Have Gown, Need Groom Page 8

  “Are you attracted to the man?”

  Hannah twisted the cuff of her blouse, avoiding eye contact. “Well, yes…I mean physically.” Her gaze swung to his. “But that’s all. He’s totally wrong for me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to show me some ink blots and let me analyze them?”

  Dr. McCoy chuckled. “No. I think talking is much more helpful.”

  Yeah, because it wasn’t him spilling his guts and soul. She jiggled her foot, tapping it against the chair edge. “Can’t you just hook me up to some electrodes and see if my brain’s functioning okay?”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary. And I don’t think you’re losing your mind.”

  “You think it might be an early hormonal thing? Premature menopause?”

  A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Hannah, you’re only in your twenties.”

  “Maybe I have a chemical imbalance, some—”

  “Hannah, I don’t believe your dream is a symptom of a serious illness.”

  Frustration filled her. “Then why would I have an erotic dream about a stranger?”

  His mouth twisted sideways as he contemplated her question. “There could be several reasons. Whether you want to admit it or not, working in the ER is definitely stressful. You deal with life-and-death situations and sometimes only have seconds to react.” His voice held a note of compassion. “You have to be affected when you lose a patient. Maybe you should talk to a friend, unwind when things happen.”

  “I don’t like to burden people,” Hannah said. “I can handle the stress of my job.”

  He nodded, although Hannah sensed he didn’t quite believe her. “There could be other factors, too. Knowing your parents’ marriage didn’t work out might have played on your subconscious, making you panic about your own upcoming nuptials.”

  Thank God he’d said something that made sense. Stress. Her whole dream had been a reaction to a buildup of stress.

  “Maybe you’re confused about what you really want in a relationship. Most specifically in a man.”

  “I know exactly what I want. Someone dependable, intelligent, settled—”

  The doctor’s eyebrows rose again. “Perhaps those are qualities you think you want. But on a deeper level, you want more. You probably saw this man somewhere, found him attractive, and his image triggered other qualities that sparked your interest. Maybe you should get to know him and see if you two hit it off.”

  “Because…?”

  “You felt a certain chemistry with him that you hadn’t experienced before. My guess is the feeling was new and answered a deeper need. He may or may not be a suitable partner, but he represents excitement, taking a risk, all those things you’re afraid of.”

  “I’m not afraid of excitement,” Hannah argued, wincing at the petulant edge in her voice.

  “Maybe not. But, considering the fact that your mother left you, it’s understandable you might be afraid of getting too close to someone for fear of abandonment and getting hurt again.”

  Hannah stared at him, annoyed when tears suddenly moistened her eyes. Her throat thick with emotion, she stood and thanked him for his time. He was wrong, she told herself as she left his office. She was not afraid to love someone. She’d dealt with her mother’s desertion a long time ago. And she didn’t intend to dwell on her lost childhood or her parents’ divorce.

  No, his first comment had hit the nail on the head. Her work in the ER created stress. She was simply reacting to being on overload. On her way home, she’d stop and buy one of those books on some kind of meditation, or buy some health-food supplement to help her moods. Or maybe she’d take up exercising. She’d jog until she dropped from exhaustion, until she could sleep without having any more weird dreams. Then her life would return to normal.

  LATER THAT EVENING, Hannah pulled into Jake’s drive, exhausted, but determined to carry through on her promise to check on her father’s employee. She’d stopped and bought a book on relaxation techniques and dream analysis, then picked up Italian food for dinner. She intended to drop off the meal, retreat to her own place, take a nice long bubble bath and crash. The only positive thing about having such a hectic, nonstop afternoon—she hadn’t had time to think about Jake Tippins. Well, not much anyway.

  With a weary sigh, she dragged herself from her car, her gaze resting on the classic convertible parked by Jake’s rusted-out SUV. No doubt her father had dropped the vintage car off for Jake to drive. She wondered what the big, proud Mr. Tippins thought about her father’s kind gesture.

