Her Forever Cowboy Read online

  “No,” he replied guilelessly.

  She stared at him, confused. “What do you mean, no? Don’t we have a deal? Or did you suddenly just decide not to rent the apartment to me?”

  Now that she thought about it, it would seem in keeping with the man to just jerk her around like this. There was obviously a lack of entertainment in this town, at least from what she’d witnessed so far.

  “We most certainly have a deal,” Brett told her, nodding at the hand that she had dropped to her side. “We just shook on it.”

  He was jerking her around, Alisha thought. “I don’t understand.”

  Maybe she didn’t, Brett decided. Glancing toward the bar, he saw that Finn seemed to be holding his own serving the customers. That cleared the way for his taking another minute or so to explain things to this beautiful tenderfoot who had been sent their way.

  “Around here, we seal our deals with a handshake,” he told her.

  Yeah, right—sure they did. They couldn’t be that naive—could they?

  “And that’s enough?” she mocked.

  “Shouldn’t it be?” he asked her seriously. He felt sorry for the world she had come from, where trust seemed to be such a rare commodity. “If a man’s—or a woman’s—” he amended in case she was the type to take offense at what she perceived was a slight “—word isn’t good enough, then there’s no point in entering into any kind of an agreement with them, because they’ll break a contract just as easily as they’ll break their word.”

  “The difference being is that lawyers can make you live up to a contract.” Didn’t he realize that?

  Brett smiled a rather unfathomable smile. “They can try,” he corrected. “Depends on where you are. Lawyers are only as good as the respect they command—and that involves their word, and whether or not they keep it.”

  Another argument that wouldn’t be going anywhere, Alisha thought wearily. As a last sarcastic gesture, she took out her handkerchief and waved it in the air in front of him.

  Brett merely nodded, the corners of his mouth curving significantly. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

  “I didn’t exactly have a choice,” she said pointedly.

  The corners of his eyes crinkled. “I guess you didn’t,” he acknowledged in the nicest tone she’d heard in a very long time.

  Chapter Five

  “There,” Alisha said, ripping out the check from her checkbook and handing it to the man on the other side of the bar. “Two months’ rent,” she added, confirming what they had just agreed on.

  Quoting a nominal amount as the rent, Brett had initially requested only one month. Since it was so low, she had insisted on paying him for two—just in case, in that amount of time, she hadn’t made up her mind about remaining. It gave her some leeway.

  Alisha had taken a seat at the end of the bar in order to write the check out. Finished, she put her checkbook away and started to get off the stool.

  “If there’s nothing else...” she said, her voice drifting off, her meaning clear. If he didn’t want her to sign a lease or anything of that nature, then she was leaving.

  Brett put a hand on hers to keep her seated for a moment longer. She looked at him quizzically. “Wait—you can’t leave yet.”

  Now what? Alisha thought uneasily. Had he realized that he’d charged too little? “Change your mind about the amount?” she asked.

  When he’d quoted her the amount for the rent, she thought he was giving her the weekly figure, not the monthly one. Even though the apartment was so small, he was renting the place out for way too little, in her opinion. She kept that thought to herself.

  Even as she wrote out the check, Alisha had a feeling it was going to suddenly dawn on her new landlord that he could get more for it, even though it was little more than coffin-sized. Granted, she was accustomed to the astronomical rents in New York City, but she had a feeling that what he was asking for was low, even for a tiny Texas town.

  “What?” Belatedly, he replayed her words in his head. “No, the amount’s fine,” he reassured her. Brett planned on putting whatever checks he received from her into an account earmarked for repairs and future renovations for Murphy’s. It seemed like the only fair thing to do since, as far as he was concerned, this was an unexpected windfall.

  “Then why’s your hand on mine?” She looked down at it and then up at him, waiting for a reasonable explanation as well as a withdrawal of that same hand.

  Rather than raise his hand away from hers, he lightly drew it back, his fingers ever so softly sliding along the length of hers.

  The crackle of electricity that sizzled between them was hard to miss. He had a feeling she was thinking the exact same thing. Only difference, he mused, was that she wouldn’t be willing to admit it. Given half a chance, he would.

  “I thought we’d have a drink, celebrating your new quarters and our new relationship,” he told her in his best Southern-gentleman drawl.

  “Our relationship?” she echoed incredulously.

  What was he talking about? There was no relationship. Had she made a mistake, renting this apartment?

  A nervous restlessness began humming through her. At the very least, she needed that handyman he’d mentioned to come by and install a dead bolt—provided the man knew what that was, she added with a note of weary despair. She was beginning to think she’d set up camp at the end of civilization.

  “Landlord and tenant,” Brett replied, indicating first himself, then her. “Why? What did you think I was referring to?”

  Still sitting on the stool, she squared her shoulders. “I didn’t have a clue,” she lied. “That’s why I asked.”

  Brett nodded toward the collection of spirits behind him. “You want something light and fruity—or something hard?” he asked her.

  The words seemed disconnected as they came out of the blue like that. Confused, she could only ask, “What?” as she stared at him.

