Read Online Critical Care by Candace Calvert - Free Book Online Page B

its sleeves pushed up his tanned forearms.
His dark curls were windblown and backlit by the sun as he walked
toward her.
    "Sorry," he said, coming to a stop in front of her. "I didn't mean
to scare you." A slow smile spread across his face as he glanced
at the poster and stacks of brochures. He chuckled, the familiar
crinkles appearing beside his eyes. "Good. Recruit away. Don't let
me stop you. I'm short-staffed."

    Claire's face warmed as she stood, feeling once again small
beside him. Her heart was racing as she opened her mouth, scared
silly she was going to bleat like one of the chaplain's therapeutic
sheep. What's he doing here? "I ... um. . ." Claire stopped, grateful
for the reprieve when Logan raised his palm.
    "Wait," he said, all the teasing gone from his voice. "I'm here
because I owe you an apology, Claire."
    Her skin prickled as she remembered his undelivered note. And
I owe him an afternoon? She found herself staring at his lips, realizing this was the first time he'd ever said her name. It made her
feel ridiculously giddy.
    "I acted like a real idiot," Logan explained. "A few days ago,
after the debriefing. I'm sorry."
    She wasn't sure what to say, but the look on his face, like a little
boy in trouble, made her smile. Goliath disarmed? Claire tried not
to laugh and struggled to resist a crazy urge to hug him.
    She was rescued from the impulse when a loudspeaker
squawked, a recital of the team roping times and a reminder about
the evening's dance.
    The Cajun band resumed, and Logan raised his voice to be
heard. "So anyway, I want to make it up to you." He nodded like he
was coaching her answer and then stepped closer, tilting his head
to look down into her face. He swallowed.
    Claire breathed in a trace of woodsy cologne and soap. Her
rational mind warred with her senses ... and lost.
    "Well?" he whispered.
    "Fine," she said, taking a step backward. She crossed her arms
and lifted her chin. "What are you offering? Willie Nelson and
pizza?"
    Logan laughed. "No. Flowers. I'm giving you Daffodil Hill."

    Claire's stride lengthened, calves stretching as her short boots navigated the leaf-strewn, red clay trail. Crisp pine air and dappled
April sunshine. It was the perfect escape if it weren't for her stupidity and the resulting effect that right behind her was-oh, boy.
    "Hey." Logan grasped Claire's elbow from behind, his fingers
sinking softly into the thin cotton poncho she'd thrown on at
the last minute. He was breathless, but he smiled as she slowed
her pace and turned to look at him. "Whoa, there." He shifted his
backpack over his shoulder as he caught up with her. "I'm thinking
that the daffodils aren't going anywhere. Bulbs, right? Stuck in the
dirt?" He fell into step beside her. "You've been covering ground
like a gazelle since we left my jeep. Are you trying to lose me?"
    "I ... of course not." Sure she was, and the only thing that
could have made her more panicky was if he'd brought the motorcycle, forcing her to ride twelve curvy miles up Highway 49, hanging on to him for dear life. Could have happened. Easily. Why in
the world had she agreed to come? She wasn't good at this. Claire
forced a smile, avoiding his eyes as they neared the trail's end. The
hand-carved sign ahead read, McLaughlin Farm 1887, Daffodil Hill.
"I'm just anxious to see them, I guess. I mean, four acres of flowers
and-oh, Logan, look!"
    Claire stopped at the end of the trail, grabbing his arm without thinking. Her breath caught and her eyes widened, transfixed
by an endless sea of green and yellow and white. Blossoms, some
delicate, some buttery bold with orange centers, fluted like nature's
champagne glasses, rose tiptoe on slender stalks just high enough
to dance with the breeze. She faced Logan, speechless.
    "Three hundred thousand of them, I heard," Logan whispered
like he was in church. "Hundreds of varieties." He gazed at Claire, his expression as hopeful as a boy presenting a