Teresa Southwick: Sky Full of Promise

Studying the tension in his jaw and the stiff set of his shoulders, added to the angry gaze and sarcastic tone, she decided she’d been right the first time. Definitely dumped. And he wasn’t the least bit happy about it.

For good reason. He’d practically been married. But “almost” wasn’t a done deal. Why should that please her even a little bit? Good question, for which she had no answer. Since her own broken engagement, she’d managed to get on with her life by scrapping her girlish fantasies of marriage, husband, children. Now her goal was to build an already fast-growing business. It was counterproductive to be attracted to this man. Technically he might be available, but emotionally he was still attached to someone who was no longer attached to him. While Sky might think the woman shortsighted, or even blind, maybe mentally impaired if not downright stupid, the fact remained, he was hurt and angry.

But what in the world happened? From what little she could recall of her conversations with the bride-to-be, Sky had the impression that Dr. StoneHeart was perfection personified. What had made her change her mind? Why had Shelby blown him off? Then Sky recalled the words that had alerted her to his presence when he’d walked in the shop. You don’t look like a home wrecker. What had he meant by that?

“Dr. Rodriguez, I have the impression you hold me responsible for something.”

“I do.” He laughed, a harsh sound and completely without humor. “Guess I won’t be saying that anytime soon. At least not in a church in front of a priest and witnesses.”

She held up her hands. “Let’s back up for a minute. You said the wedding is off. Why? What happened?”

“Don’t play dumb, Miss Colton.”

“I’m not playing anything, Dr. Rodriguez. I have no idea what’s going on. Would you care to enlighten me?”

“I’d like nothing better. Because of things you said, Shelby refused to marry me.”

“What I said?” Sky pressed a hand to her chest. “Look, Doctor, when she was here, I was working. We engaged in idle chitchat, not a bare-your-soul, heart-to-heart kind of conversation. I can’t imagine what I said that made her change her mind.”

“Think.”

Sky did. “She told me about you. That you’re a plastic surgeon. You help people feel better about themselves. That she was honored someone in such a noble profession would be interested in her. She had a lot to live up to. But she left out—” Sky stopped. She couldn’t believe what she’d almost blurted out. Shelby had neglected to mention her intended was a bona fide hottie.

“What?” he asked.

“Never mind. It’s not important.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. What were you going to say?”

Wild stallions couldn’t make her tell him. But considering the blue blaze in his eyes, she should come up with a substitute statement.

“She also mentioned that she calls you Dr. StoneHeart. Although based on your behavior since walking into my shop a few minutes ago, I can’t imagine why.”

One of his dark eyebrows rose, the only clue that her sarcasm had been noted. “I’m here to settle the bill for your services—including unsolicited advice you gave my ex-fiancée. What else did she tell you?”

“She talked about someone named Reilly Donovan.”

“Did she?” he asked, a gleam in his eyes that said he knew the name.

“Yes, I believe he’s the chauffeur,” she said, her eyes widening as her voice dropped dramatically on the last word. Uh-oh.

Things were coming back to her. She remembered a little more now. Shelby had also done some talking about the man who’d driven her here. About her intense, overpowering and completely unexpected attraction to the driver. There had been at least four long trips to Black Arrow, Oklahoma, from Houston, Texas. That was a lot of hours in the car—a really big, luxurious car. Lots of time to fill, to talk, to get to know each other intimately, to flirt, to generate doubts. But why did Dr. Perfect blame her?

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the glass top of the case as his fingers laced together. “What about the chauffeur?”

Sky noticed his hands. Why in the world would she laser in on something like that when his voice was sharp enough to slice and dice an ice sculpture? But she couldn’t help it. He had nice hands, big with long, slender fingers. And strong-looking. And sensitive. The hands of a healer. And, she had a feeling, hands that would know a woman’s body and do all the right things in all the right places to elicit passion. The thought made her shiver.

Her only excuse for this behavior was that it had been a long time since Wes Keiler.

Sky met the doctor’s gaze, determined to maintain a cool, calm and collected facade even if it killed her. She’d bet the doctor knew some interesting mouth-to-mouth resuscitation techniques.

“Shelby said the chauffeur was handsome,” Sky volunteered.

“Now there’s a recommendation for a happy life together.”

“Don’t knock it. Sometimes appearance is our only means of forming an opinion.”

“It seems Shelby formed a really good one of Reilly Donovan. She ran off with him. Because of what you told her to do.”

“I already told you I didn’t tell her to do anything.”

Frantically, Sky thought back to the last time she’d seen the other woman. She remembered a sparkle in Shelby’s eyes and a flush in her cheeks. The few times they’d worked together, the young woman had always been impeccably groomed. Every hair in place, makeup perfect down to expertly lined lips with color and gloss. Sky envied that. She kept her black hair shoulder-length, in a cut that fell into place after a quick blow-dry.

Now that she thought about it, during their last appointment, Shelby had been slightly agitated, not to mention rumpled. As if a man had run his hands through her hair and kissed off her lipstick. Uh-oh.

“She wasn’t herself the last time I saw her,” Sky said carefully. “But I made small talk. About how lucky she was—”

“Apparently, Shelby’s luck took her in a different direction. It didn’t lead her to me.” There was bitterness in a tone already liberally laced with anger.

“Oh. Maybe she just got nervous. If you talk to her and reassure her—”

“She left me a note saying she couldn’t marry me, after all, and asked me to take care of canceling all the wedding plans. And this bill for the rings,” he finished, holding out a familiar receipt.

Sky took it from him and her gaze dropped to the figure on the bottom line. It was a lot of money, but the bands she’d created were lovely, and gosh darn it, they matched perfectly. The time and materials involved didn’t come cheap. Now what? Ordinarily she could take back the merchandise and resell it. This set was magnificent if she did say so herself and the profit from it would help in her goal to start another store—maybe in L.A., New York or Dallas.

Before she could respond, the door opened and a male customer entered. With the arrival of the jilted bridegroom, Sky had forgotten this appointment. She’d agreed to design an anniversary gift for his wife.

“I’ll be with you in a moment, Clay,” she said. Then she met the doctor’s gaze. “Look, I can’t discuss this right now. I have a previous engagement.”

“That makes two of us,” he said wryly. “But there’s nothing left to discuss. I just returned the merchandise for refund. Our business is concluded.”

“We’re not finished. I need to give this matter some thought. Where can I reach you later?”

His eyes narrowed, but he said, “I’ll reach you.”

The next thing Sky knew he was gone. The tall, dark, handsome man was no longer a stranger. And she was destined to meet him again. She should have misgivings about it, but she didn’t. Which just proved that she was destined to be the subject of bad country and western songs: “Wanting Men Who Don’t Want Me” or “The Only Ring She’ll Get Is a Wring Around Her Neck.” Because there’d been nothing the least bit romantic or even positive about her encounter with Dominic Rodriguez, except that one small hint of a smile when she’d challenged him about knowing his patients by their ailments.