Instant Gratification (Wilder #2)(51)

It felt close. Intimate.

With fingers that weren’t quite steady, Stone shoved his wet hair out of his face and let out a very long, low breath. “That keeps happening.”

She didn’t ask what. She knew exactly what. The bolt of sexual awareness between them that packed a punch of, oh about a million watts. She let out a shaky breath of her own. “I thought we’d be over it after last night.”

“Yeah.” He shook his head. “No.”

“Maybe…maybe it’s just the altitude.”

He let out a mirthless laugh and drove the rough roads with a smooth ease that didn’t escape her. She was good at being a doctor, she’d made sure of that. But as she kept noticing, he was good at all the life stuff. The important stuff.

She could admit that when she’d first come to Wishful, she might have imagined herself just a little above it all. Above them. But both the town and the people in it had proven her wrong.

On every score.

“You can stop blaming yourself,” he said quietly without looking at her. “This road is really hard to handle in the heavy rain or snow.”

She turned to face him, watching as a lone drop of rain slid down his temple. “You read minds?”

“I read yours easily enough, apparently. You’re mad at yourself.”

“And you. Let’s not forget that.”

“Why me?”

“Because you make the drive look easy.”

“I’ve been driving it since I was fourteen.”

That effectively took her mind off being cold, wet and hurting like hell. “You’re not supposed to drive until you’re sixteen.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t have a lot of supervision in those days.”

She’d left Wishful far too young to remember him or his brothers, or to even know their story. “Where was your mother?”

“Gone.” Keeping his eyes on the road, he lifted a shoulder. “She had three little boys, then decided life was too hard out here.” He glanced over, his eyes reflecting the knowledge that they had that in common.

But her mother had at least taken Emma with her.

His mother had walked away from him and his brothers. She couldn’t even imagine how incredibly devastating that must have been. “That’s just so wrong.”

“Agreed.”

“What about your father?”

“He was a mean drunk who only paid attention to us when we were bad—which we were a lot. We were as wild as they came.”

“Which explains how it is that you were driving so young.”

He flashed a short smile. “Yeah. So do you drive in New York?”

“No.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“I have my license,” she said a little defensively. “I made sure to get that when I was eighteen.”

“I’m sure you did.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re a thorough woman, Emma. You like to cover all your bases. You probably studied hard for your test, passed it with flying colors, and keep your license renewed even though you don’t drive.”

“Yes,” she said, not liking how amused he sounded. “I don’t see why that’s funny. It doesn’t hurt to be careful, to be organized and on top of things.”

“Thing is, Emma, as you pointed out, life isn’t easy. And it’s sure as hell not black and white. Being on top of things doesn’t always count. Your father would be the first to tell you that.”

Well if that didn’t make her feel even more defensive. “My father isn’t big on telling me anything.”

“Everyone makes mistakes.”

“He’s trying to fix his by having me out here. I know that.” She thought of her mom, and more than physical pain stabbed through her. “I just don’t think that he gets that it’s not the right way, not for me. I don’t want to resent being here, but…”

“But you do. You’re tired of treating the flu, and wayward cats. Who, by the way,” he added with a smile, “gave birth to four adorable, wayward kittens last night. Annie named the first one Emma. She has your eyes.”

She snorted and put her head back against the headrest, casually setting her hands on her aching ribs for support. “That’s nice.”

His gaze cut to her hands, though he didn’t say a word about her ribs. “But you still don’t want to be here.”

“I can’t seem to help it. Being here reminds me of my mom.” She hated that her voice cracked.

“You miss her,” he said very softly, taking his gaze off the road for a beat, offering her the sympathy that tripled her pain.

It took her a minute to speak. “So much.”

Reaching out, he squeezed her hand, and she cleared her throat. “I just want to go back to my world,” she told him. “Where I’m in control. My mom liked to be in control. I guess I got that from her.”

“How’s your stepfather taking it?”

She shrugged, which shot pain through her. Note to self: stop moving. “He left on a world cruise after the funeral. He needed to get away. It must be working because he hasn’t been back.”

“So you’ve been by yourself?”