Gatlinburg Getaway (Destination: Desire) (3 page)

“I have to quash that urge every single time I see her.”

Of the four Kirby sisters, Camille had the worst relationship with their uber-drama-queen mother. Camille just didn’t have the patience for Dinah’s emotionally manipulative bullshit, and Dinah thought Camille was insensitive to her fragile nerves. They annoyed each other whenever they were thrown together at family gatherings, to put it mildly.

Nora, the sweetest and most sensitive of the Kirbys, looked ready to put her fist through the nearest wall. “We’ve only been married four freaking months. Jesus. We’ll make babies when we’re ready and not a moment before.”

“I understand.” Camille gave her sister a one-armed hug. “Really, I do.”

“Bleh. Forget it.” Nora popped the locks on her doors. “Let’s get on the road before the traffic turns bad.”

Camille offered an acidic smile. “Yes, we wouldn’t want to be late for kicking me out of the state.”

“It’ll be good for you.”

“The next person who uses that phrase on me is getting my foot up their ass.”

Chapter Two

Gatlinburg, Tennessee

Camille slept poorly her first night in Tennessee. Not that she’d expected otherwise. The nightmares were rare, but after the kind of travel experience she’d had? Inevitable. She stood under a pounding shower the next morning, trying to wash the memories away.

On any normal day, she wasn’t a fan of car travel. Just driving her own vehicle around the Bay Area was enough to rattle her, though she rarely admitted that to anyone but herself. After a major delay during her layover, she’d driven a tin-can-sized rental car from the Knoxville airport to her hotel in Gatlinburg. On winding, unfamiliar mountain roads. In the dark.

She shuddered and made a mental note to stick to daytime driving while she was here. That should be easy enough, right? God, she hoped so.

After twisting the knobs to shut off the water, she stepped out of the shower and reviewed the day ahead. That should help settle her. The conference officially started today, though there’d been an opening reception she’d missed the evening before.

Luckily, her presentation wasn’t until tomorrow morning, and she’d already memorized the notes Levi gave her. So she had a day to get into the groove, but she wasn’t waiting to speak for the whole time she was here. Conferences were a lot easier to enjoy after you’d given your talk.

She brushed her hair and slapped on a minimum of makeup, then donned a pair of khaki capris and a cute teal top that looked good with her hair. A comfortable pair of sandals and she was as ready as she’d ever be. She’d wear a business suit for her presentation, but that was it.

Her phone buzzed and she went to fetch it from where it lay plugged in on the desk. She expected a message from one of her sisters, but it was Maria Castro, an old friend from Chile who’d gone through college with Feng, Levi, and her.

Darling! The program says you’re speaking. Tell me you’re already here.

A grin broke over Camille’s face, the first of the day. She hadn’t seen Maria in ages—not since the other woman had enrolled in grad school in Spain while Camille had gone straight into industry.

She whipped out a quick reply.
I’m here! Where are you?

Thirty seconds later, her phone vibrated and another message popped up on the screen.
Walking back to the hotel from breakfast. Meet me in the lobby?

As if that was even a question.
Be right there.

She scooped up her purse and was checking to make sure she had her hotel keycard when a third message came in from Maria.
Fair warning: I have a meeting in twenty minutes.

After tapping out a response as she walked to the elevator, she pushed the send button with one hand and called the lift with the other.
No problem, I haven’t eaten yet. Need to find food anyway.

The elevator was empty and made a smooth descent to the ground floor. Camille headed for the entrance, figuring she’d meet Maria at the door. Stepping outside meant being swamped with humid air that felt like being smothered by a wet blanket. Camille was pretty sure her hair went limp in protest. Fantastic.

“Camille!”

She turned around in time to catch Maria as the woman threw herself forward for an exuberant hug. Maria’s sunglasses collided with Camille’s glasses, and Camille’s glasses went flying. She heard them bounce on the walkway and skitter across the concrete.

Ah, shit.
The lenses had a scratchproof coating, but if they’d been facedown for that, she doubted they were unscathed.

“Crap!” She released her friend and turned to rescue her specs, though the world was a blur without them.

Too late.

A car pulled up in front of her and there was a nasty crunching noise.

“
Dios mio
!” Maria hurried past her and retrieved something from under the vehicle. She gingerly handed over a mangled mess of broken plastic and cracked polycarbonate lenses. “Camille, I’m so sorry.”

She couldn’t summon a single word, just stood there with her mouth hanging open, staring at the crushed remains of her specs.

No. That had not just happened. It had not.

Realization dawned with sickening intensity—her spare pair of glasses had been in the same drawer as her fold-up cane. Because Nora had grabbed it, she hadn’t automatically taken the spare specs like Camille would have.

She couldn’t see a thing and she had no glasses.

It was official. This trip sucked ass.

* * * * *

Dalton sat at his desk, frowning at his computer, trying to rein in his annoyance. He would rather be outside in the sunshine, going for a run, driving his Jeep with the hard top off and the music cranked up, or just about anything other than stuck in a small, lifeless, white-walled room. Of course, his cousins would tell him that painting his office and adding a plant might help, but he’d managed to ignore both their jibes and their decorating tips for several years now. Might as well keep on with his winning streak, if only to irritate them.

Sighing, he gave in to the inevitable and focused on his work. It was his own fault for cutting out early the day before to meet up with some friends to watch the local minor league baseball team get their asses kicked. He’d left paperwork undone, and he’d rather not have to face the pile next week. It was easier to handle it when the office was quiet.

