“I hope it’s Dr. Nate,” Shannon said, readjusting Evie in her arms before turning to head down the hall. “He’s almost as good with the children as Jack.”
“No, it’s somebody new, according to Serena, but I haven’t had the chance to meet him yet, so you can be my scouting party.” Miss Myra actually winked, a gesture so out of character that Shannon grinned. “But she says he’s a real Southern gentleman, and I quote, ‘quite a hunk’ too.”
Shannon chuckled. “Everybody’s a hunk to Serena,” she called on her way to sick bay. Smiling, she shook her head over Serena’s comment. The young volunteer in her second year of nursing certainly seemed far more interested in the docs than a degree.
“I don’t feel so good, Miss Shannon,” Evie whispered, laying her head on Shannon’s shoulder. “My tummy hurts.”
Shannon paused on the threshold of sick bay—a former outdoor veranda converted into a sunny year-round mini hospital ward. “Do you feel like you’re going to throw up again, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well you be sure to tell me or the doctor if you do, and we’ll get you a pot, okay?” Shannon wiggled her nose in the crook of Evie’s neck, making the little girl giggle as she carried her to a hospital bed. Along the far wall, a doc in a white coat emblazoned with a Superman logo squatted to give an insulin shot to a small child in a Little Tykes car. Giggles rose from a group of children that surrounded him while a young volunteer teacher looked on, the smile on her face practically aglow. “After all,” Shannon said, “we don’t want you puking on the doc or he might not come back.”
Her breath caught in her throat when the doc glanced over his shoulder.
Or maybe we do.
Sam Cunningham—or “Sham Cunningham” as she’d nicknamed him in her mind—had the audacity to give her a grin and a wink, charring her cheeks. “This is my last injection, so I’ll be right with you, Angel Eyes,” he said with a twinkle, gaze flicking to Evie to render another wink. “And you, too, sweetheart.” He turned back to his task before Shannon could deliver a scowl, his bedside manner obviously as deadly with sick kids as it was with unsuspecting women.
“Okay, what flavor shot do you want this to be, champ—vanilla, strawberry, or chocolate?” Sam reached for a clean syringe while gently rubbing an ice pack on the back of a little boy’s arm. “Or if you want to go daring like me, you can go with something like Chunky Monkey or Peanut Butter Fudge or my personal favorites” —he tossed Shannon a grin over his shoulder— “Baskin Robbins’ Wild and Reckless sherbet or Love Potion #31.”
Shannon rolled her eyes.
“I’ll just take vanilla, please,” the little boy whispered, hands gripped knuckle-white on the steering wheel of the Little Tyke’s car.
“You like to play it safe, eh?” Sam gently pinched some skin at the back of the boy’s arm. “Well that’s okay, buddy, because some of the nicest people I know like to play it safe. Now I’m going to hold this arm still, but let’s make some noise with the other by beeping that horn, okay?”
The boy started banging the horn while Sam and all the others whooped and made car sounds, the needle in and out so fast, the little guy was vaccinated before he knew it. “Okay, partner, good job,” Sam said, swabbing the boy’s arm while he fished a Tootsie Roll Pop from his pocket. “You’re all done.” Opening the car door, Sam carefully lifted the boy out, taking great pains not to bump his vaccinated arm.
“Thanks so much, Dr. Sam,” the volunteer teacher said before herding the children to the door, the adoration shining in her eyes enough to make Shannon sick. Trying to ignore the hugs and high-fives Sam doled out to each of the kids, Shannon sat next to Evie on the bed, hugging her close while the little girl’s head lagged against Shannon’s side.
Evie’s little chest expanded and contracted with a sigh way bigger than she, and Shannon found herself doing the same as she watched Sam out of the corner of her eye. True, he may be a hero with women and kids, but she was grateful she’d been “vaccinated” against charming players like him. She closed her eyes, and the memory of his kiss instantly invaded, tugging another heavy sigh from her throat. Vaccinated indeed. Her lips took a twist as she hugged Evie close. Including the booster shot last week in the car.
Chapter Eight
“So … what’s the problem with this little angel here?” Sam returned to squat before them.
