Rogue's Revenge - By Gail MacMillan Page 0,21
be difficult since then you’d have two vehicles in town…”
“Okay, okay, I’m coming.” He pulled a clean white T-shirt over his head and grabbed a plaid shirt from the closet. Man, I’ll be glad when she’s gone.
In the kitchen, she stood by the door in a shaft of afternoon sunlight and a soft orange turtleneck that accentuated her peaches-and-cream complexion and the soft, shining, artistic tangle of her chestnut curls. Some brand of expensive, hip-hugging jeans highlighted the alluring curves below. Oh, hell, and double hell. Body behave…just for another hour or so.
****
“Do you date much?”
“What?” His head jerked to face her. They were driving down the highway toward the airport a half hour later when she broke the silence they’d maintained all the way from the Chance.
“I asked if you date much. Women must be pretty scarce, away back in the woods. Available women, that is.” He caught the innuendo.
“I don’t fool around with guests, married or otherwise.” He returned his attention to the road and fought to control the annoyance that had formed a sharper retort. “Don’t try to be subtle about asking.”
“What about the local ladies?” Head held high and slightly cocked, she stared through the windshield into the spring sunlight.
“I don’t see how my social life is any concern of yours.” He gripped the wheel until his knuckles were hard as walnuts.
“I guess it isn’t, not really. I’m just curious to see if you’ll be leaving any romantic interest when I terminate your position. Or maybe you’ll stay in Portage and get a job cutting timber or guiding hunters.”
“You’re really trying to get to me, are you?” He tried to ignore the anger swelling in his gut. “You hate me that much?”
“That much.” She swung to face him, and he saw fury snapping from eyes as green as the burgeoning leaves at the Chance.
“Okay, fine.” He turned the Cherokee into the parking lot of the small airport, where a commuter plane was warming up on the runway. “Seems like we’ve made it.” He swung to a stop at the terminal doors and got out, his rapid strides to the back of the vehicle punctuating his annoyance.
“Here.” He plunked her suitcase at the entrance. “Safe journey.”
With a plethora of feelings roiling in his gut, he climbed back into the Jeep and gunned back toward the highway. He had to find some way to get that irritating woman out from under his skin.
Wonder what Jesse is doing for dinner tonight?
He swung the Jeep into the parking lot beside the former Victorian lumber baron’s house that now served at the town’s clinic and emergency hospital. Climbing out, he grinned as he read the sign: Dr. Jessica Henderson, MD. Yeah, that’s just what I need…an evening with the good doctor.
“Heath.” The silver-haired receptionist rose to greet him as he entered the foyer that had been converted into a now-empty waiting room. “It’s so good to see you. How have you been?” She lowered her tone over the last sentence. “You must miss Jack. I saw you at the funeral yesterday but didn’t get an opportunity to talk to you or his daughter. The chestnut-haired girl in the black suit must have been Jack’s granddaughter. My, she’s grown into quite a lady…a big-city lady, that is.”
Heath caught the note of deprecation in her last sentence and had to hold back a grin. He knew Mrs. Henderson had hopes for her own daughter and him. She wouldn’t welcome anyone who might push that dream any further from reality.
“She is that. Big city, that is. I just put her on a plane back to Toronto. Is Jesse busy?”
“No, no, finished with the last patient before you came in.” The alacrity in her tone upped immediately. “Wait here. I’ll fetch her.”
Heath let the grin come as she bustled into the office behind her desk. Some day he and Jesse would have to tell her the truth about their relationship. Man, he wasn’t looking forward to that day. Somehow he couldn’t see Mrs. Henderson accepting the friends-with-benefits thing.
****
“So she’s on her way back to Toronto to see if her lawyers can screw you out of your share of the Chance.” Doctor Jessica Henderson replaced her wine glass on the table and looked over at Heath. They were seated in Douglas O’Brien’s restaurant, the only eatery in Portage other than a couple of fast-food outlets. A candle cast shadows over the couple in the room bathed in twilight and the scent of freshly baked bread and