The MacGregor Brides (17 page)

“The day a glass of whiskey clouds my brain—or that of a good Irishman—is a dark day in the world.” Daniel sat, stretched out his long legs, stroked his soft white beard. “A matter to discuss, you say?”

It was the gleam in the twinkling blue eyes that clinched it. “You know, it took me a while to realize that Gwendolyn was right with her first instincts.”

“Gwen?” All innocence, Daniel folded his big hands. “Ah, that’s right, she’s been helping you a bit with your story. And how is that going?”

“The help, or the story?”

“Whichever. Both.”

“The story’s going very well, and she’s been a tremendous help so far.”

“Good, good. A bright girl, my Gwennie, diamond-bright. Takes after her grandmother—a woman you seem to have more than a decent affection for.”

“You old meddler,” Branson murmured. “‘Go by the hospital, lad. Gwen’s just the one you need.’”

Daniel smiled broadly. He’d never thought Branson Maguire slow. If he had, Daniel would never have picked him for his granddaughter. “And wasn’t she?”

Branson sat back. “And what do you think she’d have to say to your scheme? Do you think she’d thank you for dumping me at her feet?”

“I’d say that depended on you.”

“What have you done, Daniel?” Anna wheeled the tea tray in herself, shooting her husband an exasperated look.

“Nothing. I’ve done nothing at all.”

“He’s matched me up with your granddaughter,” Branson told her, rising to see to the tray himself. “Gwendolyn.”

“Daniel.” Anna lifted her chin. “Didn’t we discuss this type of thing? Didn’t we agree that you would not interfere in the children’s lives?”

“It’s not interfering to see that Gwen is introduced to a fine young man like Branson here. It’s interest, it’s …”

“Meddling,” Branson finished, and poured tea for Anna. “And I appreciate it.”

“It’s not meddling to—” Daniel broke off, and his eyes went shrewd. “There, you see. He appreciates it. And why shouldn’t he? A beautiful girl like our Gwen. Smart, tidy, loving, good bloodline.”

“You needn’t list her virtues,” Branson said dryly, and poured a cup for Daniel. “And I hope you’ll resist listing whatever you consider mine to her and messing this up before I’ve got it started.”

“Got it started.” Daniel thumped a fist on the arm of his chair. “You’ve had the best part of a month already. You’re dragging your feet.”

“Daniel.” Patience, Anna warned herself. Surely after a lifetime with the man she had accumulated a mountain range of patience. “Leave him alone.”

“If I leave him alone, it’ll be the next century before he comes up to the mark.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“See.” Daniel thumped his fist again, this time in triumph. Then he frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Your granddaughter isn’t cooperating.”

“Cooperating.” Daniel rolled his eyes. “Well, why aren’t you charming her, romancing her? Do you need it written down, boy, what a man needs to do to court a woman?”

Branson shifted in his chair. “
Courting
is, perhaps, the wrong term.”

“Oh, is it?” Those blue eyes became sharp, deadly. “And just what is the term you had in mind when it comes to my granddaughter?”

“I don’t have one, exactly.” Branson held up a hand for peace. “I’m very attracted to her, I’m very interested in her.” What the hell, he thought, he was among friends. “I’m halfway in love with her.”

“What’s wrong with the other half?”

This time Anna only laughed. “Oh, he is never satisfied.”

“Well, what the devil good is halfway about anything?”

“It’s far enough for me, until I see if she’s even going to catch up. I’ve gone a long time without having my heart broken,” Branson told Daniel. “And I’m hoping to keep it that way. My point is, you haven’t gotten to where you are without being an expert at the art of a deal, without being able to read people, judge their strengths and weaknesses. And I know you love your family. So, you had to consider the pros and cons before you decided I’d suit Gwendolyn.”

“There’s a smart lad, Anna. Is it any wonder I’m so fond of him?”

“Don’t get too excited,” Branson warned. “
I
haven’t decided if we’ll suit yet. But,” he added before Daniel could explode, “I want very much to explore the possibility. Since you’ve known Gwendolyn—”

“He calls her Gwendolyn,” Daniel said, misting up a little. “See how he calls her by her full name, Anna, the romance in it?”

“Hush, Daniel,” Anna murmured, because indeed she had.