  Feeling calmer, she raised her hand and knocked on the door. Seconds ticked by while she tapped her foot up and down on the cement step, trying to be patient. The poor man had been shot, it wasn’t actually easy for him to get up and down or walk around. She knocked again.

  The door swung open and she blinked in astonishment. He appeared in the doorway, wearing a dark maroon T-shirt that hugged his muscular arms and broad shoulders and emphasized his tanned complexion. A pair of loose-fitting jeans hung low on his lean hips, also drawing attention to his incredible male physique. From his musky scent, she realized he’d showered and obviously shaved, even tried to comb the overly long strands of his dark hair into a fashionable style. But he still looked like some renegade who should be driving a motorbike.

  “Hi.”

  His dark gaze raked over her, lingering momentarily on her disheveled appearance, and came to rest on her eyes. “You look tired. Bad day?”

  “We had a lot of emergencies. How are you feeling?”

  “I wish everyone would stop asking me that.”

  Hannah arched an eyebrow. “Everyone?”

  “You. Your dad.”

  “I see he dropped by bearing gifts.” Hannah nodded toward the plush convertible.

  Jake’s tight smile didn’t surprise her. He obviously didn’t like to owe anyone. “Yeah. Said it would be good advertising.” He opened the door wider. “You want to come in?”

  “No, thanks, I’m really tired. I’m going home—”

  “Wiley tried to call you around five but they said you’d already left the ER.”

  The paper bag of food crinkled in Hannah’s hands. She’d been in Dr. McCoy’s office, but she didn’t want to tell anyone she’d seen a psychiatrist. Fumbling for an excuse, she tapped her fingers along the bag. “I…had some errands to do. Laundry, drop off some videos, I needed to stop by the drugstore….” She realized she was rambling and closed her mouth, aware his dark eyes studied her intently.

  “Have you already eaten?” Jake asked.

  “No, but I’ll fix something at home.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” He indicated the hefty bag she carried. “Whatever you have in there smells delicious, and it looks as if you brought enough for an army.”

  Remembering her conversation with the psychiatrist, she thought she should relent, suffer through the meal and prove to herself that Jake Tippins did not affect her. But she was simply too exhausted to deal with the man. “You can have leftovers tomorrow. I really have to go.”

  “All work and no play makes for a dull life,” he said, teasing.

  Her lips tightened into a thin line. “I like my life just fine. Besides I do have work to do.” And I’m going home, run a few miles, take a bath and forget about you.

  Without another word, she turned and headed to her car. She wasn’t afraid, she told herself, as she drove away. She simply needed a good night’s sleep, free from dreams of Jake Tippins.

  Jake tried to ignore the sting of rejection that accompanied Hannah’s refusal to have dinner with him as he unloaded the bag and served himself a plate of the steaming lasagna, but her attitude irked. Did she really have work to do, or was she simply using her job as an excuse to avoid spending time with him? Was his company so distasteful to her that she couldn’t manage a meal with him? Granted he wasn’t a doctor or a shrink like her former boyfriend, and he didn’t have a degree, but…


  He refused to compare himself to Broadhurst. After all, it wasn’t like he was really interested in dating Hannah—this was just work.

  He thought about her odd reaction when he’d mentioned Wiley’s phone call. She’d tapped her fingers up and down, indicating nerves. He’d bet anything she’d been lying. But why would she lie?

  The answer hit him swiftly, jarring him back to his senses. Wily had been anxious to talk to Hannah earlier, had even seemed frazzled when he couldn’t locate her—maybe it had something to do with the car ring.

  Chapter Nine

  “Come on.” Mimi tugged Hannah’s hand and dragged her off the sofa.

  “I’m not in the mood to go by Dad’s car lot,” Hannah said.

  Mimi paused and planted her hands on her hips. “Why not?”

  Because Jake will be there.

  Even three days after the dream, Hannah still felt a knot in her stomach every time she thought of the man. “I’m not in the holiday mood yet.”

