The Doctor's Choice (4 page)

She
stared out the window at the town as he drove back in the direction of the ranch.
What a miserable place
. There was nothing here. She could never live so far from the ballet, the theatre, the museums she loved.

They turned onto the road leading to the ranch. Frank raised his hand in greeting as he walked toward the
stables. She waved back, wondering if he knew about the will.

She
swallowed. She couldn’t even conceive of such a huge number. “I’m going to call my fiancé.”

“
Fiancé?” He looked at her sharply. “Silky didn’t tell me you were engaged.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.
“Well, I’m sure he can tell you what to do.” He got out of the truck, slamming his door.

A wave of anger swept over
her. Before Breck could open her door, she had leapt out and slammed it for herself.

“For your information, I don’t need anyone to tell me what to do
, or to open my damned doors.” She stomped up the steps and slammed the front door behind herself leaving Breck standing, open-mouthed, by his truck.

She
threw her coat over a chair and paced across the room. Striding back to the front door, she peered through the lace curtain.

Breck was still standing outside
staring up at the house. He shook his head, climbed into his vehicle and drove away.

Cami felt a strange sense of loss as she watched his
departure. Turning, she drew a deep breath and leaned back against the door. “I don’t need any of this,” she said, “not a thing.”

#

CHAPTER THREE

Breck stood by his truck for a moment staring after the woman who’d just thrown a little temper tantrum.

Not that it wasn’t attractive. In fact the blaze of color on her pale cheeks had stirred something inside him that he hadn’t felt
for a while prior to meeting this little vixen.

He got in his truck and slammed the door, heading back to his office in town. He’d experienced th
e same stirrings when he’d sat across the booth from her at Tiny’s Diner watching her eat a biscuit with obvious delight. The tangible pleasure displayed on her face over the taste and texture of the biscuit in her mouth caused him to adjust the napkin in his lap, and glance around to see if anyone noticed that his jeans were bulging at the breakfast table.

What was it about her that turned him on? She was a very pretty woman, but he’d been around plenty of pretty women who actually liked him and wan
ted him to open doors for them.

He’d promised Silky that he would take care of her and that was what he was bound to do
, if she stayed. He couldn’t help it if she went scampering back to Houston and to the arms of her new fiancé.
Damn!
He hadn’t counted on that. If she had a fiancé, why hadn’t he at least had the decency to accompany her to the funeral? What kind of man left his new fiancée to go it alone through tough times?

#

Cami jumped when the doorbell rang. She felt a lightness in her chest.
Breck came back.

She hurried to open the door. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be so rude.” Her smile froze as she gazed at the bewildered face of T-Bone Mullins, Silky’s foreman. He nodded and touched his hand to the brim of his weather-beaten felt hat.

“Yes’m, if you say so,” he said.

“Oh, please come in.” Cami had to laugh at his confused expression. He crossed the threshold cautiously.

“I just come to see if you need anything.” He eyed her warily.

“Yes, as a matter of fact I do,” she said. “I would like to invite you and Frank to dinner. There are some matters we need to d
iscuss. How about six-o-clock?”

“Yes’m. We’ll be here.”

He escaped quickly and she watched him trudge to the barn through the crust of snow.

She laid a new fire in the fireplace. Soon the warmth of the flames chased the chill from the large room.
She sat close to the fire. Closing her eyes, she thought of Clay. He assured her they had a great future together. She believed him. He was charming and stable. He might not be the most exciting man on the planet but he offered security.

She
was sad that she hadn’t had a chance to share the news of her betrothal with Aunt Silky before her death. She wondered if Silky would have been happy for her, or if the news that she planned to stay in Houston would have made her sad.

Punching Clay’s work number into the telephone, she waited to b
e transferred to his extension.

“Clayton Tremont here,” he said.

“Well, Cami Carmichael here,” she mimicked his pompous tone.

“Cami, dear
one. How did it go?”

“The funeral was sad, the burial was frigid and I’ve never felt so incredibly alone.”

“You’ll be right back home tomorrow. How about the reading of the will? Did the old girl leave it all to you?”

She fought the choking sensation in her throat.
“Please don’t talk about her that way.”

“Oh, you know what I mean. It was just an expression.” She heard him sigh and speak to someone as an aside. “Where were we?” he asked when he returned to their conversation. “Oh, yes.’ What about the will? What did she leave us?”

“Nothing,” she said.

He paused for a long moment.
“What? I thought you were the apple of her eye?”

“I am. I was. It’s just that she decided she wanted me to stay here. In order to inherit
, I have to live here for a year. After that I could sell it all.” She waited for some assurance that she was doing the right thing.

“Old people get strange ideas. How much land are we talking about, anyway?”

“I don’t know exactly. The lawyer said it was worth thirteen million dollars.” She heard a low whistle.

“That’s not too shabby.”

“No, it’s not. But we’re talking about my life. We’re talking about my career. I’d never get another chance at a fellowship in immunology. I can’t give that up.”

“Cami, Cami, Cami,” he crooned into the receiver. “As an immunology researcher you could never make that kind of money. Don’t be an idiot. Just stay there. We’ll work something out.”

Amazed by his words Cami stood frozen, gripping the receiver with both hands. “Clay, I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You actually want me to live here in the middle of nowhere for a year?” A rush of righteous anger flowed through her.

“It won’t be so bad. We can visit each other. The year
will be over in no time.”

“I don’t think so,” she said, coldly.

“Cami, I have to meet with a client right now. I’ll call you back later.”

He hung up abruptly, the dial tone
humming in her ear.

Cami clung to the receiver, as though it might offer some reassurance of Clay’s feelings. Replacing it in the cradle, she sat for some time staring into the fi
re but drew no comfort from it.

