Here to Stay (Silhouette Special Edition) Read Online Free Page B

don’t have to pay for drinks.”
    Miles started to laugh, coughed, then groaned and pressed his hand to his taped ribs. “Oh, God! Don’t make me laugh,” he wheezed.
    She took a step forward, then hesitated. “I’m sorry. Should I call the nurse?”
    “No. I’ll be fine as long as you aren’t funny.” His bruised lips quirked up into an infectious grin that sent warmth spreading through her. “Tell me about your farm.”
    “I can do better than that. I brought some pictures.”
    She dug the packet out of her huge leather purse and handed it to him. When Miles took it, she noticed again how strong his hands were. She realized she didn’t have any idea what he did for a living, but she knew that at some point in his life Miles Kent had worked with his hands. If she was an artist, she would want to sketch hands like his. If she was a romantic fool, she would imagine what hands like his would feel like on her body.
    Doc Reiss was a very attractive woman, Miles decided. Striking, not pretty. Those dark eyes of hers were beautiful, and gentle as a doe’s. Her features were strong, and her body taut, athletic, grace-ful. He’d bet there were honest muscles, not shoulder pads, under her sweater. And her hands. God, her hands were incredible. Long, slender fingers, narrow wrists, short nails. They were hands that looked sensitive and gentle. Hands that had held his when he’d been unconscious. Competent hands that would soothe a skittish patient, hands that might tremble when they stroked a lover.
    The rush of heat to his gut warned him that such thoughts could very well embarrass him much more than their brief discussion of artificial insemination had embarrassed her. Besides, what did he know about Dr. Sasha Reiss, except that she was a softie? Even though she didn’t wear any rings, she could be married, and mother to a small brood of kids. Hell, he didn’t even know if he was married. Frus-tration made him grit his teeth.
    Miles took the packet of photos from her, careful not to let their fingers touch. Then he looked into her face until she finally met his eyes. Was she shy? The idea amused him. He had a feeling he didn’t meet many shy women.
    “C’mere, Doc. Stand over my shoulder and tell me what I’m looking at.”
    It was a reasonable request, but her effect on his senses wasn’t anywhere near reasonable. She smelled soft. When she moved, she moved softly, sounded soft. In self-defense he took out the photos and looked at the top one, an aerial shot of a rambling stone farmhouse and stone barn, with rolling green pastures neatly fenced. The dark blobs were probably horses. Oblong blobs, he guessed, were of baled hay or straw scattered in adjacent fields. Two white horse trailers, one small and one large, a white pickup truck and a red tractor stood parked between the house and the barn. On the far side of the barn stood a large warehouse-style structure.
    “A friend of mine took that from his plane,” she told him.
    “How many acres?”
    “Forty-five. I lease twenty acres to the farmer next door, and he provides me with hay.”
    “Looks nice.”
    Her smile looked a little misty. “Mmm. It was my grandparents’ farm. My mother’s parents. Actually, it originally belonged to my great-great-grandparents. Granddad was a hobby breeder. Canadian Hunters. I inherited the farm from him.”
    Her pride in her ancestors made him uncomfortable. Why? he wondered. Was there something about his family that he was less than proud of? Or was it just that she knew who she was and who’d come before her, while he was stuck with a passport photo that looked like him but didn’t ring any bells?
    “What’s this thing here?” He pointed to the warehouse.
    “The riding arena, for riding in winter weather.”
    “It’s winter weather now,” he muttered. “The calendar says it’s the middle of April.”
    Sasha laughed softly. He wanted to say a dozen more silly things to make her laugh, just to hear the