Phyllis Halldorson - A Wife For Dr. Sam

He saw the flush of heat that turned her face red, but he was too late to deflect the full cutting force of her rage. “Why you arrogant bastard!” Her voice was low and filled with scorn. “Since when does an invitation to come in for coffee after a pleasant evening translate into a roll between the sheets? If that’s been your experience, then the women around here must be awfully hard up for a man.”

Sam winced. It was obvious that he’d made another horrendous mistake in judgment, but she wasn’t about to let him explain and apologize.

She turned toward the open door. “I won’t tell Jim about this because I don’t want to cause any trouble between you, but I’m going to tell Coralie in no uncertain terms that I don’t like you and do not want her to pair us together again. I’ll make every effort to see to it that we don’t run into each other for the duration of my stay here, and I expect you to do the same.”

She walked into the house and slammed the door behind her.

Kirsten was wakened the following morning by a loud, piercing noise that brought her to a sitting position before she even had her eyes open.

What on earth was that? She blinked to chase away the sleep-induced fog and looked at her watch. Five o’clock! What was waking her up so early? It was barely light out.

The combination screech and yodel sounded again, but this time she recognized it as the crow of a rooster. She ran her fingers through her hair and snuggled back down into the comfortable double bed in the guest room of Buck Buckley’s house.

It was a nice room, small but clean and starkly furnished in strictly male decor. A brass lamp and a serviceable alarm clock sat on the bedside chest, and a large framed print of a Remington cowboy scene hung on the dark wood wall above the bed. Directly across the room was a double chest of drawers with a wide mirror.

Kirsten sighed and closed her eyes again as the rooster continued to crow. She’d been exhausted when she went to bed the night before, but also too wrought up to sleep.

Damn Sam Lawford anyway! He’d had her totally off balance ever since their cars had collided. He’d made her feel alternately scared, guilty, anxious, angry, sorry and incompetent, and that was just in the half hour they’d spent together right after the accident.

She’d managed to calm down after arriving at the Buckley home, seeing her dear friend, Coralie, again and being welcomed into the bosom of her family. It had been so exciting that she’d even forgotten to report the accident to her insurance company, but then Dr. Sam had shown up and set her off again.

The man seemed to know exactly which buttons to push to scramble her wits! They’d finally gotten that confrontation untangled and were making friendly conversation and getting acquainted when he’d delivered her to her door and dropped that final bombshell.

Kirsten groaned and turned on her stomach to bury her face in the pillow and try to shut out the memory. Never had she been so mortified, or so furious, all at the same time. She wouldn’t have believed there was room in her 125-pound body to contain such a storm of emotion.

How could he have misunderstood her friendly overture so completely? All she’d intended was to have a quiet chat over a cup of coffee, so they could iron out any remaining wrinkles in their ill-fated friendship. She’d figured she owed him that much since she was guilty of damaging his expensive car. What had she said or done to make him think she was trying to seduce him?

Either he was an egomaniac or an idiot, and she suspected it was both!

Rolling onto her back again she stretched both arms over her head. She’d been so upset when she went to bed the previous night that she hadn’t been able to sleep. Instead she’d tossed and turned for an hour or so, then got up and rummaged through Buck’s bookcase for something to read. She’d had a choice of mystery or western, and since she’d already read all the mysteries on Buck’s shelves she settled for a shoot-’em-up western novel and read until one o’clock before her eyelids got heavy and began to close.

Now that pesky rooster was letting her know that it was time for any self-respecting farmer to be up and about. That apparently also included his wife, his children and any guests who might be lurking about. With a sigh she pushed aside the covers and more or less tumbled out of bed.

She had to have a private chat with Coralie, ASAP.

At about the same time six miles away in Copper Canyon, Sam rolled over in bed and shut off the blaring alarm clock. He was sorely tempted to lie back down and rest for just a few minutes before he got up, but he knew better than to do that.

After making a jackass of himself the previous night and insulting Kirsten, he’d tossed and turned for hours before finally falling asleep. Now he felt like a horse who’d been “rode hard and put away wet.” If he dozed off he would oversleep, and then he would be running to catch up with his schedule all day and into the night.

With a moan he forced himself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Years earlier when he was an intern he’d learned to brush his teeth, shave and dress while still half-asleep, and now it was more or less routine.

As he guided the electric razor over his bristly face his mind returned to the debacle with Kirsten the night before. He felt like a fool, which wasn’t surprising because he was a fool. Why else would he have been so quick to jump to the conclusion that she was trying to get him into bed when all she’d offered was coffee and cookies?

The question was rhetorical because he already knew the answer. It was her voice. That low, sexy pitch that sent shivers down his spine. That was a come-on. It had to be.

Then again she’d cleared her throat directly after she’d spoken, and she’d recently been dangerously ill with a viral infection that could easily have affected her pharynx. Her voice could have been husky because the night air still impaired her vocal quality.

He slapped the heel of his hand against his forehead and glared at himself in the mirror.

Idiot! How come that thought just occurred to you? You’re a doctor. You’re supposed to be the expert on such things. Why didn’t you figure that out last night before you opened your mouth and stuffed your foot in it?

His shoulders slumped and he turned off the razor as he muttered a barnyard oath. What was the matter with him? Why did he talk like a braying ass every time he tried to carry on a conversation with her? Nobody liked to be embarrassed by a slip of the tongue, but his tongue didn’t just slip when he talked to Kirsten. It pitched and bucked and landed him flat on his backside.

Even more important, why did it matter so much to him? He didn’t even know her. All told they’d only been together four and a half or five hours at the most. She was nothing to him but a damn nuisance, and still he felt sick when he remembered the pain and contempt in her tone as she’d delivered that last scathing and well-deserved tonguelashing to him.

No woman since Belinda had been able to hurt and upset him so deeply, and that terrified him more than anything else that had happened. He’d vowed never to set himself up for that much agony again, and up to now he’d never allowed a woman to get close enough to try. It was obvious to him that he couldn’t handle a busy medical practice and a deeply committed love affair at the same time. It had to be one or the other, and he had to make a living. Besides, his medical practice could never betray him the way a lover could.

Still, he had to apologize to Kirsten. He could never square it with his conscience if he didn’t. As soon as he had a few minutes free he would call her, tell her how sorry he was for insulting her and try to persuade her to have dinner with him as a parting gesture. A way to try to soften some of the justifiable contempt she felt for him.