  Mimi cut off her protests with a wave, flashing her new nail polish—a fluorescent pink she called I’m Not Really a Waitress. “It’ll be fun, you know Dad always decorates the car lot for Christmas the day before Thanksgiving. Maybe you can help string some lights. I’m going to help Joey hang bows on the glass windows and mistletoe over the entryway, get people in a lovey-dovey mood.”

  So they would kiss.

  She wondered how Jake’s mouth would taste, if his kisses would be as hot and dark as his eyes.

  “I think Dad bought an eight-foot Santa to perch on the back of one of the convertibles. He’s going to decorate it like Santa’s sleigh. He even talked about trying to find some real reindeer this year for the Christmas commercial.”

  Every year their father’s Christmas ads grew more elaborate and inventive. Hannah had once thought all the antics funny, but her mother’s abandonment had fast launched her into adulthood. Too bad it hadn’t jolted her father into a more mature form of advertising.

  “I think he’s going to hire some teenage girls to dress up like elves and give out candy, too. Should be fun to watch.”

  “That’ll certainly draw a crowd,” Hannah admitted.

  “Come on.” Mimi motioned toward the door.

  “Dad doesn’t need me,” Hannah argued. “The salesmen can help him.” Although Jake shouldn’t be climbing ladders with his injury, she thought with a twinge of worry.

  “The salesmen will probably be swamped with all those early-bird specials Dad advertised,” Mimi said. “Now, let’s move, Hanny. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Hannah laughed at the silly childhood name. When she’d lapsed into her too-serious, philosophical, analytical shell, Mimi had always been able to coax a smile from her. Had she really been so serious about life that she’d forgotten how to have fun, even how to enjoy the holiday spirit?

  Was she afraid?

  Her sister wagged a finger at her, indicating her disheveled appearance. “You’ve been working yourself day and night ever since you called off your wedding to Seth. What are you trying to do, punish yourself?”

  Hannah winced at how close her sister had come to the truth. She had thought she should somehow make up for being irresponsible by helping out more in the ER. And work was the only thing that kept her from obsessing over that crazy dream and this totally insane attraction to Jake Tippins.

  Of course, maybe he wouldn’t be at the dealership. Or maybe he’d be so busy selling cars he wouldn’t even notice her. And maybe when she saw him this time, her reaction would be rational, sane, dispassionate.

  “I’m not letting you stay here like some monk anymore.” Mimi grabbed her arm and jerked her forward. “It’s time you lightened up and had some fun.”

  “Then we should go someplace besides Dad’s car lot.”

  “Okay, how about a strip club?”

  “Mimi, can’t you think of anything besides sex?”

  Mimi’s smile faded into bewilderment. “Well, you’re the Scrooge who doesn’t want to help us decorate for Christmas.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hannah said, well aware Mimi had good intentions.

  “I told you I won’t let you sit here and pine anymore.”

  “I’m not pining.”

  “Strip club or Dad’s?”

  “How about a movie.” Hannah tried to extract herself from Mimi’s catlike clutches, but Mimi dragged her through the door and hauled her up the sidewalk.

  “Look, Hannah, Dad’s worried about you and—”

  “Tell Dad not to worry. I can take care of myself.”

  Mimi huffed, lifting her curly bangs from her forehead as she paused at her car. “You are so damn independent. If you won’t go for yourself, at least do it for me. You know the whole family gets together to decorate. It’s tradition.”

  And tradition was important to Mimi. “But Alison won’t be there.”

  “Yes, she will. She came home this morning.”

  A sharp pain hit Hannah for her selfishness. As fun-loving and erratic as Mimi seemed, she harbored a sentimental side. She’d always insisted on family gatherings for special occasions—probably to make up for their missing mother.

  Mimi pointed to her little red sports car. “Now get in or I’m going to phone Dad—”

  “All right, I’m coming.” Hannah climbed in the car, forcing thoughts of her own life on hold as she contemplated Mimi’s cropped top and the expanse of smooth stomach the tiny garment revealed. “So, how are you and Joey getting along?”

  Mimi sprinted to the driver’s seat, flashing her long legs as she slipped onto the cushy leather. “Okay, but he’s been acting a little strange lately. Working day and night.”

