Protecting What's Mine(12)

But Mack wasn’t the good-book-on-a-snowy-night type. She was the type to hang out of a helicopter, transporting patients from the scenes of their snowy accidents to the nearest trauma center.

“One shift a week,” she reminded herself, heading down the short hallway into the kitchen. Four days in the clinic. One day with the air team.

The kitchen could have used an update, but the creaky cabinets, painted a pale blue, had their own kind of well-used charm. There was a short L of butcher block countertop. A white fridge and stove. No dishwasher. But cooking for one didn’t produce an excess of dishes.

Mack put the kettle on and then assembled the ingredients for her protein shake, her breakfast of nutritional necessity. She jammed fruits, yogurt, sprouts, and green stuff into the blender, topped it with protein powder and chia seeds, and let the appliance do its job.

She gave the kettle and blender a break and ran through a quick set of planks, push-ups, and sit-ups in the dining room next to the adorable stenciled table.

By the time she finished, the kettle was whistling, and the smoothie was as smooth as it was going to get.

She poured both into the appropriate receptacles and headed out onto the deck.

Five days in this place and spying on her sexy neighbor had easily slipped into her daily routine. Of course, that was going to have to change now that she’d given said neighbor a ride home last night.

What were the odds, she wondered. Apparently very good in a small town.

Chief Lincoln Reed was awake. Over the chest-high fence that divided their properties, she could see the lights were on at his place.

“Better not be working out,” she whispered to herself. Just like most health issues, partial dislocations were tricky if they weren’t given the rest they required.

Pot. Kettle, she thought blandly.

And there he was. The big, blond beefcake came into view in the window of what appeard to be a small home gym. He had a piece of pizza in his hand.

Breakfast of champions.

He bent, giving the dog a good scruff and then eyed the pull-up bar mounted to the wall.

“Don’t you dare do it,” Mack murmured into her tea.

Shirtless and slingless, Linc grabbed the bar with both hands and pulled his body up with perfect form.

The big, macho idiot. She knew the type, had spent enough of her adult life around men—and women—like that. First in med school, then the military. Now in her own backyard.

He dropped like a stone after one pull-up instead of his usual thirty and sank to the floor. The dog scooted closer until she was practically in his lap.

Reluctantly, Mack checked her watch. If she skipped meditation, she had time.

A house call would eat up the excess time between now and her first day on the job. He’d probably take it as a sign of attraction, and that didn’t really bother her enough to not go.

On a sigh, she put down the tea, picked up the abominable smoothie, and headed in the direction of the shower.





6





A knock on Linc’s door before seven a.m. usually meant his previous night’s guest had left something behind. A phone. Car keys. One time a thong.

But he’d slept alone last night and dreamed of the pretty doctor.

He dragged a t-shirt over his head, a heroic feat with one good arm, and headed toward the front door with Sunshine trotting at his heels.

He wondered if his eyes were deceiving him. There on the concrete stoop stood the woman of his dreams and fantasies. She was wearing slim navy pants and a fitted white polo, and she was carrying a bag.

“Doc Dreamy. Couldn’t stop thinking about me, could you?” He leaned against the doorframe. Sunshine poked her face out between his knees.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about the damage you were probably doing to yourself, Hotshot.”

“Damage?” he scoffed. “I’m resting. Doctor’s orders.” Idly, he scratched at his shoulder and wondered where he’d put the shoulder sling. Oh yeah, the kitchen trash can.

She stepped around him and walked right into the front room that served as a living room and man cave with the gigantic flat screen, pool table, and bar made from red metal cabinets.

“You weren’t trying to work out, were you? Turn that tweak into a tear?” she chided, eyeing the neon beer sign on the wall.

Either the woman was psychic, or he’d become predictable.

“If you know so much, smarty-pants, what did I have for breakfast?”

She dumped her bag on the pool table and gave him a contemplative look. The scar under her left eye created the slightest dimple under her lid. “You look like the cold pizza for breakfast kind of guy.”

Linc looked down at his dog. “Did you tattle on me?”

Sunshine’s tail swished happily against the black and white tile floor.

Dreamy’s face softened. “She’s kinda cute. I see you didn’t fix your curtains yet.” They were still in a rumpled pile on the floor where they’d fallen the night before.

“Two-handed job,” he explained.

“How are the burns?” she asked conversationally as she picked up the curtain rod and crumpled draperies.

“Not bad,” he said, glancing down at his bandaged hand.

She nudged a leather ottoman over to the window and hefted the rod and curtains off the floor. Leaning against his Ms. Pac-Man pinball machine for support before clicking the rod back into place.