Triplets for the Texan (Texas Cattleman's Club: Blackmail 5)

“But why would you?” Simone frowned.

It seemed cruel to be blunt when she was so sick, but it was better for him to draw the line in the sand. Better, and necessary. “You said it yourself, Simone—you know the way gossip spreads in Royal. It’s important to me not to create the impression that I’ve moved in with you, even for the short-term.”

“I see.”

When her bottom lip trembled, he felt like a jerk and a bully. She looked small and defenseless in the big bed, though he knew that was only an illusion.

He sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Hell, he didn’t want to hurt himself.

She smiled, though her eyes glistened with tears. “I can handle honesty, Dr. Hutchinson. Let me get my stomach under control, and after that I doubt our paths will cross very often.”

It didn’t take a medical degree to know when a woman was hurt and fighting back. Rolling to his feet, he straightened the covers on his side of the bed. There was probably some kind of comment that would smooth this situation, but he hadn’t a clue what it was.

“Do you want to try some water again?” he asked.

“Absolutely not.” She shuddered.

“You’ll have to eventually.”

“Thanks, Dr. Obvious.”

“I forgot what a smart mouth you have.” His neck heated.

“And I forgot what a pompous, holier-than-thou hypocrite you are.”

“Hypocrite? Seriously? How so?” His temper had a long, slow fuse. But Simone knew how to pour gasoline on any argument.

“You may be done with love and romance for now because Bethany broke your heart. I’ll leave you to your crusty bachelorhood, believe me. But I wasn’t the only one in the middle of that kiss the other day. I know when a man wants me.”

“Damn it, Simone.”

“Are you denying it?”

He’d taken an oath to heal and to protect. At the moment, he wanted to strangle his erstwhile patient. “Good night, brat. I’ll be in to check on you several times, but use the phone if you need to. I’m close by.”

She smirked at him. “Saint Hutch.”

* * *

He didn’t bother turning on lights in the house. During his rural rotations there had been many nights when he and his team only had enough fuel for two hours of lantern light. After that, he’d learned to maneuver in the dark under any circumstances.

He found a new toothbrush in one of the guest bathrooms. Since he always kept a change of clothes in the trunk of his car, he was able to put on a clean shirt and pants after a quick shower.

In the living room, he surveyed the sofa. Actually, it wasn’t as small as Simone had intimated. If he bent his knees or propped his feet on the arm, he’d be fine. The couch was leather and cool to the touch. He settled down and pulled an afghan over his lower body.

Fatigue could be measured in degrees. There had been times in Sudan when he worked sixteen hours straight. In the blistering heat. On those nights, he had stumbled to bed and collapsed, asleep in seconds.

Now he was definitely tired. But it was different. Though his body wanted rest, his brain spun like a hamster wheel. Going nowhere.

Simone made him ache—not only physically, though that was certainly true, but emotionally, as well. If he could go back and undo the past, he would never have asked her to dance. That one misstep had led them down a narrow, treacherous road that petered out into nothing.

Time was supposed to heal all wounds. By rights, he should be able to look at his past and acknowledge that things had worked out for the best. But the opposite was true. He felt empty. Even in Africa, when he knew he was saving lives and improving the quality of other lives, he’d learned a painful truth. His being there had been a lie, in part.

Unlike Bethany, who had been so very confident and sure of herself and her life’s goals, Hutch had gone to Sudan a broken man. He had utilized his training. He had contributed to the greater good. Still, it hadn’t been enough.

He’d been adrift...lost. Losing Simone had made him doubt himself and his place in the world. Eventually, falling in love with Bethany had helped heal the rough places and ease his loneliness. But even before she died, he’d wondered fleetingly if he was using her as a stand-in for the woman he really wanted.

Closing his eyes, he practiced the relaxation techniques he’d used in med school. One muscle group at a time. He dozed on and off, never fully comatose. Many doctors were light sleepers, ready to spring into action when the situation demanded. Which reminded him of the real reason he was here.