Immersing himself in patient records, he updated files with notes from his exams the day before, went over inventory lists, and caught up on email. His muscles were starting to protest from sitting in one place for so long, but it was worth it to get everything squared away.

When the phone rang, he picked it up automatically before he remembered the office was closed for the long holiday weekend.

Well, damn.

Since he couldn’t hang up now, he put the receiver to his ear. “Wakefield Optometry.”

“Oh, thank God you answered.” The words rushed together, but the woman had to be a tourist. She didn’t have a scrap of local accent.

His eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

“I’m in town for a conference and my friend accidentally knocked my glasses off.”

Bingo. He gave himself a point for correctly pegging the out-of-towner.

She continued, “A car ran over them. You’re the only optometry office in the area who picked up. Is there an eye doctor in who can help me? I’m half-blind without my specs, and I forgot my backup pair.”

The brisk, no-nonsense way she spoke told him it was probably rare for this woman to ever be caught unprepared. He’d guess she was a forty-something executive who only cut loose when she was away from the office. Like here in Gatlinburg. Maybe not even then.

He let out a breath. He should say no. They weren’t open, but he was a sucker for a damsel in distress. Too many years of having good manners drummed into his head, especially when it came to his dealings with women.
Welcome to being raised by a Southern belle.
“You’re speaking to one of the optometrists, ma’am. We’re technically closed right now, but if you can make it over here soon, I’ll be happy to see what I can do to help.”

“Thank you. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” The line went dead as she hung up.

Nine minutes later, someone knocked on the front door. He rose from his chair to let the lady in, weaving through the display racks of eyeglass and sunglass frames. He flipped the lock and opened the door. When he got a good look at her, he blinked.

Whoa, had he been wrong. He deducted ten points for the forty-something guess. This woman was probably in her late twenties and…lovely.

She smiled at him, and attraction hit him right in the gut. Boom.

“Hi, I’m Camille Kirby.” She held out a hand and he took it automatically, feeling a buzz of awareness sizzle up his arm.

Lord Almighty. He cleared his throat. “Dalton Wakefield.”

“I really appreciate you seeing me, Dr. Wakefield.” She squinted at him, letting him know he was a blur to her. She let go of his hand to step inside, brushing against him because he hadn’t stepped back when he should have.

“Not a problem, Ms. Kirby.” He shook himself, shut and relocked the door, and led the way to one of the exam rooms. “There’s some paperwork you need to fill out, and then we can get started.”

“Of course.” She fished around in her purse and came up with her wallet. “I have all my insurance information ready to go. Or cash if you’re not in my coverage network. I don’t care as long as I can see soon.”

He nodded and waved her into a chair. “Well, we aren’t a one-hour glasses place, but I can likely set you up with some temporary contact lenses. How long will you be in town?”

“I leave one week from today.” She took the clipboard and pen he offered her. “I’m counting down the minutes.”

Ouch. That couldn’t be good. Most folks didn’t want to leave Gatlinburg. “Not a good trip so far, huh?”

“It’s been a rough twenty-four hours.” She flashed that smile again before she brought the clipboard to within inches of her nose and started filling out the paperwork. “But thank you for making it a little better.”

“My pleasure.”

While she was busy, he took a moment to look his fill. He didn’t normally gawk at his patients, but he didn’t normally have such a visceral reaction when he first met a woman. She was petite, but curved in all the right places. Her dark red hair just brushed the tops of her shoulders, and the locks were a bit mussed. The lightest smattering of freckles decorated her cheekbones and nose. Adorable. That was how she looked, but the sharp intelligence in her hazel eyes was unmistakable. He doubted much got by this woman, with or without glasses on.

“Do I have something on my face, doc?”

Since
freckles
was an inappropriate answer, he said, “No, ma’am.”

A dimple tucked into her cheek, making her look even cuter, but her tone was brisk. “Then why are you staring? I can feel you watching me.”

Well, he’d hit that nail on the head, hadn’t he? She missed nothing, despite her claim to being half-blind without prescription lenses. “Just waiting for you to finish.”

“Sorry.” She glanced up, her nose wrinkling. “That probably came out touchier than I meant it to.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Especially since he had been staring. “You’re having a bad day.”

“Yes, I am. Thanks for understanding.” She signed her name at the bottom of the last page, set the clipboard down, lifted the clip to square the edges of the paper, and laid the pen precisely across the top so it was parallel to the clip. “I’m done with these.”

Anal retentive, much?
He resisted the urge to mess up her organization, just to see how she reacted.
Get a grip, Wakefield. This is a patient.
He picked up the paperwork and scanned it.

He felt like a skeevy douche for noticing that she’d marked the box for single, and forced himself to focus on the pertinent medical information about her most recent eye exam, what kind of lenses she wore, if she’d ever had refractive surgery, prescription medications she took, and which ocular conditions she’d ever been diagnosed with, if any. Personal and family medical history. Nothing looked abnormal or worrying, just a standard exam needed for a new prescription, as she’d said.

He glanced up. “Under occupation, it says you’re a software engineer.”

“There are a few of us with vaginas, yes,” she chirped.

He snorted. “I’ll take your word for it.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Sorry, I’m too used to fielding incredulous-slash-misogynist questions about my profession. Is my being a software engineer a problem?”

“Not so much.” He set the clipboard aside. “I was just going to ask if you spend a lot of time looking at computer screens. If so, do you experience any headaches or blurry vision?”

“Oh. Wow.” She slapped her forehead. “Now I feel like an even bigger ass.”

“Don’t. This is the most entertaining exam I’ve ever had.” He couldn’t hold back a grin. “Most of my patients don’t discuss their vaginas with me.”