth for the first time in two days. Maybe she was being too hard on the man, she decided. He was going out of his way to make them comfortable, and it was none of her business what he did with his personal life. He’d worked tirelessly throughout the day to get the town back on its feet, despite the fact that he’d never wanted the job. She had to give him credit for that.

For her, helping others had been a conscious act of meeting her own needs. With her parents so heavily involved in their medical-supply business, which took them all over the country, she’d spent a lot of time with baby-sitters and nannies. And without brothers and sisters, there was a certain amount of loneliness involved. She’d admired her parents’ business skills, but she’d been more impressed with the doctors and nurses she met through their dealings and the gentle one-on-one relationships that existed between the medical professionals and their patients.

Her parents had suggested medical school, which they were certainly able to afford, but she had not been interested in becoming a doctor, who was, in her opinion, a mere figurehead of the medical profession. It was the nurses who made the difference, she decided. They were the ones who did all the hand-holding, who soothed patients’ fears and reassured them in the middle of the night. By becoming a nurse, she had fulfilled both other people’s needs and her own.

It was only later that Michelle realized it wasn’t enough. Jeffrey Rigby was fresh out of medical school, ready to conquer the world. He wasn’t hardened like the older doctors—he genuinely cared about his patients. Michelle had caught him crying in the supply room once after losing a young boy he had tried to revive. It had drawn them closer together. So close, in fact, that he often turned to her with his problems. She was only too glad to be there for him. He gave so much of himself that it was only fitting she console him and be his anchor of support when things got tough. And when he’d kissed her one morning after a particularly grueling night in emergency, the bond had grown stronger.

This was love, she decided. It didn’t matter that there weren’t fireworks or bells going off in her head. It was two human beings connecting. It did not matter that their lovemaking was not the stuff that made up erotic romance literature. It was gentle and pleasurable, like a soothing balm to a weary soul. And when he’d confessed his brief fling with the nurse in radiology, she’d tried to forgive him. When he’d told her about the baby and his decision to marry the woman, she’d had no choice but to break off their relationship. Still, she’d remained his friend. The pain in his eyes was proof that he’d suffered enough. She’d had to put away the hurt and concentrate on being strong, his “tower of strength,” as he often called her. There would be no more intimacy, she told him, because her sense of right and wrong would not allow it. But she would always be there for him to talk to.

In the beginning it had been difficult. She had dreamed of a future with him. They had common interests and goals, and they both wanted children one day. Now another woman would carry those children. It wasn’t fair, Michelle told herself, when she passed the woman in the nurses’ lounge or hallway, watching her waistline thicken with each passing month. She had not realized until then how much she longed for a child, to have the family she’d never had growing up. But it was not to be. Thankfully, the pain had eased over the ensuing months, but not the feeling of rejection and betrayal. She would not make the same mistake again.

When Michelle finally came out of the bathroom, she found Reba already in bed, fast asleep. She changed into the cotton shirt Gator had given her and laughed at the size of it. The hem almost reached her knees, and the sleeves were at least six inches too long. She rolled them up to her elbows. Gator tapped lightly on the bedroom door and she opened it.

“You finished with the toothpaste?” he said.

“Oh, sorry. I’ll get it for you.” Michelle retrieved it from the bathroom and carried it into the kitchen, where Gator was washing up at the sink. He’d stripped off his shirt and was in the process of soaping his chest, stomach, and underarms. Michelle was riveted to the spot, unable to pry her gaze from him. His jeans rode low on his hips in a way that made her eyes dilate. No matter what she thought of him personally, he was undoubtedly one of the finest-looking men she’d ever laid eyes on. She knew men, Jeffrey included, who spent hours at the gym but didn’t come close to looking so good. She wondered if Gator worked out, but she didn’t think so. She could imagine him chopping wood or swimming in the river to stay in shape, but she couldn’t envision him lifting weights or running an asphalt track in expensive sweats.

“Would you pass me that towel?” Gator asked, leaning over the sink as he rinsed the soapy foam from his body with a washcloth. It was one of the most sensual acts she’d ever seen.

Michelle reached for the towel on the counter and handed it to him. He dried himself briskly, then draped the towel around his neck. “Are you hungry?”

Michelle shook her head. It was all she could do to keep her eyes off his chest, the way the blue-black curls glistened in the lamplight, the way his nipples beaded in the cool night air. “I’m too tired to eat,” she finally said. But mostly she was tense, all wound up, no doubt from all the coffee she’d drank that evening—and from spending so much time with him, she thought.

“Which is a good thing since all I have is beer and pretzels. You don’t impress me as a beer drinker.” Gator had never been much of a beer drinker himself until he’d worked in the sugar cane fields. It had become a habit to share a cold beer with the rest of the men at the end of a long, hot day. He couldn’t drink like most men; it was his metabolism, he supposed. Three beers wouldn’t get him drunk but would certainly give him one hell of a headache the following day. The guys at the Night Life Lounge teased him unmercifully about it, and got a kick out of it when, after a couple of brews, he ordered diet soda.

“Right now anything sounds good,” Michelle said. She hoped the beer would relax her. Although she was exhausted, she was not ready to climb into bed with her grandmother, whom she knew snored louder than a jumbo jetliner.

Gator reached into the small refrigerator and pulled out two beers. “They’re still cool,” he said, putting one metal can to his forehead. He popped the metal top on one and handed it to her, then reached inside a cabinet for the pretzels.

Michelle took a seat at the counter and sipped her beer slowly, gazing across at Gator in the dimly lit room. The flame from the lamp painted shadows across his dark face. He leaned on the counter, his elbows propped beneath him, his chin anchored on one fist.

“After watching you tonight, I see why you decided to become a nurse,” he said. “You have a calming effect on people.” Except on him, he thought. Every nerve in his body came alive when she was near. “I suppose it’s a bit dull working in this place after the excitement of working in a big city hospital.”

“Not dull, just different. I’m probably more sympathetic to these people, because they can’t help what happened to them. Many of the people I work with at my emergency room are responsible in some way for their own injuries or deaths.”

“Oh, we have our share of problems here,” Gator said. “Domestic violence, drunk drivers, fights.”

“Is that why you decided to become sheriff?” She knew it wasn’t, but for some reason she wanted to hear it from him.

He straightened and folded his arms over his chest. “I became sheriff because I was elected. I’ve never had any grand illusions about trying to change the world. I don’t really care what goes on around me as long as it doesn’t interfere with my life. To someone like you, that probably sounds selfish, but that’s the way I am. What you see is what you get.”

“Why do you think you were elected in the first place?”

“Because my father was sheriff for so long. Folks just expected me to take over where he left off, I suppose.”

“I understand the people thought a great deal of him.”

“Yes, and they never fail to remind me how great he was. And now that he’s dead it’s like he’s a national hero or something. You can’t compete with somebody like that. But I have more important plans for my life than playing
Andy of Mayberry
, and the sooner I find somebody to take my place, the better off we’ll all be.”