But I do need to leave. Right now.
I’m just about to get to my feet, make my excuses and run the hell out of here, when he says, “I can help you find your mom, if you want?”
What? He wants to help me find my mother?
A few minutes ago, he offered to kick the crap out of Forbes, which practically floored me, and made me teary. No one has ever offered help like that to me before. And for help to come from a man makes it even more astounding, and poignant.
And now this…
Help me find my mother…
It’s beyond kind.
He would be giving up his time to help me. Why would he do that?
Maybe because he really is a good guy, Mia.
I can feel myself starting to choke up with his kindness, so I hold my voice as steady as I can. “Would you?” I can’t help the hope in my voice. “I mean, I wouldn’t know where to start, and you know the people in this town, so you’d know who to speak to.”
And now I’m babbling. Great.
“Sure I will,” he says. “Like I said, I owe you for what you did for Dozer.”
He’s helping me because I helped him. Even then, is that such a bad thing? It doesn’t make him a bad guy.
“You don’t owe me anything, Jordan. I wanted to help you.”
“And I want to help you,” he says. His voice sounds so warm and wonderful that I can’t help the goofy smile that spreads across my face.
“Then thank you. I would love to take you up on your offer to help me.”
“Good.” He smiles.
He’s so lovely.
And so good-looking.
I suddenly have the urge to reach out and touch his face.
I clamp my fingers together, pinning my hands to my lap.
We’re silent for a moment before Jordan speaks.
“I wonder how much longer they’re going to be with Dozer?”
I glance at the clock like that’s going to help. “I’m sure they won’t be much longer. They’re probably x-raying his leg for the break, and I imagine his chest as well to make sure none of his ribs are broken.”
He’s smiling at me.
“What?” I say, a little self-conscious.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “You just sound really different when you’re talking doctor stuff. You sound like…”
“A doctor?” I grin.
“Yeah.” He laughs. “A doctor.”
“Well, I’m not quite there yet … if ever,” I add quietly.
“And why’s that?”
I glance across at him, unsure what to say, or why I even said what I just did. Then Jordan’s eyes lift, looking over my head. They quickly flick back down to mine, then lower to my sunglasses. I hear footsteps heading our way, so I lift the glasses and slide them on as I mouth a silent thank you to Jordan.
He nods lightly, then gets to his feet, as do I.
“How he is?” Jordan asks Dr. Callie.
“He’s doing really well. He’s still asleep under anesthetic, but he’ll come round soon. His leg is broken, like you diagnosed.” He directs his gaze at me, then back to Jordan. “The problem was the bone was fractured in two places, so I had to set it with pins to get the break to heal straight.”
“But he’s okay?” Jordan asks, concern lacing his voice. It tugs at my heart.
Dr. Callie smiles. “He’s fine. I’ve set the leg in a cast. He’ll need to rest it up and come back in about six weeks to have the pins removed. But he’s going to be back to himself in no time.”
“When can I take him home?”
“He’s in recovery at the moment. I want to keep him here for the rest of the day just to keep an eye on him. You can come back later today to collect him.”
“What time?”
Dr. Callie looks at his watch. “Say, four thirty, and he should be fine to go.”
Penny comes over to us. “If you could come with me, I just need to take a few details from you,” she addresses Jordan.
“Sure,” he says.
I’m just about to follow Jordan to the reception desk, when Dr. Callie stops me. “Great assessment you did earlier. The strap on his leg was really good work. You’re going to make a fine doctor.” His smile is genuine. Shame I don’t feel it.
I don’t want to become a good doctor. I don’t want to be what Oliver created.
I dip my gaze. “Thank you.”
“Well … best of luck with the rest of medical school.”
“Thanks.” I nod.
“Right. I better get back to it.”
I watch his retreating back, then I turn to Jordan and walk over. He’s just finishing up.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yes.”
I follow him out to his car. “You hungry?” he asks once we’re in the car.
I touch my hand to my empty stomach. “A little.”
“To be expected. You did miss breakfast.”
“Sorry about that. I don’t usually sleep so late, but I was really tired. I hope you didn’t go to any trouble.”
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Let’s go grab some lunch.”
He pulls away from the vets, onto the street, then starts fiddling with the radio.
I slip my sunglass off and glance around the car, taking it in. I’ve never been inside a Mustang before today. It’s a really nice car. Pretty cool. I know I said yesterday that it’s a penis enhancer, but knowing Jordan now, I really don’t think he would need any help in the enhancing department. Not that I’ve seen anything to know, but he’s just so confident and this car suits that about him. It reflects his confidence and charm.
“This is a really nice car,” I comment.
Settling on a station, he rests his hand back on the wheel. “Thanks. I won it.”