Well, Doc, she’s nauseous and has a fever, and I’m just plain nauseous.
“Miss Shannon won’t let me ride my horsy,” Evie said with a sad sniff, no hesitation at all in throwing Shannon under the bus for trying to do the right thing.
Shannon sighed. Again.
Sam smiled up at Shannon, and her stomach plunged at a mottled yellow and purple bruise around his eye. She put a hand to her mouth, feeling like a despicable human being. “Oh no, did I do that?” she whispered, nodding at his shiner.
His twitch of a smile was in perfect sync with the sparkle in his eyes. “Afraid so, Teach, but trust me—it’s a lesson I learned well.”
Shannon punished her lip with her teeth. “Sam, I am so sorry.”
He peered up with that rare gravity she’d seen before despite the curve of his lips. “I’m not. I had it coming, Shannon, and besides” —he winked— “my patients think I look like a pirate, striking fear in the hearts of both maiden and man.”
“Are you?” Evie asked, eyes wide.
Sam’s gaze lingered on Shannon, the sober apology in his eyes at odds with the playful tone he just used with Evie. “Not anymore,” he whispered before refocusing on his patient with his killer smile. “So … what’s your name, pretty girl?”
“Evie,” she said softly with a sweet smile, and Shannon could have sworn the little dickens fluttered her lashes.
“Wow, a beautiful name for a beautiful girl!” He rose and placed a palm to her forehead. “You’re definitely warm, so what hurts, sweetheart?”
“My tummy and my head.” Evie gave him a sad-eyed gaze.
“And she threw up,” Shannon said sweetly, satisfied when Sam took a step back.
“Okay, then.” He turned around, dimples working overtime as he grinned at Evie over his shoulder. “How about I give you a horsy ride over to the table, Evie, so we can take a better look?” Butting up to the bed, he scooted low so Evie could climb onto his broad back, looping his arms to brace her legs. “Ready? Hold on tight, sweetheart, because here we go.”
Shannon battled a smile when he galloped to the examination table yelling, “yee-haw!” and all sorts of cowboy jargon, unwilling to give him a chance to soften her heart. Yes, he was a kind and decent individual when it came to children, but when it came to women? She issued a silent grunt, her guard going up with a tight fold of arms as she followed behind. He was little more than a Casanova, and she wasn’t about to give him a chance to con her again.
“Don’t let him bamboozle you, Shan. The man has a masters in roguery, so it might be good to lend him an ear, but nothing else.”
Another grunt made it to her lips, only this one slipped out, braising her cheeks when it drew the bamboozler’s gaze with a curious smile.
“Okay, cowgirl,” he said to Evie after he’d finished his examination, whipping a Tootsie Roll Pop out of his pocket like it was a gun. He aimed it at her with a Clint Eastwood squint. “I reckon you’ve got a touch of cowgirl virus, ma’am, so I’m gonna give you a swig of this here cowboy juice to help you feel better …” He paused to measure out some cherry-looking medicine that Evie gulped down, then handed her a Pedialyte juice box from the fridge. “I need you to drink as much of this here cherry juice as you can, little lady, then bunk down here for a while to get some shut-eye. Nurse Serena and I need to keep an eye on you for a while, okay?”
The Tootsie Roll Pop bulged one of her cheeks as she nodded, garble coming out when she tried to talk. Sam calmly removed the pop for a moment while Evie blinked up at him. “But when am I going to get to ride my horsy?” she whispered, a
glaze of tears starting to form.
Sam popped her sucker back in with a kiss to her head. “A day or two, sweetie-pie, I promise, but first you gotta get better, and a nice long nap will help that along.” He picked her up and deposited her on one of the several beds tucked back in a dark corner of the room, placing her drink box on her nightstand and removing her shoes. “Finish up that lollipop, ma’am, and I’ll be back to read you a story before you get some shut-eye, okay?” Fluffing the pillow behind her, he placed a kiss on her head and returned to where Shannon stood, thinking what a great guy he would be if he wasn’t such a player.
