Homecoming (3 page)

“It’s my home.” She knew her response was ambiguous, and because she didn’t know Tyler Cole, she wasn’t ready to bare her soul. Once she began her investigation, he and everyone else in Hillsboro would know the reason why she’d elected to extend her stay.

“Where was home before you decided to move back?” he asked.

“A little town in upstate New York not far from the Adirondack Mountains.”

“You don’t sound like New York.”

She laughed softly. “What I don’t sound like is downstate New York. I’ve been told that I still have a trace of a Southern drawl.”

Tyler angled his head. “Only when you say certain words.”

A smile trembled over her lips. “No one would ever
not
take you for a Southerner,” she teased. His soft drawling voice clearly identified him as a son of the South.

His smile matched hers. “I’m one down to the marrow in my bones.”

“You don’t sound like a Mississippian.”

“Florida.”

She lifted an eyebrow, the fingertips of her right hand tracing the design on the handle of a knife at one of the place settings. “So, you’re a Gator.”

“The Heat, Magic, Marlins, Dolphins, Devil Rays, the Orange Bowl, Florida Citrus Bowl, the Panthers, and Tampa Bay Lightning.”

“You sound like a serious sports fan.”

Placing a large, well-groomed hand over his heart, he crooned, “I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m addicted.” Although he hadn’t lived in his home state for two decades, he still followed Florida’s sports teams.

Dana glanced at his broad shoulders under a sand-washed silk short-sleeved shirt in a blue-gray shade. He
had tucked the shirt into a pair of khakis. His tanned arms, corded with natural muscle, appeared even darker because of the profusion of black hair covering them.

“Have you ever played ball?” she asked.

“Only a little pickup B-ball with my cousins.”

“How tall are you?”

“Six-four.”

“Why did you move to Hillsboro?” she asked, continuing with her questioning.

Tyler wasn’t given the opportunity to answer her question. Cheryl reappeared, carrying a carafe of coffee. Turning over the mugs on the table, she filled them with streaming black coffee.

Picking up one, Cheryl placed it in front of Dana. The cup touched the handle of a spoon, tipping over and spilling hot liquid over the back of Dana’s left hand. Tyler moved quickly, pulling Dana from her chair as the coffee ran over the side of the table and onto the floor.

“I’m so sorry!” Cheryl gasped, her eyes wide with fright.

“Get me a plastic bag filled with ice. Now, woman!” Tyler shouted at Cheryl as she stood rooted to the spot, her mouth gaping. Within seconds she turned, racing toward the kitchen.

Dana clutched her injured hand to her chest, while biting down on her lower lip to keep from moaning aloud. Her fingers were on fire. Tyler eased her down to the chair he’d vacated. The talk in Smithy’s stopped, all of the diners leaving their seats and crowding around trying to see what had happened.

Tyler reached for her wrist, pulling her hand gently away from her breasts. “Let me see it, Dana.” Extending her injured hand, she stared at his lowered head as he cradled her palm in his larger one. Red splotches
dotted her fingers and her wrist. There was no doubt it would blister if she didn’t cool down the outer layer of her skin.

Cheryl returned with a plastic bag filled with ice cubes, thrusting it at Tyler. He released Dana’s hand, and then pressed the bag to her scalded flesh.

“You need to keep it on for about twenty minutes.”

She did as he ordered, and within seconds the burning subsided. “That feels better.”

Leaning closer, Tyler pressed his mouth close to her ear. “I’m going out to my truck to get something to put on it.”

Dana stared at the face only inches from hers, noting several tiny lines around the large expressive eyes for the first time. Despite his graying hair, Tyler Cole’s clean-shaven face was virtually unlined.

A flicker of awareness dilated his pupils as he continued to stare at her. It was a look she recognized. It was desire.

Closing her eyes against the intense black orbs burning her face, she nodded. When she opened her eyes, Tyler was gone and most of the other diners had retreated to their tables. Only Cheryl remained, her hands clasped together and her expression mirroring her anguish.

