Private Practice (Private Pleasures 1)

“Done. I gave it to Grandpa.”

“Good choice.” Nobody ever accused the elder Tillman of being irresponsible. Junior’s grandparents had stepped in to raise their only grandchild while Junior’s parents had run around town like a couple of footloose twenty-somethings—exactly what they’d been in those days. Grandma and Grandpa Tillman never had a lot of money, but they’d always found a spot at the dinner table and a warm bed for Tyler whenever Junior had dragged him home, and had never made him feel like an unwanted stray.

“I know. I’ll have to pass a sobriety test and a gun safety quiz before Grandpa lets me so much as oil the damn thing. But what I really meant was what can I do to help you get the loan?”

“Funny you should ask. The bank wants an assurance that Thoroughbred Construction won’t go belly-up if I meet an untimely demise. You’re going to help me show them my business has a life of its own.”

Junior sat up a little straighter. “I am?”

“Yep. Effective immediately, you’re the assistant manager of Thoroughbred Construction. You’ll see a bump in your next paycheck to reflect the new title.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. You know the ropes from initial bid through final punch list. You know the crew, the inspectors, who to call when a permit snags.”

“Well, sure, show me some plans, point me to the job site, say ‘build,’ and by God I’ll build it. But I’m no businessman. I don’t have a clue how to talk to clients, or, you know…lenders.”

“You’re going to learn, starting now.” Tyler pulled the loan application from his computer bag and tossed it to Junior. “We’re meeting with the Bluelick Savings and Loan lending committee in soon, to show them the depth of our management talent. Get familiar with the information in that application.”

Junior squinted at the stack of paper and then lifted the cover sheet as if he suspected a snake lurked beneath. For a moment he stared at the glossy cover sheet fronting the package, then scratched the back of his neck and looked up at Tyler. “Oh, buddy, you got the wrong guy. I’m no good with the dog-and-pony stuff. I can’t talk fast enough to convince anybody of anything.”

“Not true. You convinced me not to call the cops on you last Friday night.”

“Oh yeah. There was that.” Hunching his shoulders against the weight of the debt, Junior sighed and turned his attention back to the loan documents. “Speaking of fast talking, how’d you get Ellie to keep quiet?”

Tyler shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Chapter Four

Ellie tugged the last stitch free and ran the pad of her thumb down the slightly raised seam of the healing wound. Even under the bright, florescent exam room light, she could barely see where the stitches had been. “This is healing beautifully. You’ll only have a faint scar.” She resisted a completely unprofessional urge to run her hand over his entire butt. There was absolutely no medically valid reason for a tactile exam of his glutes.

“That’s a big relief, Doc,” Tyler drawled. “I’m real vain about that cheek.”

She rolled her stool back a couple feet to signal she was done. “Well then, you might try keeping it out of Junior’s line of fire.”

“That’s my plan.” He buttoned his jeans, then turned to face her and leaned back against the exam table. “Thanks for fitting me in so late in the day.”

“No problem.” Goodness, he was tall. True, at five-three, almost everybody topped her, but Tyler towered over her. Plus, he had those wide shoulders, and…was it her imagination, or did the exam room suddenly seem claustrophobically tiny? She stood and backed to the other side, where his chart lay on the top of a stainless steel cabinet. “I know you wanted to keep this little incident on the down-low, so having you come by after Melody left for the day struck me as a good idea.”

“That was nice of you, hiring Melody. I’m sure she can use the change of scenery about now.”

“Actually, she’s the nice one. I’m getting an organized, detail-oriented office manager for a fraction of what an established practice would pay her. I’m, like, her charity project.”

“Okay, see how you turned my praise around and aimed it at Melody? That’s nice. Add it to kindly digging a bullet out of my ass at two in the morning and not calling the cops on Junior. I don’t know”—he aimed his sexy smile at her—“you may have to face the fact that you’re a nice person.”

“We came to an arrangement on the not calling the cops thing.”

“Gonna hold me to that, are you?”

She couldn’t guess whether he was teasing her or looking to back out. Defeated by his inscrutability, she exhaled and admitted, “No. I’m not. What I said Friday night still stands. If you’re not into this, let’s forget the whole deal.”

The sexy smile shifted into the bad-boy grin she remembered from years ago. “Oh, I’m into it. Don’t you worry.”

She scribbled a note in his chart and told her pulse to stop fluttering. Before she could respond, his expression sobered. “I am grateful to you, though. Thank you for taking care of me and being discreet. Junior also sends his thanks and apologies. He wanted me to tell you he gave his gun to his granddad. Figured he didn’t need to be driving around with a firearm handy.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad Junior got rid of the gun.”

“Me, too. So”—he inclined his head toward the chart—“am I cleared for class?”