Mrs. Montgomery smiled back at them, still wiping tears off her cheeks.
Savannah couldn’t take it anymore. Someone had to set everyone straight, and apparently it was going to be her. But then Beau put his hand on her knee—a warm, steady, thought-derailing hand—and said, “Mom, everything’s fine. Please stop crying.”
“I can’t help it, honey. I’m just so happy. Not about your head, of course, but about you and Savannah.”
“Mrs. Montgomery, Mom—”
“Can you let us off up here at the ER entrance?” The hand on her knee tightened as Beau spoke. Probably a reflex on his part to fight the pain, but the latent power inherent in the unconscious show of strength blindsided her with all kinds of inappropriate thoughts. That hand, tightening on her bare skin, parting her knees, and then slowly sliding up her thigh… Jeez, she’d kept this attraction corked for half a year, but half a day after things with Mitch imploded, the genie was out of the bottle. And the genie was horny as hell.
Now you know what six months of mediocre sex does to a girl.
Her mom skidded to a stop at the red curb, jostling a groan out of Beau and forcing him to move his hand from her knee to the seat back to keep from lurching forward.
He recovered fast, because he was out of the SUV before Savannah even unlatched her seat belt. She bounded out after him, wobbling a little in the high heels, and inwardly cringing at her ensemble. Paint-splotched black thermals featuring compromising handprints, and silver peekaboo stilettos. Whatever. They’d surely seen worse at the ER.
She slid under his right arm while his mom took the left. A black sedan pulled up to the curb behind the Navigator, and her dad stepped out.
“Here, let me.” He switched places with Mrs. Montgomery. “Cheryl, go on ahead and get him signed in. We’ll be right behind you.” Tires squealed against asphalt as her mom pulled away. Savannah and her father walked Beau through the automatic doors leading to the nearly empty emergency room.
The registration clerk recognized Beau, which probably accounted for why they were whisked into an exam room immediately. A moment later her mom and Mr. Montgomery joined them, and she found herself sitting on the exam table, hip-to-hip with Beau, while questions and congratulations from both sets of parents swirled around them.
Her attention fixed on the wide, capable hand once again resting on her knee. His fingertips brushed along the waffled cotton of her leggings. Heat from the seemingly casual touch seeped through the barrier and burned her skin.
“You two win the Jack Bauer award for covert ops.”
Mr. Montgomery’s comment provoked laughter and some good-natured speculation from the peanut gallery. She shifted uncomfortably, and Beau’s arm brushed the side of her breast. His slow inhale made her think maybe he had gotten a gander at the girls in their black lace finery while she’d used the hem of her shirt to tend to his cut. At least somebody enjoyed the view. Despite the cynical thought, the notion sent a wave of tingles through her—all the way from the arches of her feet to the tips of her breasts. Goose bumps rose on her forearms.
“I hope you’re not planning on a long engagement.”
Beau answered her mom by saying they hadn’t given the matter any thought, which was true, but misleading. She raised her eyes to find his, but the yellow stamp of her handprint on the thigh of his jeans claimed
her attention, and she nearly shivered at the memory of granite muscles under supple denim.
“What do you think about a spring wedding in Magnolia Grove?” his mom wanted to know.
“And the reception at the country club,” her mom added. “Whitney Sloan had her reception there, remember, Bill? She had all those little paper lanterns in the trees.”
Cheryl sighed. “Sounds magical…”
Without permission, Savannah’s eyes searched out the other handprint, and widened at the impressive ridge forming behind the comparatively dainty impression. Her throat went dry, and her palm suddenly itched.
Beau’s soft groan barely reached her ears. He casually widened his legs until the tail of his shirt slipped down to cover his fly.
“How soon will I get a grandbaby?”
The last question startled her out of her stupor. “Mom!”
He squeezed her knee again. She looked up at him in time to see a muscle tick in his jaw, and then a new voice broke into the chaos.
“Folks, I’m Dr. West, and I hate to break up the party, but I need two-thirds of the population of this room to relocate to the waiting area.”
Savannah swiveled her head to find a middle-aged African-American woman in dark blue scrubs framed by the doorway. She started to jump down from the table, but the hand on her knee held her in place. Their parents moved to the door instead, and funneled out under the doctor’s watchful eye, still immersed in talk of weddings and grandchildren.
“Montgomery, you are the last ugly white boy I expected to see in my ER today.”
He found a smile for her. “Delilah, you know I can’t stay away from you.”
“Hmm. Don’t be sweet-talking me when you’ve got a pretty young thing sitting beside you.” She rolled her eyes and grinned at Savannah. “Some men have absolutely no game. Honey”—she approached, wrapped a paper bracelet around Beau’s wrist, and motioned for him to move the towel—“what craziness did this fool resort to just to get your attention?”