Mountain Mystic (12 page)

“Know you? In some ways I don’t feel like I know you at all,” Joshua told her as he closed the distance. “And it’s driving me crazy. You see, I usually know things about people. But not about you. Who are you really, Vicky?” His fingers trailed along her neck, seeking and finding the erratic pulse at the base of her throat. “Why did you show up on my mountain just when I’d decided I could live without complications in my life?”

He kissed her again. When his arms went around her, he found the zipper of her dress and slowly drew it down to the sweet curve of her back. His fingers toyed with the valley formed by the arch of her back as she leaned into him. A sigh escaped her as he began to press kisses along the side of her neck, finding her pulse with his mouth this time.

Her dress began to slide off her shoulders, and Joshua helped it on its way until the gentle flare of her hips stopped the descent. By then her lace-covered breasts were bared to his gaze, and took all his attention. He wondered if she’d worn this particular bra on purpose. It was strapless and revealed more than it covered or supported. Creamy flesh flowed over the pristine white edges, begging him to touch and to release her.

Joshua gave up and swept Victoria back on the bed. There was a limit to what any man could take. He waited only long enough to dispose of his boots
and shirt before joining her. Lace scraped against his chest as he pulled her to him and hooked his fingers in a cup and dragged it down to expose her breast. The catch in Victoria’s breathing was audible as his mouth covered the passion-darkened tip.

Fireworks exploded in Victoria as Joshua sucked at her, pulling and laving her nipple with an expertise that began an insistent throbbing between her legs. His hands were as big as she had fantasized; he could cup her breast completely, plumping it as he created a rock-hard peak.

Her hips were beginning to move when he gave the nipple one last caress before peeling back the cup hiding the other breast from his view. Cold air teased the first bud, and she could feel the second growing hard as he gazed at her.

“Joshua …” His name was all she could get out, but she wanted him to touch her again, to finish what he had started without all this waiting and teasing.

“Easy, love. The party’s not going anywhere.” He ran an index finger around the inside of her panty hose and slip. “These, however, have to go.”

Joshua stripped them off and also unhooked her bra, tossing it on the floor with the other unnecessary items. Victoria was naked except for high-cut white panties which he found incredibly sexy. Lace, like that on the bra, fluttered invitingly along the diagonal line from the edge of her hip to the triangle between her legs.

He still had his jeans on, but he unbuttoned the waistband, and under the wide-eyed gaze of Victoria
he unzipped. He could tell she enjoyed it. She liked the bits and pieces of sex. She liked the details. He made himself another promise to take this as slow as he could.

The bed squeaked a protest as he reached for her hands and pulled her up until she was on her knees, facing him. He eased his arousal out of his pants and then brought her close. They were thigh to thigh, belly to belly, and heat to heat. For the first time, her bare breasts made contact with his bare chest.

Wanting to see how the whisper of flesh against flesh affected her, he said, “Open your eyes, Vicky.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t ease them open uncertainly. She opened them instantly at his request, looking down first at the sight of their bodies touching, then up to his mouth, and finally into his eyes. The intensity in her expression blew him away. How could she experience emotions this powerful without echoes spilling over into his mind? For a moment he wondered what it would take before she let him inside. Not just physically, but emotionally. And if he could deal with the intimacy when she did.

When her head tilted back so she could see him more clearly, her hair tumbled down her back, teasing his arms as he held her close. She was gorgeous. He flattened his palms against her back and slid his hands down to the curve of her hip. Victoria caught her breath but didn’t look away as he slipped his hands inside the high-cut legs of her panties and cupped her bottom. Gently he kneaded her tender flesh and lifted her against him.

The shrill shriek of the phone bell, turned up on high, jarred the mood and forced a curse from Joshua as Victoria almost jumped out of his arms. He leaned his forehead against hers. “Don’t answer it.”

“I … I have to,” she told him shakily, trying to regulate her breathing and erase the husky aftermath of passion from her voice. “Might be the answering service.”

Joshua moved aside and adjusted his clothing while she answered the phone. Modesty motivated her to grab a crocheted afghan that hung over the end of the bed.

