“You’re working. I respect that.”
“I don’t think it matters where we are. I’ll always be just Lauren to you.” Her voice came out way softer than she’d intended. Fighting the need to get closer to his hard, muscled body, to offer to kiss him better, she broke her gaze from his and methodically counted the eleven parts of the ear illustrated on the poster over his shoulder.
“You’re never just anything, Lauren.”
The rough sincerity in his voice chafed at her still-raw heart. She froze, not able to look at his face, to see whatever emotion accompanied the sweet words. She grabbed a pair of latex gloves from one of the cabinets and pointed at the examination table. “Up on the bed.”
By the quirk of his mouth, the potential double entendre wasn’t lost on him. Mercifully, he left it alone and lay down as asked, stretching out his lean frame and propping his head with his good hand.
Pulling her stool alongside him, she positioned his injured forearm for the best access. With tentative fingers, she peeled back the rectangle of gauze and recognized her brother’s handiwork in the immaculate row of butterfly strips holding together the finger-length gash. The sterile material of her gloves did nothing to block the effect of touching Tavish. The moment her fingertips brushed his arm, the heat there threatened to melt the glove to her hand.
Ignoring her pathetic physical response, she continued undoing the bandaging. “Your sister’s going to smack you for getting scraped up so close to her big day. You should’ve held off on bodily harm until after the wedding.”
Lifting his other hand across his face to touch his abraded cheek, he tilted his lips in a sheepish smile. “I wanted to try a few of the new expert trails in the biking complex. Drew took me.”
“You took my brother on the double blacks? You’re as bad an influence on him as you were on me.” Her chest panged with immediate regret. Way to bring up how he’d made her want to veer so sharply from her life plan. To cover up her folly, she blurted, “At least he wasn’t idiotic enough to tackle a tree.”
Something crackled behind Tavish’s eyes. Probably not the medical tape tugging on the golden hairs of his arm, either.
“You really want to get into this, Laur?” His voice held threads of warning twined with wariness.
No, but probably best to hash things out before the wedding. “We’re due.”
“I’d rather wait until you aren’t in arm’s reach of a needle.” He glanced at the syringe on the rolling tray, gritting his teeth as she fussed with his laceration.
“Fine with me.” She took a breath and shoved the curious blend of shame, wanting and need for escape to the back of her mind. Only in rare situations would she choose suturing over a conversation. Wouldn’t be the first time Tavish had her doing something that went against instinct, though. “You’re going to need quite a few stitches to make sure this heals properly. The edges are snagged pretty badly.”
“Bled like a scalp wound, but doesn’t really hurt.”
She rolled her eyes and readied the syringe. “You’re such a guy.”
“You used to like that about me,” he said under his breath.
“Used to.” She draped the wound and closed her eyes for a second, just long enough to push away the nausea that rippled whenever she had to pierce someone’s skin. Frustration flared over the surging acid. She’d learned to control her gag reflex back in the first month of medical school. But the minute her lawyer had given her the partnership papers to sign, it had come back with a vengeance.
Clenching her hands into fists, she breathed until her ears stopped buzzing and she was no longer on the verge of losing the BLT she’d had for lunch. Then she grabbed the needle.
Tavish sucked in a breath and looked away as Lauren worked to numb the area. His brief display of nerves made her hand itch to put down the needle and caress his cheek. She ignored the ridiculous impulse and finished her task.
“Let that set. I’ll be back in five.”
“Not going to stick around and chat?”
“I have things to do.”
His lips twitched with saddened amusement. “Don’t let me get in your way.”
Half standing, she settled back onto her stool, meeting the challenge in his voice. “You’re not in my way.”
“That’s not the honest Lauren Dawson I know.”
She stared at him, trying to make her expression as unreadable as possible. “Fine. It’s weird having you in town. And if you’re insisting on small talk, where’ve you been since you were last home? When was that, March?” Not like she’d counted the fifty-seven days. Not purposefully, anyway.
Tavish’s expression flattened into impatience. “Here and there. New Orleans for a few weeks. Italy. Brazil.”
“You’re definitely living your dream.” If only he’d been that committed to her. To them.
“Isn’t that the point?”
“Obviously. I’m doing the same.”
“Sure about that?”
“Even more than when I signed our divorce papers.” Though she’d had as much trouble scrawling her signature on that as with the documents for the clinic partnership. “I saw your Peru spread in Traveler last week.”
“Make you want to go there?”
She shook her head. “Not hardly.”
“Right.” A visible flicker of defeat made his mouth twitch. “It wouldn’t.”
“I’m happy here, Tavish.” Damn it. He’d made her defend her choices one too many times.
“Yeah, now you are. A year ago you were ready to come see the Great Barrier Reef with me.”
The truth of that smacked her in the face. Tears welled at the reminder of how her grandparents’ accident had turned her family upside down, had forced her to admit how her marriage would never work. Blinking away the moisture, she probed the edges of his wound. “This hurt?”
Not meeting her eyes, he shook his head.
She flushed the gash, biting her lip as saline-thinned blood trickled under the drape. Hold it together, Lauren.
“I traveled enough as a kid. I’m good for life.” Why couldn’t he understand that being rooted in Sutter Creek didn’t stifle her as it did him? Besides, she had explored the globe in the past six months—via gorgeous, full-color magazine spreads. Vicarious living courtesy of Tavish himself. She’d bought every issue featuring his work.
The wearied lines in his forehead told her he hadn’t changed his opinion about her choices, but he didn’t bother arguing further.
“Breathe,” she soothed, not liking the strain marking his stubbled jaw. “This won’t take long.” Thankful for something to focus on aside from the reasons her marriage had failed, she began to suture his wound.
“Getting stitched feels so weird. You probably live for this, though.”
Ha, right. She’d be happy if she never saw blood again. A necessary evil, though, in getting where she wanted to be career-wise. “Don’t look if it makes you sick.”
“I can’t not.”
“Ah. You’re one of those. Common enough.”
“Glutton for gore, I guess.”
“Checking off all the guy-stereotype boxes today.”
Conversation died as she continued her stitches, a neat row of fifteen. Once finished, she dressed the wound and examined his scrapes. “I’m surprised my brother didn’t