Jump Start (Texas Hotzone 1)

“Jennifer?” Kate frowned.

Bobby pushed to his feet and eyed Jennifer, his expression lighting with pride. “Dr. Jones,” he corrected.

Kate looked between them and said, “So you two are—”

“No,” Jennifer said quickly.

“I’m in the doghouse right now,” Bobby told Kate. “But I’m howling my way back out.”

Kate laughed and the door opened as her father poked his head in. “Ready, Kate?”

“Yes,” she said quickly before eying Jennifer. “Thank you, Dr. Jones.”

“Call me if you need me,” Jennifer said, waving.

The door shut, leaving Jennifer and Bobby alone. “You’re making a habit of leaving without saying a proper goodbye,” Bobby said. “You didn’t even give me a phone number.”

“I was in a rush to get to work,” she said quickly.

“And away from me,” he added, and didn’t give her time to object. “So this is your clinic.” He scanned the lobby—the tiled flooring, to make accidents easier to clean up; simple cloth chairs, again, easy to clean; and pictures of animals on the walls. “You did it,” he said, more of that earlier pride in his voice and his face. “You made your dream come true.” His voice softened. “I’m happy for you, Jen. I really am. You knew what you wanted and you went after it.”

“Thank you,” she said, sadness balling in her chest. It was her dream, yes, but seven years ago, she’d shared it with Bobby. Expected to live it with him. “And you? Did you find what you wanted?”

His jaw tensed in a barely perceivable way, his answer coming slowly. “Yeah,” he said. “I found what I wanted.”

It was all she could do not to press her hand to her stomach at the coiling inside. Good. That was good. She did want him to be happy. She did. She loved him. That meant letting go sometimes. She understood that; it was the not saying goodbye, not dealing with the past, that had been hard. She had that chance now, and she should be thankful. Right. Thankful. Embrace opportunity.

She cleared her throat. “The door,” she said, trying to move beyond the moment because the embracing-opportunity thing really wasn’t calling to her. “Can you lock that door behind you? Roxie was my last patient, and I don’t want to risk any walk-ins without anyone covering the front.”

He stared at her, his blue eyes probing hers, before he turned to the door. “Ah, Jen,” he said, messing with the lock. “Is there a trick to this lock that you forgot to mention?”

Jennifer squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, God, no,” she said, weary to the bone. “I had a new door put in two weeks ago, and the lock hasn’t worked right since. I just had a guy out here last week to replace it.” She pressed her hand to her face and then let it fall. “I can’t leave the place open. I’ll have to call the locksmith.”

Bobby opened the door and gave it a quick once-over, moving it back and forth. “It’s not the lock. It’s the door. It’s off center. I can fix you right up if you have a tool kit.”

“You don’t have to do that, Bobby,” Jennifer said. The idea of him taking care of this for her was hitting a sensitive spot. She didn’t want to depend on Bobby. He was leaving. “I can call someone.”

“I’m here,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I do this for you?”

Of course. Why wouldn’t he? “Tool kit coming right up,” she said.

Thirty minutes later, Bobby appeared in the doorway of her office. “All done and locked up.”

Jennifer pushed to her feet. “Great. Thank you.” He was so big and sexy, and her office, so small and confining. Jennifer gathered her purse from her desk, ready to escape. She wasn’t going to get perspective until she slept. “I desperately need a few hours of shut-eye.”

Bobby propped himself in the door frame. “The skydiving operation we’re going to tomorrow…they’re doing an exhibition show tonight. I was hoping, after you got a few hours’ rest, of course, that maybe we could drive out there together.”

Usually one to think before she acted, or spoke, Jennifer found herself unable to contain the explosiveness of her instant reaction. Her purse went down on the desk with a thud. “No, Bobby,” she said. “No, we cannot drive out to the exhibition show. Just like you shouldn’t have fixed my door. We,” she said, waving her hand between them in an exaggerated fashion, “are not dating. We do not do dating-type things. This is a fling. Nothing but a fling. An ends-in-less-than-two-weeks fling! That translates to sex and goodbye. Goodbye and sex. We’ve had this conversation. You don’t have to walk around that. You don’t have to make it pretty.” She was mad. She couldn’t help it. “Just make it good!”

His expression hardened, stone-cold and calculating, in a way she’d rarely seen Bobby. He stared at her. She stared at him. And then suddenly, she said, “Darn it, Bobby, I know you’re mad. But what right do you have to be mad? You left me. You were silent for seven long years. You cannot come back here and just expect me to fall at your feet. I didn’t do this to us. You did.”