“Hello,” she said as she tucked the holey concoction of yarn around her like a shawl. “Who? Oh. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting the hospital to call.” Victoria listened for a while and then flipped on the Tiffany-style lamp beside her bed to look at her watch. “Yeah, that sounds about right. She’s a patient of Dr. Grenwald’s. He left her file with me, since she was the only possible delivery while he was out of town.”

As soon as she flipped on the light, Joshua’s heart sank. He’d lost her for the night. A wry grin crossed his face. Better to lose the battle than the war. She loved what she did, and he certainly wasn’t going to ask her to choose. If he continued this relationship, he’d have to get used to interrupted nights and develop a tolerance for cold showers. While she talked, he grabbed his shirt and put it on.

“How long since she came in? And the contractions are irregular? Who’s on duty tonight? Dr.
Cashin? Great,” Victoria mumbled unhappily, and shook her head.

Dr. Cashin had zero bedside manner. He wasn’t a bad doctor, but he was one of the variety that believed in efficient, speedy medicine. No hand-holding, no jokes, no unnecessary conversation.

“Rachel Shelby’s a Primigravida. Young and worried about labor, according to Wally. She’s been having some pretty annoying Braxton-Hicks contractions and some round ligament pain, but he didn’t think she was anywhere close to delivering. The cervix was still closed when he saw her a few days ago.” She shook her head again. “That’s progress since her last visit, but it’s still not much dilation. Could even be false labor, given the fact she’s early and has a history of Braxton-Hicks. Dr. Cashin wants to admit her? She’d be more comfortable waiting at home until labor settles itself into a regular pattern.”

Victoria listened and consulted her watch again. “No, I don’t want her released if she lives an hour away either. I’d better come up. I can be there by midnight. No, I don’t mind. I’d rather waste a trip than face Wally if I let one of his patients be delivered by C-section for the ever-popular ‘failure to progress’ or exhaustion. Maybe I can help her settle down so she doesn’t wear herself out before active labor hits. Okay. Bye.”

When she put the phone down, reality returned and Victoria realized that before she blithely agreed to go to the hospital, she had been about to make love with Joshua. She closed her eyes, and her back stiffened.
How awkward could a situation get? What could she say?

Gosh, I was having a delightful time, but I’ve got to run now and see a woman who’s not my patient and probably won’t even deliver tonight. But she’s scared and a long way from home. So I have to go. And for some strange reason, I feel like I’ve just been saved by the proverbial bell.

Nothing came out when she turned to face him. She opened her mouth and shut it again.

“It’s all right, Vicky. I’ll get out gracefully. You don’t have to make a speech about how sorry you are.” His chuckle was deep and reassuring as he pulled on his boots and tugged his jeans over the tops of them. “Go do your job.”

Victoria clutched the afghan more closely to her, wishing she had left a less-revealing blanket at the foot of her bed. “You don’t mind?”

“I didn’t say that. I said I’d get out and that you didn’t have to make a speech.”

“Oh.”

His shirttail hung over his jeans, and he looked wonderfully rumpled. His body was relaxed, but the muscles in his jaw tightened as his gaze tracked from her toes to her head, making her conscious of the amount of skin peeking through the mesh of the afghan. “You do know how to make it difficult on a man though.”

Without waiting for a reply, he kissed her on the lips and said, “If you can’t find your truck keys, call me. I’ll drive you. ’Night, Vicky.”

Reflexively, she reached for the chain that normally
hung around her neck. She’d taken it off for the dance, since brass clashed with her dress. But she couldn’t remember where she’d put it.

Joshua gave her a final hot glance that seared through her, and then he was gone. A few seconds later the motorcycle roared to life, and he drove away just as though nothing unusual had happened. Just as though he hadn’t been about to make her lose her mind before the phone call interrupted them.

Joshua Logan wasn’t like any of the men she’d ever known. He was a grown-up, Victoria realized. He actually understood that people couldn’t always do what they wanted. He understood that she was torn between going and staying.

Empathy was a quality she admired. Many of the midwives with whom she’d trained were known for their ability to feel for others. Some were almost psychic. However, men weren’t particularly known for that characteristic. But Joshua was undeniably sensitive to people and their needs. She remembered the teenage girl at the dance, and how he preferred to wait on the porch when she made her home visits.

Thoughtfully, Victoria got dressed, and found her keys. If she wasn’t careful, she’d start believing that Joshua was different and worthy of trusting with her emotions.

