Stephanie Bond – Baby, Come Home (страница 7)

He felt like an idiot. “Oh, right. Where do you want it?”

“Can you hold it up for me?”

“Sure.” He reached for the picture, then stopped when he realized it was a photograph of the old covered bridge that had once spanned Timber Creek. “Evermore Bridge,” he murmured. “If you don’t mind my asking, where did you get this?”

She stepped close to look over his shoulder. Her floral perfume filled his nostrils. “I was going through some photographs in the Lost and Found warehouse, and thought this one was really great.”

“It is great,” he agreed.

“So you remember the bridge?”

He nodded slowly, assailed with memories. “It was a fantastic piece of workmanship.” And it was his and Amy’s place.

“Don’t worry. This isn’t the original photo,” Rachel said. “I scanned it in—this is a color copy.” Then she bit into her cherry-pink lip. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course,” he said, irritated with himself that everything these days reminded him of Amy. “Do you want it hung here, over the dresser?”

“Yes, please.”

Kendall held the picture against the wall. He glanced down to see a lacy red bra of considerable cup size lying on the top of the dresser. He averted his gaze to Rachel to take direction from her, but all he could visualize was her wearing that red bra…or worse—not wearing it.

She lifted her arms, emphasizing her generous breasts. “Higher.”

He stifled a groan and lifted the picture higher.

“To the right.”

Good God, if he got an erection while his arms were up in the air, there would be no hiding it.

“No…too much. Back to the left.”

He moved the frame again, trying to think of something other than the sexy woman. But when he looked at the picture of Evermore Bridge, he was reminded of all the intimate things he and Amy had done in their special place. His groin tightened.

“How’s that?” he blurted.

She angled her blonde head. “Maybe.”

“Let’s try it,” he said, then handed her the picture with his right hand while marking the spot on the wall with his left. He was glad to turn his back because he was definitely sporting wood now, like a damn teenager.

“Can you hand me the hanger?” he asked over his shoulder.

Rachel came up behind him and reached around with a long, tapered arm. “How’s this?” she asked, her mouth close to his ear.

“F-fine,” he said, but almost dropped the hanger. He held it against the wall, then pulled a hammer from his tool belt. Her perfume was messing with his mind. “Um…you might want to step back a little. We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Oh. Okay,” she said, stepping away.

But the red bra was so close to his face he could take a bite out of it. He had to get out of here. He lifted the hammer and brought it down hard…

On his thumb.

Kendall howled, Rachel screamed, blood spurted.

“Oh, my God!” she shouted. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he managed to say through gritted teeth, but the jolt of pain shot up his arm and brought tears to his eyes. He dropped the hammer, which landed squarely on his foot.

He grunted, then lifted his injured foot to ease the pressure. Of all days not to wear steel-toed boots.

“You’re bleeding. Here.” Rachel wrapped something soft around his thumb, which instantly turned red from his blood. “Let’s get you down to the clinic. Can you walk?”

He nodded, feeling like a damn fool, then limped out of her room. He tried, but there was no talking her out of going with him. She trotted beside him, holding his wrapped hand as if it had been severed. Her lavish breasts rubbed up against him throughout. They attracted a lot of attention as they walked through the boardinghouse. He was sure the gossip had already started before the door closed behind them. God, he hoped his brothers didn’t see him. His hand and his foot both throbbed, but that was nothing compared to the beating his pride had taken.

The only thought that cheered Kendall as he and Rachel stumbled in the direction of the clinic was that surely this day would get better.

4

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” Nikki said, smiling wide over her mug.

“I should’ve told you that Sweetness is my hometown,” Amy said. They were sitting in the clinic lounge drinking strong coffee from the pot on the counter.

“So why didn’t you?” Nikki asked, her expression a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

“It’s a long story,” Amy hedged, embarrassed to hear emotion thickening her voice.

“Well,” Nikki said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “It sounds like you’re going to be here long enough for us to catch up.”

Amy nodded and seized on another subject. “This place certainly seems to agree with you. You look fantastic.” Nikki’s hair was highlighted and cut in a new style that set off her beautiful green eyes. Her cheeks glowed with vitality, although Nikki suspected her high color could be attributed more to Porter Armstrong than to the fresh mountain air.

“Thank you,” Nikki gushed. “I’m so happy. Sweet ness feels like the home I’ve never had.”

Amy’s chest pinged with mixed emotions to hear someone else talk about her own hometown with such obvious affection. She hadn’t felt a kinship with the place when she lived here before. In fact, she’d felt constrained and isolated. And she was already fighting that familiar closed-in feeling.

“So are the two of you going to get married?”

Nikki blushed. “The town doesn’t even have a church yet. But Porter said he was working on it, so I hope that’s a sign. After living with Darren in Broadway and that relationship going south, I don’t want to move in with Porter until we’re married.”

Amy smiled at her friend, remembering the feeling of living in this town and being hopelessly in love with an Armstrong. She hoped it worked out better for Nikki than it had for her.

The door opened and a young bespectacled man Amy recognized from the photo on the website stuck his head in. A pair of safety goggles sat high on his head. His hair stuck out at all angles. He wore fluorescent orange rubber gloves.

“Excuse the interruption, Dr. Salinger,” he said in a precise British accent. “We have a walk-in, and I’m stuck…er, I’m still giving flu shots to the elementary students.”

“I should let you go,” Amy said, pushing to her feet. “I need to see Marcus anyway.”

Nikki stood, as well. “I’ll handle the walk-in, Dr. Cross. May I introduce my friend Amy Bradshaw? She’s in town to build us a bridge.”

“Brilliant,” he said. “We British are very fond of bridges.” He gave Amy a flustered smile. “Very pleased to meet you. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to some miniature terrorists.” He lowered the safety glasses and backed out of the room.

Amy laughed. “How did he wind up here?”

“We worked together in Broadway. He’s a great doctor, even if he’s a fish out of water here.”

Amy felt a rush of sympathy for the man—she knew how he felt. “I’ll let you get to your patients.”

“I assume you’ll be staying at the boardinghouse?”

“I honestly don’t know. Marcus just said that accommodations would be provided.”

“It just dawned on me,” Nikki said as she opened the door and held it for Amy to walk through. “You must know the Armstrongs.”

“Yes,” Amy said carefully as she exited the lounge into a large waiting area. “We grew up together.”

Nikki grinned. “You went to school with Porter?”

“That’s right, although I knew his brother better.”

“Which brother?” Nikki asked.

“Nikki!” came a screeching woman’s voice. “Help!”

Amy looked up to see the owner of the voice, Rachel Hutchins, standing there in all her vivacious glory.

“You remember Rachel,” Nikki murmured in an amused voice.

“Yes,” Amy said, but her gaze was riveted on the man next to her, the man Rachel was holding on to in a very proprietary way.

Kendall Armstrong.