“I’m so sorry, Dana.”

She offered the waitress a comforting smile. “It’s all right, Miss Cheryl. It was an accident. Please go take care of your other customers.”

Cheryl hesitated. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“I’m not going to sue you or Smithy’s.” There was a hint of laughter in her voice.

Cheryl’s net-covered head bobbed up and down. “Thank you.” She walked away, her step heavier, gait
slower. The usual babble at Smithy’s had returned to its normal level.

Dana alternated holding the bag of ice against her injured hand and removing it briefly when she felt numbness.

“I thought I told you to keep it on your hand.”

Dana’s head came up and she saw Tyler standing over her, frowning. She hadn’t registered his silent approach. How had she missed it when the scent of his distinctive aftershave floated around her? The fragrance was a sensual masculine blend of spices.

“It’s freezing my skin,” she said.

Pulling up another chair from a nearby table, Tyler sat, placing a black leather bag on the floor next to his feet. It wasn’t until he leaned over and unsnapped the bag that Dana went completely still, her eyes widening in recognition. The bag was an updated version of the one her father had carried with him whenever he made a house call. The bag could always be found on a small table in the office adjoining the large house that was home to Dr. Harry Nichols and his family. The house and the office had been owned and occupied by several generations of Dr. Nicholses, going back to the turn of the century.

“You’re a doctor.” It came out like more of an accusation than a question.

Tyler flashed a quick smile. “Yes, I am.”

Closing her eyes, she recited:

Tyler stared at her, stunned. “You know the Hippocratic Oath?”

“I’d memorized it by the time I turned eight on a dare from my father. He, my grandfather, and great-grandfather were doctors.”

He wanted to tell her that they had something in common. His brother-in-law was a doctor, and his nephew was in medical school.

Reaching for her hand, he examined it again. Most of the redness had faded. “Keep the ice on it for another five minutes. The secret to fast burn healing is to cool down your outer layer as quickly as possible.”

“Do you think it’s going to blister?”

“I don’t believe it will. I’m going to apply a soothing salve called Silvadene and cover it with nonstick gauze. Burns hurt if they are allowed to dry out. Keeping them moist will speed recovery and reduce scarring.”

Dana watched as Tyler pulled on a pair of latex gloves; he applied the salve and then wrapped her
hand with the gauze. His touch was soft, almost featherlike. It was obvious he was a gentle doctor.

“Can I use aloe vera?” Her grandmother’s back porch was crowded with a profusion of green and flowering plants, including an aloe vera plant.

“The Silvadene works as well or better than a processed aloe vera gel.”

“My grandmother always used the sap from an aloe vera plant whenever she burned herself cooking.”

“Aloe soothes burns by inhibiting the body’s pain-producing chemical bradykinin. The gel also cuts down on the formation of thromboxane, another natural chemical that keeps wounds from healing. I’m a proponent of homeopathic and alternative medicine, but only when a patient isn’t at risk for a more serious illness or ailment.”

Tyler cut a length of tape with a pair of scissors, securing the gauze around Dana’s tiny forearm. He hadn’t realized the fragility of her slender body until he’d dressed her hand.

Holding up her hand, Dana examined Tyler’s handiwork, smiling. “Thank you, Dr. Cole. You can bill me for services rendered.”

“I should send the bill to the owners of Smithy’s.” Removing the gloves, he placed them, the gauze, and the scissors in the black leather bag, securing the lock. “We did come in here to eat, didn’t we?”

“Yes, we did.” She was surprised her stomach wasn’t rumbling loudly.

“What do you want?”

“What I haven’t had a very long time: eggs, grits, biscuits, and bacon. I think I’ll pass on the coffee.”

Tyler winked at her. “Don’t run away. I’ll go put our orders in.”

