Dr Di Angelo's Baby Bombshell (6 page)

Five innings later Blake was thinking perhaps he should have recruited a few of his old Little League teammates. His current team was losing by two runs, and he was up to bat with a runner on base. With the right hit, he could tie the game.

Before Blake's first pitch was thrown a loud wail had everyone's heads turning toward the playground near the park's pavilion.

“Bobby?” called a woman Blake had seen repeatedly with Mandy, while the other two women stared toward Darby, talking low. The woman abandoned her third base post to rush toward her crying son. “What's wrong?”

The game forgotten, the rest of the team made their way to where the boy lay on the ground, clutching his arm.

His broken arm.

“What happened?”

“He fell when he jumped from the swing,” another boy informed them, his little face a mixture of curiosity and fear.

“Didn't we talk about not jumping from the swings?” But even as she said the words the woman's face paled, tears clouded her eyes, and she hugged the boy to her.

Blake started to step forward to check the boy, but when Darby bent next to the mother and son he reached for his phone to call for an ambulance.

“Someone bring a bag of ice for Bobby's arm, pronto,” she ordered. Smiling, she placed her hand on the boy's hand. “Hi, Bobby. My name is Darby Phillips, and I'm a doctor. Can I see your arm? I'll be gentle.”

Obviously terrified, the boy shook his head, burying his face into his mother's chest.

“Bobby, honey, let her check your arm.” Whatever differences were between them, the woman obviously had no problems with Darby examining her son. “She's an old friend of Mom's and Aunt Mandy's.”

Nor with distorting the truth.

Although not happily, the boy let Darby check him.

While explaining to the ambulance service what had happened, Blake watched Darby assess the boy's arm, admiring the way she spoke with him, explaining what she was doing in that calm, controlled voice.

Trey handed Darby a plastic bread sack that had been filled with ice and knotted at the end. Darby shot him a quick look of thanks and placed the bag on Bobby's arm.

“Although the skin isn't damaged, both the radius and the ulnar bones are broken, just proximal to the wrist.” Darby glanced at the woman. “I suspect the bones will need to be surgically pinned.”

“I could drive you.” Trey spoke up from where he stood next to her still, obviously eager to come to the rescue.

Blake opened his mouth to tell the guy to get lost, that he was on the phone with the emergency service and an ambulance should be on its way soon. But Darby took charge.

“Could you? That would be great. You drive us in Cindy's vehicle, so she'll have transportation at the hospital.” Darby gave him a smile that had Blake's insides crawling. “Blake will follow us, and you can ride back with us.”

Great. Just what Blake wanted—to chauffeur Darby and her ex. Why were they going to the hospital anyway? They couldn't do anything except keep the arm stable. An orthopedic surgeon would be required to correct the damage to the bones.

But if Darby wanted to accompany the boy to the hospital, he wouldn't argue. The whole weekend was about her, for her, and he'd agreed to play by her rules.

Even if he'd quickly realized he didn't like those rules.

“I'm going, too,” Mandy piped up. “Cindy might need me.”

Darby's expression tightened, but she didn't say anything, just turned her attention back to Bobby.

Listening to the emergency dispatcher, Blake whistled. Darby was right. The closest emergency service was thirty miles away and wouldn't arrive in Armadillo Lake anytime soon. They could get the boy to the hospital faster than waiting for the ambulance.

“Let's go.”

F
RESHLY
showered, Blake sat on the hotel room bed. Humming to himself, recalling how Darby had clung to his every word the night before when he'd sung for her, he pulled on his black Italian shoes.

They'd gotten back from Pea Ridge about fifteen minutes earlier. They'd stayed at the hospital with Cindy, Mandy and Trey until Bobby had been admitted to a room on the surgery floor. He'd have surgery early the following day, to pin the broken pieces of his ulnar and radius bones.

As Darby had gone into the emergency room with Bobby and the boy's mother, Blake had been left in the waiting area with Mandy and Trey. That hour had been one hell of a long wait.

Making Blake happier than they could have possibly realized, Mandy and Trey had stayed at the hospital, rather than ride back with them.

On the drive home, Darby had looked spent and
closed her eyes. He'd encouraged her to lie down on the bed to rest while he took his shower. When he'd come out of the bathroom she'd been on the phone, not surprisingly, and was firing question after question about what was going on at Knoxville Memorial Hospital regarding their patients.

When finished, she clicked her cellular phone closed. “I called and checked in with Dr. Kingston. He discharged Evie Mayo this morning, along with both of your patients.”

His patients had been simple dehydration cases, so he wasn't surprised they'd been released to go home. He'd expected as much. Darby didn't sound sure about her patient.

“You don't think he should have discharged Evie?”

“We still don't know why her liver enzymes were so elevated. He says they've dropped to below a hundred and she was fine.”

Blake had reviewed the woman's chart, examined her, and hadn't been able to offer Darby any suggestions other than perhaps the woman had an unusual virus. Her white blood cell differential had been slightly shifted, with an increased lymphocyte count, indicating the possibility of a virus.