  “To drink,” Brett prompted. “Light and fruity—” he gestured toward the small array of bottles filled with colorful mixed drinks “—or hard?” he concluded, waving a hand toward the bottles that contained alcohol his customers downed straight.

  She shook her head to both choices. “Nothing, thanks. I need to get going.”

  “The evening’s young, and so are you,” he told her with a grin that insisted on corkscrewing right into the center of her chest. “One drink to toast the apartment—and your settling in Forever. Just our way of showing how very welcome you are,” he added. Before she could turn him down, he said, “The town’s not exactly growing by leaps and bounds, but we’re still wearing Dan out. You came just in time to save him—and us.” There was the underlying sound of amusement in his voice. She couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not.

  She still hadn’t made up her mind about this town and its inhabitants. She’d come here because it was somewhere to go in order to get away. But now that she was here, she had to rethink the idea of remaining in town for any length of time, never mind about Forever. That wasn’t even on the table at the moment.

  After a beat, she realized that he’d stopped talking and was looking at her with the most soulful, knee-melting eyes she’d ever encountered—and that included Pierce’s, whose eyes, until this moment, had held the record for being able to make her melt in an astonishing amount of time.

  But she’d been in love with Pierce, which partially accounted for her reaction to him, Alisha silently argued. She certainly wasn’t in love with Brett Murphy.

  As a matter of fact, she sincerely doubted she was even in like with the man. As far as she was concerned, he rubbed her completely the wrong way. Lord knew, she’d had her fill of men who knew they were seductive, complete with bedroom eyes, and used that so-called talent to get whatever they wanted.

  So what exactly did Brett Mu
rphy want?

  “One drink isn’t going to hurt anything,” Brett coaxed her.

  She supposed that he had a point. A single drink wouldn’t hurt anything.

  Putting her purse on the counter, she said, “All right. I’ll have a Long Island Iced Tea.” When he didn’t ask her what that was—as she’d half expected him to—she said, “How much?” Opening her purse, Alisha took out her wallet.

  “Put your money away,” he told her. “It’s on the house.” With that, he began mixing the drink.

  Rather than do as he’d said, she took out several bills. “Oh, no, I want to pay for it. I don’t like being in someone’s debt.”

  “If anyone is in anyone’s debt,” he told her seriously, “the town’s in yours—for coming to help Dan and making it so that he can take a vacation without feeling like he was abandoning us.” Finished, he set the drink down on the bar in front of her.

  Without thinking, she automatically drew the drink over to herself. Her mind was on what Brett had just told her. A cold chill ran down her spine. She’d never been the only doctor in charge before. At the hospital, there’d always been a multitude of seasoned physicians to turn to, veteran physicians to use as a sounding board if something was unusual. The thought of being strictly on her own was not a heartening one.

  “Vacation?” she repeated. “He didn’t say anything about a vacation.”

  Her voice had gone up slightly. It wasn’t exactly panic he heard, but it wasn’t the last word in confidence, either. He hadn’t meant to rattle her. At least, not about her work. If he was going to set her pulse racing, it would be with a whole different goal in mind. Fear wouldn’t have been part of the equation.

  “Don’t worry. Knowing Dan, he’s not going to leave you until he thinks you can fly solo for a week...or two,” he added more quietly.

  “Or two?” Her eyes widened as she struggled to get her nerves under control. She’d be treating colds and hangnails and aching muscles, just like she had been these past two weeks under Dan’s tutelage. How hard could it really be?

  She still couldn’t quite manage to get her uneasiness to subside completely.

  Brett gave her his most reassuring smile. “He’s not pushing you out of the plane until he knows for a fact that you can open the chute.”

  “Do all your pep talks involve being airborne?” she asked, redirecting her edginess to focus on Brett rather than her own uneasiness.

  Brett lifted a shoulder and let it drop in a careless shrug. “Seemed to fit the occasion, seeing as how the look on your face was as white as a parachute,” he commented. “And technically, even if Dan does go on vacation, you won’t be alone,” he assured her.

  “Don’t tell me you studied medicine on the side, between mixing drinks.”

  “I won’t tell you anything that’s not true.”

  The way he said it, with his eyes holding hers, cut through the layers of doubt, distrust and sarcasm, going straight for softer territory. She could almost believe that he was being truthful.

  Almost.

  “Then you’d be the first man to do that since my father,” she replied quietly.

  “Heady company,” he commented, inclining his head. “I’ll be sure to act accordingly.” With that, he raised the glass he’d poured for himself, indicating that she should follow suit. When she did, he said, “To the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

  Then, because the evening had settled into a comfortable rhythm, his brother doing, in his opinion, very well without him, he lingered, adding, “And to you, Lady Doc, for coming to tend to our wounds and our ills.”

  With that, he downed his drink. She took a sip of hers, then regarded it thoughtfully for a moment. “What did you just have?” she asked, nodding at his empty shot glass.

  “Wild Turkey, 101 proof,” he told her.

  She pushed her glass to one side and said, “I’ll have the same.”

  Brett looked at her uncertainly. “Are you sure?” he asked. “It’s rather strong, and you might get more than you bargained for.”