“You’ve known her all her life,” Branson continued. “I’ve only had a few weeks. So how about a little insider information, some pointers?”

“She respects honesty,” Anna said, with a telling look from man to man.

“I’m not planning on being dishonest.” A dimple winked charmingly as Branson smiled. “I’m planning on taking advantage of a situation already in place.”

“The girl needs to be swept off her feet,” Daniel claimed. “She was always one for fairy tales.”

“She needs to stand on her own feet,” Anna corrected. “Gwen prides herself on her strength and independence.”

“She needs moonlight and roses and wooing.”

“She needs integrity, partnership and respect.”

Branson blew out a breath. “Well, this is all very helpful.” Then he shook his head in confusion as both Anna and Daniel burst into laughter. “Did I miss the joke?”

“You weren’t a gleam in your father’s eye, nor your father a gleam in his father’s,” Daniel said, reaching for Anna’s hand. “So you’ve missed it right enough. I told you Gwen took after her grandmother, and so she does. The things we’ve said Gwen needs are what she needs. Just as lovely Anna Whitfield demanded them sixty years ago from a clumsy Scotsman who fell madly in love the minute he saw her in a rose-colored dress at the Donahues’ summer ball.”

“And though it took quite a bit of work,” she murmured, “I managed to get them all from him. And more. Just be yourself, Branson, and let her be what she is. That’s how you start.”

* * *

Gwen, profoundly grateful that she’d insisted on taking her own car, pulled into her drive at midnight. If she had ever, in the whole of her life, spent a more boring evening, she’d have to have been comatose.

She didn’t object to hospital functions, she didn’t object to Greg. But the combination of the two of them in one endless evening had been a study in tedium.

And if his hand had found its way up her leg under the table one more time, the surgeon would have required surgery.

She imagined Branson would have made pithy, whispered comments about the pompous speeches. And have made her struggle not to laugh and lose dignity.

He’d have had plenty to say about the lukewarm and rubbery chicken Kiev she’d pretended to eat.

And they’d probably have danced, rather than discussed laser surgery for ninety minutes before she finally made her excuses and escaped.

Why was she thinking about Branson? She shook herself, climbed out of the car. She hadn’t wanted to be with him, either. What she’d really wanted was to be home, curled up in front of the fire with a nice brandy and a good book. Since it was too late for that, she’d settle for a warm bed and oblivion.

She was almost at the door before she saw the little potted tree sitting on the stoop in the porch light. Baffled, she crouched down, stared at the little stuffed bird attached to a branch from which golden silk pears dripped.

Since the attached card carried her name, she tugged it free and ripped it open.

Consider this the first day of Christmas.

Bran

He’d sent her a partridge in a pear tree, Gwen thought, and, pressing the card to her breast, sighed hugely. How incredibly sweet. She skimmed her finger over one of the glossy pears and set it swinging, smiled foolishly at the colorful, plump bird.

And realized, with a suddenness that had her sitting down hard beside the silly little tree, that she was in deep and serious trouble.

Gwen walked out of O.R. three rubbing cramps out of her fingers. The surgery had been long and complicated, but she’d been pleased to be allowed to assist. She’d spent the past ten hours on her feet, and figured if she was lucky she could clock out shortly and leave the hospital on a high note.

She saw Branson waiting in the corridor and decided the odds of that high note had just improved.

“They told me you were up here, sewing some guy back together.”

“Assisting,” she corrected. “But sewing him back together’s close. Thirty-six-year-old man who was very, very careless with a chain saw.”

“Ouch.”

“I think he’s going to keep his arm.” She rolled her neck as she pushed the button for the elevator. “Dr. Merit is the best in the state. I don’t know anyone else who could have done what he did in there. The massive blood loss and trauma, the muscle and nerve damage. And the patient wasn’t the best candidate for a long surgery—a good hundred pounds overweight. But he could very well be swinging a chain saw to cut down his Christmas tree next December.”

“Did you get yours yet?”

“Our tree?” She stepped out into the E.R., relieved that it seemed to be quiet. “This weekend.” She took a quick look at the board, saw she wasn’t needed. “I’m going to grab some coffee.”

“You’re off shift, aren’t you?”

“In ten minutes.” She swung into the lounge, headed straight for the pot. “I didn’t think you’d be by today.”

“I had a few things to deal with.” He pulled a box out of his pocket. “Here’s one of them.”