“Evie was okay with the discharge?”

Darby shrugged. “He says she was ready to go home.”

“He's a good doctor.”

“Yes.” Glancing at her watch, she nodded. “I should get ready. Thank goodness we only have to go downstairs.”

She stood from the ornate chair, gathering her clothes to take into the bathroom with her.

“Darby?”

She turned, her gaze colliding with Blake's.

“Are you going to tell me what happened between you and Mandy before we go downstairs?”

She shook her head.

“How about what happened between you and Nix?”

“We're going to be late if I don't get my shower.”

He sighed. He'd hoped she'd tell him last night, but she hadn't. She'd seemingly shared everything with him except whatever her connection was to Trey and Mandy. “When you're ready to talk, I'm here for you.”

Before turning her back on him, she smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

 

“I know,” Darby said. Blake had always been there for her. Not that she'd needed him often, but when she had he'd been there without hesitation. Like when she'd had the flu. He'd not only covered for her in the office and at the hospital, but he'd brought her a basket full of edible goodies and stayed with her in case she'd needed anything.

Her hand on the bathroom doorknob, she paused, spun to face him. “Why are you so good to me, Blake?”

His dark eyes clouded with confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you here with me this weekend? Surely you had better things to do than go to my high school reunion?”

“You blackmailed me, remember?”

Her grip tightened on the doorknob. “Blackmailed?”

“Blackmailed might be a bit strong,” he admitted, humor evident in his voice. “I owed you a favor so I'm here.”

Pretending to be in love with her, so she wouldn't lose face with people from her past who didn't matter anymore. Why had she thought they had? Why had she given them
such power over her life? Why had she let Trey's rejection impact her so much?

But somewhere along the way her reasons for keeping the opposite sex at bay had shifted from fear of rejection to waiting for Blake to notice that she was a woman, that they made a great team.

Only he never had, and she'd tired of waiting.

The kiss they'd shared flashed through her mind, lighting fires just at the memory of Blake's intensity. When she'd joined him in the waiting room his gaze had dropped to her lips. Had he been remembering their kiss? Or had he been pretending for Mandy and Trey's sakes?

“Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.”

Biting into her lower lip, she sighed. She'd asked for this. Asked for him to pretend. What was that old saying about being careful what you asked for?

“I would have come anyway, Darby, if you needed me.” His gaze searched hers. “Do you regret my being here?”

He'd seen more of her than any other man, had seen the real her, and he'd stood back and let her handle Bobby's injury this afternoon, knowing she'd needed to handle Bobby's care, to prove something to herself and to her hometown.

Inherently, Blake knew her. Sometimes he knew her more than she knew herself. He helped her see things more clearly. Helped her to feel more confident about herself, about the woman she was, and about who she wanted to be.

He helped her to trust the opposite sex, because Blake was the only man she trusted who wasn't blood kin.

“No, I don't regret you being here. Far from it,” she
admitted honestly. She trusted Blake more than any person she knew. With her business, her reputation, and with her past. “You're a nice man, Blake Di Angelo.”

“Nice?” He coughed, sputtered, and snorted amidst laughter. “Don't you believe it, Dilly.”

She rolled her eyes at the nickname he'd likely never let her live down. But, despite his antics and intentional teasing, she'd spoken the truth.

 

Nice? Darby thought he was
nice
?

Blake shook his head, picking up the remote to flip through the television stations, pausing to watch the world news, expecting any moment to see headlines flash: “Dr. Blake Di Angelo accused of being a nice guy. Truth soon to be revealed and partner to dump his sorry butt.”

Because the last thing he was feeling in regard to Darby was
nice
.

He'd established that first thing that morning, and nothing had happened during the day to persuade him otherwise.

Darby was a wonderful woman, the best he knew, but their relationship was a strictly no-sex one. Not that they'd ever discussed sex—they hadn't. Not in regard to them having sex. There hadn't been a need.

He'd done his thing, she'd done hers, and the twain had never met.

But all his thoughts currently featured Darby, and no matter how many times he told himself to quit thinking of her in sexual terms his libido refused to cooperate.

Nice? She thought he was
nice
?

Surely after that scorching kiss they'd shared he rated more than “nice”? That kiss had practically had smoke
curling from his fingers and toes and she called him a nice guy? What the—?

When the bathroom door opened, Blake was still fuming. He wasn't a nice guy—didn't want Darby to think of him in that light. Which begged the question, how
did
he want her to think of him? Had he wanted that kiss to start fires inside Darby? Had he wanted her to see him as more than her business partner?

Glancing toward the door, he felt his body answer his question for him. He wanted Darby to want him, hoped his kiss had curled her toes and put stars in her eyes.

He wolf-whistled. Her hair was swept up in a fancy do, exposing the graceful lines of her neck. The blue dress clung in all the right places and sent his libido into hyper-drive.

And her shoes. Had he ever seen her in heels like those? Sexy black stilettos with a wide ankle strap that begged for a man's touch. He visually traced his way over her legs. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. She was so tiny, but her legs went on and on. The heels pumped out the firm muscles of her calves, tightened the sliver of her quads that showed beneath the hem of her dress.