  Her eyes locked with Brett’s. “I think I already have.”

  Because something told her that this man was going to be there, around her, at every turn, in spirit if not in the flesh, she needed to show him that she could go toe-to-toe with him if need be. And that she wasn’t about to become one of the worshipful cluster she was certain he availed himself of from time to time, when the whim hit him. She had no wish to blend into a crowd.

  “The Wild Turkey,” she prompted, looking at the bottle that was back among the others on the counter behind him.

  Taking a double shot glass, he put it on the bar in front of Alisha and poured a serving accordingly. “Your call—” he began.

  Before the words had left his lips, the whiskey had gone past hers. She had thrown it back in one fluid movement.

  The smooth liquid blazed a trail of fire all the way down her throat and into her stomach. She felt it reaching all her limbs almost simultaneously.

  Returning the shot glass to the counter, she looked at him unwaveringly, silently informing him that she was up to any challenge he threw her way.

  Whether or not that was true was another story entirely.

  Her eyes weren’t tearing up, Brett noted, relieved. That meant this wasn’t her first go-round with the potent alcohol and that her bullheadedness hadn’t gotten her in too deep.

  He’d misjudged her. And he had to admit, he was somewhat impressed.

  “Want another?” he asked, waiting to see what she’d say. If bravado had been her intention, she would have asked for another. But she didn’t—which impressed him even more.

  Moving the drink he’d previously poured for her back in front of her, Alisha said, “I’ll pass.” A touch of humor curved her mouth. “I need to stay clearheaded. After all, I might be on call if there’s a three-horse pileup on Main Street.”

  He studied her for a long moment, trying to make up his mind about her and realizing that in order to do that accurately, he was going to need more input. Maybe a lot more input.

  “Why’d you come here, Lady Doc?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I thought we just settled that. To rent the apartment you have upstairs.”

  “No, I mean, why did you come to Forever?” he specified.

  “Daven—Dan told you that. I answered his open letter. He said he sent it to half a dozen teaching hospitals—I was the only one who answered him.”

  Brett knew all that. Even if Dan hadn’t told him, there were hardly any secrets in a town the size of Forever. But that wasn’t what he was asking her.

  “Why did you really come?” he asked. “And don’t give me any altruistic pap,” he added with another sensual smile that ultimately made it difficult for her to get angry at him.

  “You don’t think I’m altruistic?” she questioned.

  Some of the alcohol must have gotten to her, Alisha surmised, because this was where she should be taking offense—and she wasn’t. But she was surprised that she managed to be that transparent to this bartender/confessor.

  “Oh, I’m willing to believe that you’re altruistic enough,” Brett allowed. “But that’s not the reason you’re here.” He leaned in across the bar, dropping his voice so that only she could make out his words, which seemed only right, seeing as how they were meant for only her and no one else. “What are you running from?” he asked her quietly.

  She knew she should be angry at his assumption, both that she was running from something and that he had a right to ask as well as a right to know. But she was struggling with shutting out the warm, aroused feeling that had washed over her when his breath had touched her cheek as he spoke.

  Alisha did her best to block out everything, both the good and bad. “What makes you think I’m running from anything?”


  The lady doc had just proved his point and didn’t realize it, he thought. “Because you didn’t say no, that you weren’t.”

  “No, I’m not,” she replied firmly with a toss of her head. The movement brought with it the hint of a headache, a bad one, in the making. Damn, what did he put in that whiskey? she wondered. She usually didn’t get strong headaches after having just a single drink, even if that drink was strong enough to dislodge blasting caps a quarter of a mile away.

  Brett looked unconvinced at her belated protest. “Sorry—it doesn’t count when I have to prompt you,” he told her.

  “You’re not prompting me,” she denied vehemently, then stubbornly insisted, “And I am not running.” She waited a beat before adding, “I’m walking.”

  “From?” he asked gently, giving every indication that he could wait until the second crack of eternity for her answer, if that was what it took.

  Oh, what did it matter? Maybe saying it out loud would help purge her of all this anger. “From a rich, self-centered bastard who thought that just because he had relatives who smuggled themselves on board the Mayflower, that meant he could do whatever he wanted to whomever he felt like—and I would be patiently waiting in the wings for him to come back.”

  Brett unscrambled the rhetoric rather quickly. He’d heard it all before. Not quite in those terms, but he’d definitely heard it before.

  “He cheated on you.”

  “Apparently with the immediate world,” Alisha bit off.

  He went a little further out on the limb and made a guess. “You were married to him?”

  “Oh, please,” Alisha protested with an exaggerated expression of disdain as she rolled her eyes. “I was engaged to him,” she corrected before she realized that she was laying herself bare before this smooth bartender. She never went on like this—ever. She looked into her now-empty glass as if she’d find some clue at the bottom of it. “Damn, what did you lace this drink with? Sodium Pentothal?”

  “Gotta plead not guilty to that one. I’m fresh out of truth serum,” he told her. “All I’ve got at my disposal is a bartender’s willingness to listen.”