With the pot in her hand, Gwen stared at the pretty silver box and bow. “Branson, you have to stop this.”

“Why?”

“You can’t keep giving me presents.”

“Why?” He grinned at her. “You liked the others, and I’ve got a theme going here.”

The pear tree, she thought, the lovely little brooch of two turtledoves, the silly trio of china hens, and four ridiculous chirping plastic windup birds. She adored all of them. “When your theme hits nine dancing ladies, you’re going to be in trouble.”

“I’ve got plans for that. Come on, open it up.”

He took the pot from her, handed her the box, then poured two cups himself. She was charmed, and they both knew it. He heard her helpless little sigh as she took off the lid and saw the long chain with five rings intricately braided into it.

“How do you manage this?”

“Patience, determination. Persistence.” He set the cups down. “Here, let me put it on for you.” He took the necklace out and draped it over her head, where it glowed against her dull green scrubs. “Quite
a fashion statement.”

She ran a hand down the chain. “I shouldn’t take it.”

“Of course you should. You want it.”

“Of course I want it,” she said with a hint of exasperation. “It’s lovely and it’s charming.”

It made no sense. They barely knew each other. She’d given him no encouragement. He simply wasn’t the next step she’d planned for her life. “Why are you doing this?” she demanded.

“Because I’ve still got that thing for you.” He leaned down, brushed his lips to hers, adoring that mix of confusion and annoyance in her eyes. “And it seems to be spreading. Why don’t you change into something a little less intimidating, and we’ll go out?” He slid his arms around her waist. “Try that candlelight dinner this time.”

“I’m not dressed for dinner.”

“You look wonderful. Lovely. Perfect.” He could feel her hesitate, soften, sway toward surrender. “I want to be with you, Gwendolyn. I want to make love with you. I can’t remember wanting anything quite so much, and there are a great many things I’ve wanted.”

She felt herself sliding into the kiss, into him, before she could stop herself. “I’ve barely had time to catch my breath since you walked into my life.”

“Don’t catch it,” he said, suddenly, fiercely impatient. “Let it go. And come with me.” His mouth demanded now, possessed, severing any thought of protest. The thrill whipped through her as he dragged her into the heat, under the dark. “For God’s sake, Gwendolyn, let me touch you.”

“I want—” She had her hands on his face, threaded her fingers through his dark blond hair, fisted them. “I want you. I’m not being coy or playing games.” She eased back so that she could meet his eyes. It was vital to her to be honest, and to be logical. “I haven’t wanted anyone else enough to let them touch me.”

It took a moment for his head to separate itself from the storm rising in his body. A moment to cool the mind and understand what she was telling him.

Untouched. Innocent. She was the fairy princess after all.

Instinctively he gentled his hold. “You can’t possibly know how much that means. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m not afraid of that.” She stepped back, pushed a hand through her hair. “I’m a doctor, I—” Her eyes narrowed when he chuckled. “What are you laughing at?”

“Some matters may have to do with the anatomy, Dr. Dish, but nothing at all to do with medicine.”

“Doctor
what?”

“You heard me.” Lord, but it was a pleasure in itself to shock her. “And believe me, you won’t be thinking like a doctor when I make love with you.”

“I haven’t said you will yet,” she told him evenly. The cocksure grin and all-male ego irritated her enough to have her regain some balance. “And if you continue to find my lack of experience in this particular area so amusing—”

“I don’t find your lack of experience in this area amusing at all. I find it erotic. Unspeakably erotic. And I’d like to exchange the dinner for a late supper. Very late. I want to spend a great deal of time giving you—” he reached out, closed his hand over the chain and tugged her closer “—all manner of experiences in this particular area.”

“I haven’t decided,” she began, and felt a gush of relief as her beeper sounded. “Excuse me.” She stepped back, angled the beeper she wore on her hip so that she could read the code. Turning, she pushed through the doors and hunted up the chief resident on duty.

“Good, Blade, I saw you hadn’t clocked out. We’ve got a drive-by. Gunshot wounds, chest and
abdomen. Twelve-year-old male. ETA two minutes.”

Branson watched her transform in front of his eyes from an aroused and irritated woman to cold and sturdy steel. She moved fast, heading for the heavy double doors even as the sound of sirens punched through the quiet.