Page 2 of Only By You: Prequel
That was nearly two weeks ago and he hasn’t budged on canceling, no matter what Mama or I have to say about it. Maybe if I wasn’t singleandstill living at home at twenty-four, he’d cut me some slack. But apparently, the two main things in lifethat make up who you are as a person in a small town—your relationship status and living situation—are unacceptable, in my father’s eyes.Ha.And consideringheis the reason I’m back home, his opinion is laughable.
“I mean, you could always…” Carol trails off with a shake of her head. “No, never mind.”
My ears perk up. I haven’t been secretive about how I feel toward my father’s push to get me out in the world to ‘find a husband’ as he so lovingly puts it. I’ve made my thoughts known to half the town at this point, and every last one of them thinks I can do better than Shawn Lewis.
And still, my father begs to differ.
“I could always what?” I ask, urging her to spit out whatever idea she has that could save me from a life of misery or—at the very least—an awful evening spent on the arm of a man who can’t even bait a hook. “Please?”
“You won’t like it,” she warns, her face alight with mischief.
I narrow my eyes at her. “No.”
She throws her head back with a laugh. “I said you wouldn’t like it.” She shrugs, rapping a knuckle against the manila folder in front of me. “Room one, Ms. Ball. Holler if you need me.”
Snatching the unwanted patient file from my desk, I fight back the urge to stomp my feet like a toddler on my way to room one.
She can’t possibly think going out with Clayton would solve my problem with Daddy’s poor choice of suitors, could she?
I suppose it would, wouldn’t it? Daddy would see it as me on the hunt for a husband, and Mama would be happy with a man who could—in appearances—provide and protect.
Maybe if I…
I stop dead in my tracks before reaching for the doorknob to the exam room, shaking my head to clear any ridiculous notions of the man on the other side of this door being a solution.
No matter what I say, or how I say it, he’ll get the wrong idea.
And the last thing I need is Clayton Montgomery trying to leave his mark on me.
Two.
Clayton
Her light knock beforeentering has me sitting up straight on the exam table and puffing out my chest. I might even flex a bit once her tired gaze finally lands on me.
I took the liberty of removing my sweatshirt and T-shirt, leaving myself bare from the waist up even though the area she’s here to look at is on my hand. Granny used to say,A good woman needs to see with her own eyes what they’re bedding before they buy the stud.
I might be taking her advice a bit too literal, but it can’t hurt to cover my bases, right? I’ve already gone above and beyond to make my intentions known to this woman. What more can I do? What else can I say for her to believe I’m the right man for her?
Theonlyman for her.
“Evenin’, darlin’,” I say, letting my deep western accent come through in full force. “How you been?”
Julie sighs heavily, her beautiful hazel gaze drifts over my face, exposed chest, and down to my hand wrapped in an ice pack. She’s wearing the lavender scrubs again today, I note—the ones that are a size too small—my favorite pair she owns. They outline her figure in a way that has me feeling the need to flex my biceps to keep my thoughts from straying to my cock.
She sets the weighted file on the counter with a thud before choosing a pair of latex gloves. Picking two from the box labeled small, she turns to me. It’s later in the day, nearing the end of her twelve-hour shift, and I can tell she’s had a trying day—her usual warmth drained from her cheeks. That, or she isn’t as thrilled with me being here as I am. Granted, my finger hurts like a bitch, but it’s easy to tune out the pain with her this close to me.
“Did you sustain any other injuries you didn’t mention when you arrived, Mr. Montgomery?”
“Clayton,” I say, reminding her like I do every time. “You can call me Clayton, or anything you like, darlin’. No need for formalities here.” I give her what my grandmother claims is my award-winning smile. “And no, just the finger,” I add, lifting it to her eye level.
She approaches me and my entire body heats up.
With her hair pulled up into a tight, no-nonsense pony-tail, I fight the urge to tuck the few blonde strands behind her ear that have fallen around her heart-shaped face—the last attempt I made got my hand swatted and an earful from Dr. Boris.
She stands beside me, her petite stature making our differences glaringly apparent. I can’t get over how tough as nails she is given her natural beauty. It doesn’t match up. She’s a pocket full of wild field burrs, prickly as an untrained steed, and more beautiful than any actress in Hollywood.
It’s no wonder I can’t help coming back for more.