The night was long and worthwhile. Victoria felt as if someone had taken a sack of oranges and pummeled her, but she didn’t care. Rachel Shelby gave
birth to a beautiful baby boy at eight-thirty in the morning. Mother and baby were resting fine, and Victoria felt mighty pleased with herself.

Ordinarily, she’d let the mother leave the hospital after about twelve hours, but Rachel had no support system in place at home. Victoria thought she would still be too worn out to drive by herself with a new baby. By mutual agreement they decided that Rachel would stay Saturday night and go home Sunday.

On her way out of the hospital, the chief of staff, William Anderson, hailed her. “Ms. Bennett!”

Although she’d showered and changed, she still felt a bit ragged to be trading barbs with Dr. Anderson. He hadn’t been one of the strongest supporters of her presence in the hospital. Tall, thin, and with hair that resembled an ad for Toupees-Are-Us, he held the opinion that malpractice suits were lurking behind every bush, waiting to trap the careless.

“Good morning, Dr. Anderson.”
Smile, Victoria.

“You’re not leaving, are you? I mean, your patient just delivered a couple of hours ago.”

“And she’s fine,” Victoria told him in as pleasant a voice as she could manage. She had a mind to send him the latest fact sheets from the American College of Nurse-Midwives. Maybe that would take some of the wind out of his sails. “And so is the baby. The Apgar score was excellent, even though he was a little early.”

“Oh. That’s good.” Anderson frowned. “Very good.”

“She specifically told me that the ABC room was
exactly what she wanted,” Victoria lied politically. “I think a lot of women in the community are going to appreciate Bodewell’s willingness to address their needs.”

Anderson perked up. He was as image conscious as the next administrator. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely. Not everyone thinks of birth as a medical procedure.”

“That other midwife certainly didn’t. Lord, she thought nothing of delivering frank breeches in home settings.”

Victoria shifted her bag to the other hand. “You knew the granny-midwife?”

“Yeah. Lara Logan. She’s got to be”—he scratched his head—“well over ninety by now.”

“Do you know how to get in touch with her?”

Anderson rolled his bottom lip out and shook his head. “No. But you can ask that grandson of hers. Joshua will put you in touch. I’ve got to get some papers out of my office. I don’t usually work Saturdays, you know, but the quarterly budgets won’t wait.”

Shock roiled through her, stirring up a flash flood of anger.
Joshua!
Feeling shell-shocked, she intoned, “I won’t keep you, then.”

“You ask Joshua about his grandmother. He’ll set you straight.” Anderson walked away, leaving Victoria staring at his retreating figure.

Joshua.

He’d lied.
Why?
It was almost as if he were hiding his grandmother from her. He actually denied knowing
the granny-midwife when she’d asked him point-blank.

With every step toward her truck, Victoria felt shock being replaced by anger. To think that twelve hours ago she’d almost … Victoria tugged the key over her head and wrenched open the door. She’d get some sleep first. She couldn’t confront anybody while she was ragged from a protracted labor with an unprepared mother. She needed food, rest, and answers. In that order.

Joshua turned off the country ballad about lying men and cheating hearts. He’d heard about all he wanted to hear on that subject. And since every single song on the radio dial seemed to have the same basic theme, he gave up trying to find a better station. It was almost six o’clock. Victoria had left the hospital before noon, but he hadn’t heard a word from her.

Logically, he knew she was probably sleeping, but that didn’t make the waiting easier. Restless, he pulled down
Touching History
from the shelves and began to leaf through it, wondering if Victoria had read it. When the book was published, the people in his life had changed. Not all at once, but eventually
what
he was became more important to them than
who
he was. Except to his grandmother. Gran accepted the sight because she had lived with it all her life. The only thing she wanted from him was great-grandchildren.

Everyone else wanted either to crucify him or ride
his coattails. Talk shows loved him. Scientists studied him. Women, who previously thought digging in the dirt was a crashing bore, were suddenly fascinated by the day-to-day activities of an archaeologist; they were equally fascinated by the celebrity attached to a bona fide psychic. Derrick, his agent, had simply kept on doing his job, which was to encourage the hype, field offers, and sell the second book for an obscene amount of money.