“She’s going to be out of commission for a couple of days, but I want to keep her in sick bay for a few hours to see how she handles the Tylenol and Pedialyte.” He glanced toward the room where Evie was sucking on her Tootsie Roll Pop, the serious concern in her eyes in total contrast to the twinkle that always resided there. “And I want to watch her fever for a while because it’s tipping close to 103. I don’t like the look of her throat either, so if you can let her dorm mom know, Shannon, I’d appreciate it.” Gaze connecting with hers, his caring and responsible air almost disarmed her.
Almost.
“Will do, Doc, thanks.” She spun around and dashed for the door, anxious to put as much distance between her and Sam Cunningham as she possibly could.
“Shannon, wait—”
But she didn’t. Miss Myra and her Southern etiquette would have had her head if she’d seen her bolting down the hall like one of the kids, as if she were fleeing for her life. But in a way, she was. Sam Cunningham had not only put the fear of God in her that night, he’d put something else far more sinister and dangerous.
Desire. Attraction. Longing.
A deep-seated longing for something she would never have with the likes of him.
Correction. She’d have the desire and attraction all right—that’s what players like Sam did best—but the longing for something more, something real, something that would last forever? It wasn’t in the DNA of a player who had no use for God, and Shannon had no desire for a relationship of any kind with a man like that. Especially one who had turned her world upside down with a single kiss. Something cold slithered her spine as she hurled the front door open. God help her, imagine the damage he could do if he stole her heart …
Ooomph! Shannon bounced off Serena on the other side of the door, almost spilling the two Cold Stone milkshakes the young girl carried in a cardboard caddy. “Serena, I’m so sorry,” she said as she steadied the student nurse who volunteered in sick bay, noting the freshly applied lipstick and potent scent of perfume.
“No problem,” the young girl said with a bright smile, sidestepping Shannon to hurry down the hall.
No doubt to ply Dr. Love with a milkshake as cold as his heart.
A heavy sigh parted from Shannon’s lips as she scurried down the steps, suddenly ashamed of her attitude toward Sam. Heaven knows that wasn’t the type of person she wanted to be nor usually was, but Sam just brought out the worst in her it seemed—a sharp tongue and point-blank honesty aimed right at his heart. The corner of her mouth tipped. Because he was a man who tempted—not only with physical desire—but with the hope of bringing out the best in him. And that was a hope she couldn’t afford.
Not with a player.
“Hey, Shannon, wait up.”
She whirled, her stomach doing the exact same thing as she spied Sam on the porch of the plantation house, waving his milkshake to get her attention. Spinning back around, she picked up her pace to the stables, head down and jaw tight. Lord, I don’t want to be mean to him, so please, can you just make him go away?
“Hey, wait up, please? I just want to clear the air with you ...”
“And I just want to clear my head of you,” she muttered, ducking into the stables to hide in the first stall. Your face. Your smile. Your stupid kiss that won’t let me alone. She slid down the planked half wall hunched to her knees, closing her eyes while she held her breath and prayed he wouldn’t come in.
She squealed and jumped when something touched her head, jolting her so much, she toppled into the corner, legs sprawled and pride as flat as her butt against the wall.
Right next to a pile of poop.
Which pretty much described her sentiments as Sam Cunningham grinned from above, leaning on the stall while he sucked on a straw. “Hey.”
Giving up the ghost, she went slack with a groan, eyes closed as her head clunked against the wood. “What do you want, Sam?” she whispered, realizing she’d have to give him his say before she gave him the boot.
“I’m not sure, Angel Eyes, but I think I may be a tad wounded that you’d rather hide in a smelly stable than talk to me.”
“Sorry, Doc, but I just prefer this type of manure.”
“Ouch.” Setting his milkshake on the ledge, he rounded the wall with a husky chuckle, extending his hand to help her up. “Come on, Shannon, don’t sugarcoat it—why don’t you say what you really mean?”
“I’d like to,” she muttered, ignoring his palm to pop up on her own. Huffing out a noisy sigh, she proceeded to brush bits of hay from her jeans.
