That thought and others kept her awake late into the night. She didn’t know what came over her when Stark Burns was around. He never frightened her like some men did now, but something about him just pushed her buttons, every last one of them. Even with her cat, Tiger, curled next to her on the narrow bed, Meri couldn’t seem to sleep for more than moments at a time. Nevertheless, she woke early the next morning and instantly decided that she owed Stark some sort of apology.
Quickly dressed in jeans, boots and a sweater, she twisted her long, light red hair into a messy bun at the nape of her neck as she left her room. She headed for the stairs, where she met her sister-in-law. Callie held a fingertip to her lips, indicating that at least little Bodie still slept. Wondering if Burns would be awake, Meri slipped out of the house and crossed the road to the stable. He hadn’t closed the door, so she crept inside quietly, only to find the light on at the far end of the aisle and the doctor changing an IV bag.
“How is he?” she asked, walking onto the scene.
Burns didn’t even spare her a glance. “He’s still with us. The next few days will be critical, though.”
“What do we do?”
“We keep as close an eye on him as possible, administer fluids and medication, try to get him to eat... I’m monitoring his temperature. That’s the important thing right now.”
“I can stay with him so you can go to the house for breakfast,” she offered politely. “Callie should be cooking as we speak.” He shook his head.
“No, thanks. I prefer to take my meals alone.”
Meri’s mouth fell open. “Always?”
“Usually.”
She didn’t know what to say to that.
“I have another appointment in an hour so,” he went on absently. “I’ll get something to eat after that.”
We’ll see about that, Meredith thought. Wouldn’t the confounded man even let her be nice to him?
She turned around and marched straight back to the house, where she found Callie busy in the kitchen, as predicted. Explaining that the doctor had to leave soon for another appointment, Meri quickly loaded up a tray and returned to the stable with her peace offering.
She set the tray, a clean dishcloth draped over it, next to his kit on the blue barrel. Stark sat atop a wooden box and glanced at the tray.
“What’s this?”
“Your breakfast. Callie made pancakes and bacon. There’s coffee, too, and it’s getting cold. How do you take it?”
He frowned at her for a long moment before saying, “Black.”
She picked up the mug and held it out to him. “Here you go.”
He took the mug, sniffed, sipped, then slugged back a healthy gulp, sighing. “Why does coffee taste so good when you’re hungry?”
“I drink it, but I’ve never much learned to appreciate it,” she admitted.
“Why do you drink it, then?” he asked, after swallowing another mouthful.
“Two words,” she answered. “Shift work.”
“That’s right. Nurses work around the clock in shifts.”
“And caffeine and shift work go hand in hand.”
“I hear you.” He set the mug back on the tray, picked up the whole thing and brought it down to his lap. Balancing the tray on his knees, he slathered butter on the pancakes with the tines of his fork, then poured on the syrup, saying, “This is mighty nice. Of Callie.”
Meri rolled her eyes. “You don’t give an inch, do you?”
He squinted up at her. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really?”
“You going to stand there and watch me eat?” he muttered, stuffing pancake into his mouth.
She turned away. Okay, if he didn’t want an apology, she wouldn’t give him one. Instead, she moved to the horse, reaching out a hand to signal her presence. Trailing her fingertips over the butternut hide, now dull with illness, she crooned to the animal.
“Hey, boy. How ya doin’?” The horse blew through his nostrils, as if acknowledging her concern, and Meri smiled. “You need to get well. The Straight Arrow wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“That horse doesn’t understand anything but your tone,” Stark pointed out laconically. “You know that, right?”
“Do you always have to be so surly?” she asked, turning just in time to spy a yellow-on-gold-striped cat slink around the bottom of the blue barrel. “Tiger!” she gasped, starting forward, “How did you get out?”
Following her horrified gaze, Stark set the tray aside and slid to the floor, easily capturing the cat as it attempted to streak past him. Crossing his legs at the ankles and bending them at the knees, he brought the cat into his lap, scratching it under the chin.
“Well, well. Haven’t seen this guy before. Tiger, is it?” He held up the cat in one hand, checking its eyes, nostrils and teeth with the other. “Healthy fellow.”
“I don’t know how he got out,” Meredith said, fighting the urge to snatch Tiger out of Stark’s grasp. “I keep him in my room.”
The doctor checked the animal’s paws and inclined his head. “Well, a declawed cat shouldn’t be out-of-doors, especially not in the country, but a bedroom seems like a small space to keep a cat in.”
“It’s not permanent,” she snapped. “He’s usually in my apartment in Oklahoma City. And he was a lot more content before Tux...”
Stark glared at her but otherwise ignored the truncated comment. “Why don’t you give him the run of the house? Just keep him out of your dad’s room. Contrary to myth, clean animals do not spread contagion.”
“I know that. It’s just that everybody forgets, and they let him out.”
“Poor kitty,” Stark cooed, bringing Tiger nose to nose with him. “Nobody looking out for you.”
“I look out for him!” Meredith protested hotly. “He’s all I have now.”
Stark sent her a glance of pure censure, a silent scold that spoke louder than words. She hadn’t meant it, of course. She had her whole family, a growing family, which she seemed doomed to leave. And what right did he, a loner by choice, have to judge her, anyway?
Thankfully, Ann called her name just then. Otherwise, she—the quietest, smallest, youngest, mildest, most timid of the Billings siblings—might have been tempted to do Stark Burns harm. Real physical harm.
“Meri? Meri, the cat’s out!”
“We’ve got him,” Meredith called, keeping her voice even. Stark had to admit, if only to himself, that he liked baiting her.
Ann showed up an instant later, breathless, her long, bright hair billowing about her shoulders as she strode confidently down the aisle behind the stalls. “Oh, good.”
She was an attractive woman, Ann Billings Pryor, but a mite too in-your-face for Stark’s taste, not that Ann’s little sister didn’t have spunk, too. She’d given him what-for since he’d picked up her injured cat off the road out there next to the house the day of her brother’s wedding.
At