“Won it? Like on a car lottery or something?” I tease.
Jordan lets out a laugh. “No, cards. I won it in a hand of poker.”
“Wow. That must’ve been some hand,” I say impressed.
Taking his right hand off the wheel, he flexes his fingers out between us. A grin akin to the devil appears on his lips. “Oh, you have no idea, babe.”
Babe? Holy shit. Is he…?
Did he just flirt with me?
No. No way.
Even still, my cheeks heat.
Pretending his words have absolutely no effect on me, I clear my throat. “You like to play cards?”
“I used to.” There’s something off about his tone. It instantly makes me curious.
I’m not usually nosy. I don’t ask people things because I don’t want them to question me in return. But he knows about Forbes, and something about Jordan makes me want to know more about him. I feel like I could sit and listen to him talk for hours, and not once get bored.
“Used to?” I question.
I watch his fingers tap restlessly against the steering wheel. “I used to gamble a bit. I liked to play cards. After my mom died it, uh … it got a little worse.”
“Your mom died.” I press my hand to my chest. “God, I’m so sorry, Jordan.”
He bobs his head. “We’ve both lost a parent. Guess we have that in common.”
“Sucky thing to have in common,” I say.
Well, it’s not like I can tell him the day Oliver died was the best day of my life.
He would never understand.
“Yeah it is,” he says quietly.
“How did she die? If you don’t mind my asking?”
He shakes his head, eyes fixed ahead. “Lung cancer. Stage four. Never smoked a day in her life. I was away, traveling with some buddies out in South East Asia, when I got the call from Dad that she was sick. I came straight home. She had surgery … chemo … it didn’t work.”
His shoulders lift on a heavy sigh. “After she died I, uh … well, life got a little hard. Crazy, you know?”
A glance. I catch the sad in his eyes before he looks back ahead to the road. “Then I had a wakeup call, and I cleaned up my act. And here you see, the brand new, almost responsible me.” He sweeps a hand down himself, smiling, but I can tell it’s forced.
And that’s when I see the broken in him. Not broken the way I am, but there’s definitely something. He looks as if he’s carrying a heavy burden of guilt over his mom.
I twist in my seat so that I’m looking at him. “Well, I didn’t know the before you Jordan, but this Jordan is incredibly kind.”
He laughs, but it’s more of a scoff. Self-deprecating.
“Yeah, kind. That’s me.”
“I think you are. And well, uh, that counts. To me.” I pull on my lip, taking a deep breath.
He glances across at me again, and our eyes more than meet. They connect.
My skin flushes. My mouth dries. Heartbeat erratic.
I have the sudden and very pressing urge to lean over and kiss him.
Breaking his gaze, I turn face front and start picking at imaginary lint on my jeans. We don’t speak again until we pull up outside the diner.
I put my sunglasses on and get out of the car.
“I ate here last night,” I comment over my shoulder.
“I know.”
I whip around, and my muscles lock with tension. “How do you know that?” I know my voice is sharp, but I can’t help it.
He frowns a little. Resting his hand on the roof of the car, he says, “Beth, the waitress who served you last night, she’s a good friend of mine. She called ahead to let me know you were coming.”
“Oh, right.” Way to overreact Mia.
Running my hand through my hair, I laugh, but it sounds off. “Makes sense why she recommended your hotel then, being your friend an’ all. Of course she would. Not that it’s a trashy hotel or anything because it’s not. It’s great. The best hotel I’ve ever stayed in.”
Jesus Christ. Stop talking. Now.
I really need gagging while I’m around him.
Jordan chuckles. He makes his way around the car toward me, with what looks to be a plaid shirt in his hand.
“Thought you might want to wear this.” He nods toward my bare stomach.
God, I can’t believe I forgot that my t-shirt was all torn up. Not like me at all. I’m usually very aware of my state of dress. I had to be because of my father.
And Forbes.
I immediately cover my mid-riff with my arms. Then free one to take the shirt that he’s now holding out to me.
“Thanks,” I say, pulling the shirt on. It smells masculine. Woodsy. It smells of him. I don’t think I’ll ever want to take this shirt off again.
Stepping close, he pulls the shirt together and starts to do up the buttons. “I don’t want people to think I’ve mauled you,” he says low, with a smile.
I feel it in every single part of me.
I can’t move. I’m just staring at him, watching his eyes trace each button up as he does them, while reminding myself to breath.
Deftly, he soon reaches the top. His eyes lift to mine.
I try not to notice that his breathing has ratcheted up a little, like my own has. Or that his hand is lingering on the shirt, close to my chest, even though the buttons are all done.
I gulp. “Thanks,” I whisper, my voice breaking on the word.