The sky darkened rapidly. She forced herself to reheat the food brought by Silky’s friends. Surprised when the doorbell rang, Cami had thought the men would come to the back door since the bunkhouse was behind the house.

Opening the door wide, she stopped short when she came face to face with a tall, distinguished-looking man in a western-style leather jacket and cowboy hat. A whisper of white etched the temples of his light brown hair.

“Miss Carmichael?”
Blue eyes twinkled as he flashed a wide white smile.

“Actually, it’s
doctor,” she corrected, eyeing him warily.

Extending his hand, he walked toward her. “I stand
corrected, Dr. Carmichael. I’m your neighbor, Eldon Kincaid. I came to express my condolences.”

She
suppressed a shiver recalling everything she’d heard. “Come in, Mr. Kincaid.” She stood aside for him to enter.

He tossed his hat on the bentwood rack beside the door
as though he’d done it before.

She gestured toward the sitting room. “I’m having guests for dinner, so I won’t have much time to spare.”

He seemed surprised, as though unaccustomed to having women brush him off. “I’ll just take a few moments of your time.” He perched on the edge of Aunt Silky’s rose-colored brocade loveseat, looking large and masculine. ”I’m sorry for your loss. Your great-aunt was quite a woman.”

“Yes, she was. I can’t believe she’s gone.”

“I understand you were her only surviving relative.”

When she nodded, he continued, “Then I assume Silky left the ranch to you?”

Cami eyed him suspiciously. “You seem to be very well informed, Mr. Kincaid.” Though her solemn face betrayed no emotion, Cami felt both disgust and apprehension. Why was this man in Silky’s parlor right after her funeral questioning her about the inheritance? She wished T-Bone and Frank would hurry and make their appearance.

“I’m sorry to be insensitive, Doctor Carmichael, but
may I inquire as to your plans for the ranch? You see, Silky and I were in the midst of negotiations for the sale of the property.” He sat back on the loveseat, glancing at her speculatively. “I can see that you’re surprised.”

“Why, as a matter of fact, I am. I was under the impression that Aunt Silky would never have parted
with the place…willingly.”

He leaned toward her in a conspiratorial manner.
“Silky and I were old friends. We first met when I was a young Land Man out scouting for the big oil companies. I got a lease on her land that ran for a long time.”

“Oil? On this land?”

“Nothing worth drilling for.” He gave her a one-sided smile. “All the big fields are played out around here. What’s left is too hard to get to. Gulf and foreign oil is easier to come by.”

She
nodded. “So you met Silky years ago?”

He settled back on the small sofa, spreading his arms across the back. “That’s when I first fell in love with this area. I started buying ranches back then and, over time, my holdings have grown.”

“I’ve heard that from various sources, Mr. Kincaid.” Cami fixed him with a non-committal gaze. “What made you think that my aunt was willing to sell to you at this time?”

“Everyone has their price, young lady. I
’m pretty sure that Silky and I had just about arrived at hers.”

“I see
.” Staring at the powerful man, she felt small and vulnerable.

“And, I would be willing to take up negotiations with you right where
Silky and I left off.” Kincaid pushed back on the loveseat with a satisfied expression.

“I think you’re talking to the wrong person, Mr. Kincaid. You see, I’ve accepted a fellowship in immunology. The will stipulates that I live here for a year to inherit. The ranch will pass to someone else.”

Kincaid’s expression changed from smug superiority to astonishment. “What? That can’t be! You’re the only one she had to leave it to. Don’t tell me it goes to the cat?” His face took on a florid hue and he made sputtering noises.

“Not the cat,” she assured him. “
If I refuse to submit to the conditions of the will, my great-aunt stipulated that the ranch go to Mr. Breckenridge Ryan, her attorney.”

“Damn!” Kincaid
leapt to his feet. “That can’t be!”

“I’m afraid so.” Cami stood and turned to
ward the door. “I hate to rush you off, Mister Kincaid, but I must get back to my dinner preparations. Thank you so much for dropping by.”

He
jammed his hat on his head. “When are you leaving, Doctor?”

“Tomorrow afternoon, Mr. Kincaid.” She twisted the faceted glass doorknob, letting a frigid draft rush inside.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow morning. I may be able to change your mind.” He left abruptly, his boots sounding like hammer blows as he strode across the porch.

Cami quickly closed the door and returned to the kitchen. The chicken casserole and
peach cobbler were heated through and had saturated the air with luscious spicy aromas. She found a bag of frozen green beans, choosing them over broccoli or asparagus, in case the men had some sort of macho aversion to these sissy vegetables. She put together a salad and splashed it with Italian dressing and wrapped the bread in foil to warm in the oven.

She
just had time to change into a blue tunic sweater and leggings before hearing a knock at the back door.

“Please come in, gentlemen,” she invited.

Frank and T-Bone, cheeks reddened from the cold wind, hurried inside.

“Good evening, Ma’am,” Frank said, though he was
probably around the same age as Cami.

They hung their hats and jackets on a peg rack behind the kitchen door.

“Something sure smells good.” T-Bone rubbed his rough hands together.

“I take no credit for the meal,”
she protested. “Silky’s friends made everything.” She led them to the dining room and brought the bread to the table. “What would you like to drink?” They looked at each other but remained mute. “Water, soft drink, milk, coffee…or beer? Those are the choices.” She stood with hands on her hips, looking from one to the other.

“Well, ma’am,
if it’s all the same to you” Frank’s voice faded into a whisper.

“A beer?”
she asked and he nodded, reddening slightly. She brought three longneck bottles from the refrigerator and handed them around.