Read Online 2000 Kisses by Christina Skye - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christina Skye
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kind of fancy silver appliance. A pair of new red cowboy boots leaned against the passenger door. Excellent leather work, T.J. decided with an expert eye.
But there was no water anywhere in sight.
The woman swayed slightly. She ran her hand through that glorious mass of red-and-gold hair and turned.
McCall blinked. At that moment he remembered what it felt like for a mean horse to kick him hard in the backside.
The woman gave the word radiance new meaning. It wasn't just because of her fine skin or the moss-green eyes alive with amber glints. T.J. thought it might be theway freckles dotted her nose. Or maybe it was that full, stubborn mouth.
Suddenly he couldn't seem to breathe properly. He cleared his throat and shoved away an erotic vision of her mouth—on his body. “Ma' am?'”
She was shaking and her face had gone sickly white.
“It just won't work.” Her voice was painfully sexy, husky and low. Or maybe it was just dry.
“Forget the damn map,” T.J. growled. “When was the last time you had anything to drink?”
“Drink?” She peered at him over the map, and TJ. felt something slam him hard in the chest. To his disgust, the sensation promptly moved lower, gathering just below the weight of his silver belt buckle. If this turned out to be Andrew O'Mara's baby sister, TJ. was going to be very, very sorry.
“That's right,” he growled, “what have you been drinking?”
Her chin shot up. “Are you suggesting that I'm drunk?”
“I'm talking about liquid in general. Preferably water.”
She frowned at something in the air over his head.” “I had some wine last night with dinner. That was back in New Mexico. A zinfandel from Sonoma, nothing fancy. I had orange juice at breakfast. Unsweetened. Natural pulp. But I don't see why—” Suddenly her hand opened on the car hood. “I don't feel—” She took a sharp breath.
“Damn fool creature.” If he hadn't been so gut-wrenched by that first sight of her, T J. would have seen the signs immediately. As it was, he barely managed to lunge forward as she toppled onto his chest.
Out cold.
A crowd had gathered by the time Grady held open the door so that TJ. could carry the new arrival into his office. With no water in twenty-four hours, the blasted female was lucky she'd lasted this long.
T.J. settled his unconscious visitor on the cot beside his gunmetal-gray desk and spun his hat onto a peg by the door. “Somebody go get Doc Felton.” He tugged off her suede jacket and unbuttoned the top three buttons of her white shirt to drizzle cool water over her skin. Just doing his job, he told himself. He damned well wasn't enjoying the sight, either.
Not her long, slim neck. Not the faint shadow below the edge of her shirt.
Grady cleared his throat. “Think she's someone important, TJ.? Someone on the run? Mafia witness? Government courier maybe?”
“We're never going to find out if you don't give her some air,” T.J. growled. With quick movements he soaked a second washcloth in water from his cooler and laid it over her forehead. “The fool hasn't had any water all day.”
“Yep,” Grady said thoughtfully. “That'd put a body out sure enough.” Grady stared at the cot in morbid fascination. “Maybe she's gonna die.”
“Nobody's dying in my office,” TJ. said tightly. “Now, everyone out. Floor show's over.” But she still didn't move, and his anxiety grew. Heat stroke was never a pretty sight. She needed to drink, but he didn't dare force liquids while she was unconscious, in case she choked.
He was greatly relieved when the town doctor pushed through the door. Ernest Felton was sixty-something,with stooped shoulders and keen eyes that had seen just about every calamity and bodily trauma in forty years of general practice. “Got a patient for me, McCall?”
“Hasn't moved an inch since I brought her in, Doc. She looks pretty beat.”
The doctor slid a digital thermometer between her lips. “A hundred and one. That's a good
But there was no water anywhere in sight.
The woman swayed slightly. She ran her hand through that glorious mass of red-and-gold hair and turned.
McCall blinked. At that moment he remembered what it felt like for a mean horse to kick him hard in the backside.
The woman gave the word radiance new meaning. It wasn't just because of her fine skin or the moss-green eyes alive with amber glints. T.J. thought it might be theway freckles dotted her nose. Or maybe it was that full, stubborn mouth.
Suddenly he couldn't seem to breathe properly. He cleared his throat and shoved away an erotic vision of her mouth—on his body. “Ma' am?'”
She was shaking and her face had gone sickly white.
“It just won't work.” Her voice was painfully sexy, husky and low. Or maybe it was just dry.
“Forget the damn map,” T.J. growled. “When was the last time you had anything to drink?”
“Drink?” She peered at him over the map, and TJ. felt something slam him hard in the chest. To his disgust, the sensation promptly moved lower, gathering just below the weight of his silver belt buckle. If this turned out to be Andrew O'Mara's baby sister, TJ. was going to be very, very sorry.
“That's right,” he growled, “what have you been drinking?”
Her chin shot up. “Are you suggesting that I'm drunk?”
“I'm talking about liquid in general. Preferably water.”
She frowned at something in the air over his head.” “I had some wine last night with dinner. That was back in New Mexico. A zinfandel from Sonoma, nothing fancy. I had orange juice at breakfast. Unsweetened. Natural pulp. But I don't see why—” Suddenly her hand opened on the car hood. “I don't feel—” She took a sharp breath.
“Damn fool creature.” If he hadn't been so gut-wrenched by that first sight of her, T J. would have seen the signs immediately. As it was, he barely managed to lunge forward as she toppled onto his chest.
Out cold.
A crowd had gathered by the time Grady held open the door so that TJ. could carry the new arrival into his office. With no water in twenty-four hours, the blasted female was lucky she'd lasted this long.
T.J. settled his unconscious visitor on the cot beside his gunmetal-gray desk and spun his hat onto a peg by the door. “Somebody go get Doc Felton.” He tugged off her suede jacket and unbuttoned the top three buttons of her white shirt to drizzle cool water over her skin. Just doing his job, he told himself. He damned well wasn't enjoying the sight, either.
Not her long, slim neck. Not the faint shadow below the edge of her shirt.
Grady cleared his throat. “Think she's someone important, TJ.? Someone on the run? Mafia witness? Government courier maybe?”
“We're never going to find out if you don't give her some air,” T.J. growled. With quick movements he soaked a second washcloth in water from his cooler and laid it over her forehead. “The fool hasn't had any water all day.”
“Yep,” Grady said thoughtfully. “That'd put a body out sure enough.” Grady stared at the cot in morbid fascination. “Maybe she's gonna die.”
“Nobody's dying in my office,” TJ. said tightly. “Now, everyone out. Floor show's over.” But she still didn't move, and his anxiety grew. Heat stroke was never a pretty sight. She needed to drink, but he didn't dare force liquids while she was unconscious, in case she choked.
He was greatly relieved when the town doctor pushed through the door. Ernest Felton was sixty-something,with stooped shoulders and keen eyes that had seen just about every calamity and bodily trauma in forty years of general practice. “Got a patient for me, McCall?”
“Hasn't moved an inch since I brought her in, Doc. She looks pretty beat.”
The doctor slid a digital thermometer between her lips. “A hundred and one. That's a good
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