Dana stared at his retreating back, silently admiring his broad shoulders and trim waist. Dr. Tyler Cole was
hazardous to a woman’s nervous system: the timbre of his soft, mellifluous voice was X-rated, his face XX-rated, and his tall, lean muscular body XXX-rated.

She was still staring at Tyler when he returned, a smile deepening the dimples in his lean cheeks. Closing her eyes briefly, she thought,
I forgot to add charming
. The man was in fact very, very charming.

“Come,” he said softly. “Let’s move to another table.” Curving an arm around her waist, he led her over to a nearby table, seating her. He lingered over her head, inhaling the subtle fragrance clinging to her skin. He’d found the perfume as alluring as its wearer.

Sitting, he studied the face of the woman sharing his table. The words his mother had said to him whispered to him in vivid clarity:
Speaking of grandchildren, have you found that special someone? I don’t intend to go to my grave worrying about you spending the rest of your life as a lonely old man
.

But he had to ask himself, did he want a woman? There were occasions when he physically
needed
a woman. But need and want were very different.

A look of determination shimmered in his near-black eyes. There was one woman in Hillsboro that did intrigue him—Dana Nichols. And he’d concluded it just wasn’t her face. He had dated a quite a few beautiful women before, women who’d made their living because of their faces and bodies. But there was something about Dana that was different—very, very different from the other women.

A teenage boy had mopped up the spilt coffee and then cleaned off the first table and chairs when Cheryl returned, carrying a tray with Tyler and Dana’s breakfast selections. Working quickly and efficiently, she carefully set the plates on the second table.

“I’ll be back with your coffee, Dr. Cole.”

Dana stared at the appealing presentation on her plate, hesitating. How was she going to eat with her hand and fingers wrapped in gauze?

Tyler, noting her hesitation, said, “What’s the matter?”

Her gaze shifted from the plate in front of her to meet the questioning gaze of her dining partner. “I’m left-handed.”

Rising to his feet, Tyler shifted his chair, sitting on Dana’s right before he reversed their plates. His breakfast—a bowl of wheat flakes, a glass of milk, and sliced fruit—could be eaten later. Picking up a forkful of grits and eggs, he turned to face Dana, cupping his free hand under her chin.

“Open up.”

She opened her mouth, stunned that she was going to be fed her breakfast. As their eyes met, she felt a shock run through her. Something sensual flared through his intense entrancement, and she knew within an instant that becoming attracted to Tyler Cole would be perilous—to
her
.

He projected a virility she could not ignore—a hypnotic virility that pulled her in despite her silent protests.

Tyler stared at Dana’s mouth as she chewed and swallowed her food. He was unable to pull his gaze away. She had the sexiest mouth of any woman he’d ever seen, and he wondered if it would taste as good as it looked. There was enough petulance in her lower lip to give her the appearance of sulking.

He hadn’t decided what he liked more—her mouth or her eyes. Meanwhile, both had him entranced like a motionless deer staring into a car’s headlights.

“I’m finished,” Dana said after taking several bites of a strip of crisp bacon.

The fork he held was poised in midair. “You hardly ate anything.”

“I’m full,” she lied smoothly. How could she eat with him staring at her like she was dessert? “Please eat your breakfast.” She broke off a small piece of her biscuit with her right hand, placing it in her mouth.

Turning his attention to the cereal, milk, and fruit, Tyler poured half a glass of milk on his wheat flakes, picked up a spoon, and began eating. He’d finished the bowl of cereal, drunk the milk, and was finishing up his fruit when another waitress came over and placed a mug of steaming black coffee on the table in front of him.

Tyler took a sip of the strong brew, savoring the rich taste and warmth spreading throughout his chest. Drinking black coffee was a habit he couldn’t seem to break. It had begun in medical school. Most nights he’d slept an average of three to four hours while fortifying himself with gallons of caffeine-laced coffee. He’d promised himself over and over that he would stop, but so far he hadn’t been successful.