“You look amazing.”

First turning, to give him the full effect of her outfit, unknowingly hardening him to mammoth proportions, she rewarded him with a smile. One that lit her eyes to sparkling blue gems and softened the fullness of her all too kissable pink lips.

“Thank you.” Her gaze skimmed over his black pants, matching jacket, the blue shirt she'd suggested, and silver diamond-patterned tie. “You don't look too shabby yourself, City Boy.”

Unable to drag his gaze from her, he drank in every delectable inch. “Let's forget the reunion and stay here, so I can prove to you how not nice I am.”

Because her
nice
comment stung. What guy wanted to be described as nice?

Laughing, she rolled her eyes. “Be serious, Blake.”

He was serious.

He wanted her. Enough that he was tempted to push her onto the bed, push up that silky hemline, remove whatever skimpy, groan-worthy scrap of silk she was wearing, and kiss her until she begged him to take her.

Which drew him up short.

This was Darby, not some flavor of the month. Despite the fact he'd been pretending to be in love with her all weekend, he wasn't. Acting on the sizzling attraction he was feeling toward her would ruin their business relationship, would ruin their friendship. A smart man would remember that.

Standing from the bed, he sighed with an exaggerated heave of his chest, determined to keep the mood light. She had enough on her plate tonight without having to deal with his unwanted sexual attraction. “If you refuse to stay here and let me see how few seconds it takes to get that dress off you, then let's go before I do my best to change your mind.”

Her eyes gleaming with delight, she moved to the end of the bed. Her hips swayed, courtesy of her heels. “You're good for a girl's ego.”

“That's me.
Nice
, and an ego booster.”

“Don't make my compliment sound like a bad thing,” she admonished, checking her appearance in the mirror. “It's not.”

“Because that's how every man wants a beautiful woman to think of him. Nice, and her personal ego-fluffer.”

She laughed nervously, smoothed her hands over her skirt. “We're alone, Blake. You don't have to say things like that.”

He eyed her curiously, wondering at her uneasiness. “Like what?”

“That I'm beautiful.” She looked away, pink tingeing her cheeks. “Or that you want to get me out of my dress. You don't have to pretend when we're alone. Actually, I wish you wouldn't, because when you do I start believing things that aren't true.”

Pretend? Was she kidding?

He walked around the bed, lifted her chin to force her gaze to his. Staring down into her blue eyes, he resisted the urge to kiss her until there was no doubt about what was pretense and what wasn't.

Instead, he stroked his finger along her jawbone, caressing her delicate features. He turned her toward the dresser, toward their reflection in the mirror. He stood directly behind her, close enough to feel her body heat, close enough to tease his senses with the brush of her dress against him. He was so hard he hurt, but this wasn't about him. This was about Darby.

Even with her high-rise shoes, she barely came up past his chin, but they looked good together—her blonde, blue-eyed perfection next to his dark Italian features.

“Look in the mirror, Darby,” he urged, his gaze locked with hers. “See the woman I see. She's beautiful. Every red-blooded male is going to envy me tonight because they'll all know you'll be coming back here with me.” He placed his hand on her bare shoulder, his fingers stroking over her soft skin, toying with the thin blue spaghetti strap
of her dress. “You are a beautiful, intelligent, witty, desirable woman, and any man would count himself lucky to know you. I do.”

Wordlessly, she stared at their reflection, her eyes big, blue, searching his. She swallowed, inhaled a quick breath, and her lips parted. “Blake, I—”

He couldn't breathe, thought he might suffocate at the heaviness that had come over his chest with his admission, with the way Darby was looking at him with a mixture of confusion and desire.

In that moment he knew he had to get out of the hotel, away from the queen-sized bed that called to him. He had to get air. Now.

Otherwise he'd forget thousands of years of human refinement, go Neanderthal, scoop Darby into his arms, and take what his every instinct dictated he possess.

“Come on, Dilly.” He grabbed her wrist. “Let's go get this charade over with.”

Before he forgot to be nice and was as bad as he wanted to be.

 

“We sure could use a doctor in town,” the slightly over-weight brunette intoned, giving Darby a dramatic look as they talked over the band playing Lynyrd Skynyrd in the background. “Just think what might have happened to poor Bobby's arm if you hadn't been here. Cindy said the doctor told her what a great job you did splinting his arm. Thank goodness you were here.”

Darby smiled at Leah. They'd known each other since grammar school, but had never been close friends. The closest friend she'd ever had had stabbed her in the back. Over Trey.

“I second that,” a tall, nice-looking man said, stepping up to where they talked. He shifted his beer to his other hand and stuck his hand out to her, then to Blake. “Mark Lytle—nice to meet you. Hey, Leah.”

Darby shook his hand, trying to place him in her memory and coming up blank.

Seeing her confusion, he grinned. “I'm the local vet—moved here from Texas a few years back when Doc Tatum retired.”

“Mark Lytle,” she repeated, the name registering. She recalled her family mentioning him.