  Hannah buckled her seat belt, bracing herself as Mimi streaked from the driveway, peeling rubber. “It is a busy time of year. Maybe he’s saving to buy you a nice present for Christmas.”

  Mimi brightened at the possibility and revved up the engine. “Maybe I’ll have to show him this belly-dancing costume I want. I need it to rehearse for a part I’m auditioning for. Did you know they’re going to be filming a new soap in Atlanta?”

  Hannah rolled her eyes. “No, I didn’t know.”

  “Yeah, it’s called Scandalous. Anyway, I have a present for Joey tonight. I’m going to surprise him with some whipped cream and strawberries.”

  “They do say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

  Mimi laughed. “You’re so old-fashioned, sis. There are other ways to a man’s heart. Just use your imagination.”

  Hannah bit down on her lip and stifled a comeback. She did have an imagination. In fact, her fantasies had caused major problems lately—but unfortunately all her dreams had to do with the sexy man who worked for her dad.

  Realizing she’d allowed her mind to wander again, she closed her eyes, trying to remember some of the relaxation techniques from the book. Problem was, so far none of them had worked. She thought of the advice her college speech teacher had given her—before speaking in front of a group or before an interview, calm your nerves by picturing whoever you’re talking to in their underwear.

  Only, Jake in his underwear was the last image she needed in her mind—and it did nothing to calm her nerves.

  JAKE SPOTTED two of Wiley’s daughters arriving in Mimi’s little red sports car and gulped. While Mimi definitely exuded sex appeal with that mass of curly burnt-copper hair and mile-long legs, something about her quiet, subdued sister crawled inside him and twisted every male nerve ending in his body. A deeper kind of innate beauty that wasn’t boisterous or showy radiated from Hannah’s delicate frame. He could almost see that honey-colored hair fanned out across his pillow, could almost feel the soft pressure of her rose-tipped lips as she allowed him to sip at her mouth….

  “Young man, are you listening to me?” Leopard-skin-clad and statuesque, Berta Simpson held out a pudgy hand and tried to stuff a fifty-dollar bill in his hand. “You know I’ve been eyeing this little baby all week. I have to have her today
. Now, let’s make a deal.”

  Jake tried to ignore Hannah as she emerged from the sports car, and forced himself to focus on his customer. Thankfully he didn’t have to make a living selling cars or he’d be homeless. He definitely didn’t have the charisma Wiley possessed.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Simpson, but I can’t accept a bribe—tip for helping you. I’ve given you Wiley’s bottom price.” Annoyance etched itself on her chubby face. He didn’t want to cheat the lady, but a fifty-dollar tip wouldn’t cut the mustard with his boss if Wiley discovered Jake had shaved another ten thousand off the price. Some people wanted everything for nothing.

  He simply wanted to solve this case and get the hell out of Sugar Hill. Too much hominess, small-town life, family stuff to suit his tastes. He needed to be back in the city where he could lose himself in the anonymity of the crowd.

  Buster, one of Wiley’s other salesmen, pulled the gate shut. Although normally they remained opened until nine, Wiley had decided on a six o’clock closing due to Thanksgiving the next day. Another commercialized holiday, Jake thought sourly.

  Wiley wandered out of the cement-and-glass building which housed the offices, waving at his daughters. Mimi threw her arms around her father, waving exuberantly toward Joey DeLito. Wiley’s right-hand man had settled himself inside to indulge his coffee and chocolate-bar fetish while he wrote up the five sales he’d made that day. Jake had observed him from a distance all day, cataloguing every movement Joey made. He intended to follow up on Joey’s record sales by running a check on all of DeLito’s customers. He’d managed to use his miniature camera and had taken snapshots of each one. As soon as he could, he’d compare them to every criminal in the police database.

  Oddly, Hannah didn’t rush to hug her father. The two of them spoke with a slight hesitancy between them just as they had at the hospital. Strange—what was going on between Hannah and Wiley?

  Not that he cared personally, he told himself. But if they’d had a rift or if tension existed between them, their awkwardness might have something to do with the case.