He stilled her with a gentle hand to her shoulder. “Me too,” he said softly, the humility in his tone drawing her gaze. “And if you don’t mind, I’ll go first.” He’d ditched the Superman coat, so he slid his hands into the pockets of his Dockers while he took a step back, shoulders hunched as he stared at his feet. “I’ve … been wanting to apologize to you ever since that night. I was a jerk, Shannon, and I’m really sorry.” He finally looked up, meeting her gaze with a solemn one of his own. “And I’d” —he cuffed the back of his neck while a knot jogged in his throat— “I’d like to be friends if you’ll let me because I really enjoyed talking to you.”
She cocked her head, lips flat. “Sure you did.”
“I did,” he said with a crooked smile. He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Well, most of it anyway, so I’d like to do it again. You know, shoot the breeze so I can pick your brain as a woman, maybe to glean some advice on how to get Jazz back? So, what do you say, O’Bryen? Friends?”
Her heart softened. And then her mind went into alert mode. Sam was the kind of guy who would be a great friend, she was certain, but he’d ruined that possibility when he’d made a pass in the front seat of her car. Not just because she didn’t trust him, but because she didn’t trust herself. That pass, that kiss had ignited something in her that made her want far more than a friendship, and for her, the temptation just wasn’t worth the risk. “Apology accepted,” she said quietly, “and we can certainly be friends, Sam, but …” Her heart squeezed at the look of vulnerability in his eyes, so foreign to the player she knew him to be. It took her back to the night he’d disarmed her in his kitchen with his sincerity and candor, making inroads into her heart that were never meant to be. “As far as shooting the breeze …” She paused, not wanting to hurt him, but not willing to give him the chance to hurt her either. “I don’t think Jack would like that, and frankly, I’m not comfortable with it either.”
He cocked a hip, hands perched on his thighs and a pinch in his brow. “You don’t trust me,” he said with a hint of hurt, his words a statement rather than a question.
Not even a little. “I … just don’t think a friendly relationship would be wise.” She tried to temper her words with a gentle smile, fighting the urge to just blurt out the truth like before.
Slashing a hand through his hair, he walked away, blasting out his frustration with a noisy breath before facing her once again. “Come on, Shan, I make one lousy move, and suddenly I’m a danger to your health?”
Yes.
He forged on, apparently stirred by her lack of response. “Look, I’ll admit I tend to get pushy when I drink too much, but it’s not a common occurrence, Shannon, and I promise it won’t happen again, at least not with you. So please don’t let one stupid misstep on my part ruin the really great friendship we could have.”
; Arms clutched to her waist, she stared at the ground instead of his face, wishing there was some way she could just end this whole conservation with a smile instead of a scowl. All at once her gaze sharpened on his expensive brogues, polished to a gleam as he stood in a pile of manure. Chewing on the edge of a smile, she lifted her eyes to his, unable to thwart the shy grin that grew on her face. “Uh … not one stupid misstep, Sam,” she said, gaze darting to his shoes and back. A giggle bullied its way past her lips. “Two.”
Chapter Nine
How the devil did this happen?
The question blistered Ben Carmichael’s brain as he sat in the shadows of his front porch at the inane hour of eleven-thirty on a Wednesday night, an O’Doul’s in his hand and a scowl on his face. The same question that had badgered him for the last 48 hours.
When he saw Tess for the first time in eight months.
When he’d lost his violent temper for the first time in eight years.
And when he got into a fistfight for the first time ever.
Taking another belt of his non-beer, he winced, jaw still sore from the clip his ex-brother-in-law had landed at the marina.
Right after Ben had called him a questionable name and blackened his eye.
And right before Tess tore out of the marina office, madder than a hive of hornets.
Upending the can, he crushed it while the last dregs slid down his throat, groaning when he realized he’d just used the sore fist that had busted Cam’s chops.
Even so, his lips curved in a satisfied smile.
Never liked him from the get-go.
Guilt instantly wormed its way past his gloat. Real mature, Carmichael. Now the woman you love thinks you’re a street punk with a short fuse instead of her knight in shining armor, home to rescue her from her grief. Thoughts of Cam’s arm around Tess’s bare shoulders, of the sparkle in her eyes as their laughter filtered into Marv’s office, suddenly flashed, and Ben’s anger reignited all over again.