Sanctuary

woman. One who sits patiently and waits for your move and your whim. That certainly doesn’t describe me.”
    “No, it doesn’t. And the fact is I wasn’t looking for a woman—or a relationship, whatever you choose to call it. You came after me, and you’re beautiful. I got tired of pretending I didn’t want you.”
    “That’s fair. And the sex was good for both of us, so there shouldn’t be any complaints.” She removed the last suture. “All done.” She lifted her eyes to his. “All done, Brian. The scar will fade. Before long, you won’t even remember you were hurt. Now that the air’s all clear, I’ll be on my way.”
    He remained where he was when she rose. “I appreciate it.”
    “Don’t give it a thought,” she said with a voice like frosted roses. “I won’t.” She left by the back, quietly and deliberately closing the screen behind her.
    She didn’t start to run until she was into the shelter of the trees.
    “Well, that was fun.” Brian picked up Kirby’s untouched lemonade and downed it in several long gulps. It hit his tortured stomach like acid.
    He’d done the right thing, hadn’t he? For himself and probably for her. He’d kept things from stringing out, getting too deep and complicated. All he’d done was nick her pride, and she had plenty of it to spare. Pride and class and brains and a tidy little body with the energy of a nuclear warhead.
    Christ, she was a hell of a woman.
    No, he’d done the right thing, he assured himself, and ran the cold glass over his forehead because he suddenly felt viciously hot inside and out. She would have set him aside eventually and left him slackjawed and shot in the knees.
    Women like Kirby Fitzsimmons didn’t stay. Not that he wanted any woman to stay, but if a man was going to start fantasizing, if he was going to start believing in marriage and family, she was just the type to draw him in, then leave him twisting in the wind.
    She had too much fuel, too much nerve to stay on Desire. The right offer from the right hospital or medical institute or whatever, and she’d be gone before the sand settled back in her footprints.
    God, he’d never seen anything like the way she’d handled Susan Peters’s body. The way she’d turned from woman to rock, clipping out orders in that cool, steady voice, her eyes flat, her hands without the slightest tremor.
    It had been an eye-opener for him, all right. This wasn’t some fragile little flower who would be content to treat poison ivy and sunburn on a nowhere dot in the ocean for long. Hook herself up with an innkeeper who made the best part of his living whipping up soufflés and frying chicken? Not in this lifetime, he told himself.
    So it was done, and over, and his life would settle back quietly into the routine he preferred.
    Fucking rut, he thought on a sudden surge of fury. He nearly hurled the glass into the sink when he spotted her medical bag on the table. She’d left her bag, he mused, opening it and idly poking through the contents.
    She could just come back and get it herself, he decided. He had things to do. He couldn’t be chasing after her just because she’d been in a snit and left it behind.
    Of course, she might need it. You couldn’t be sure when some medical emergency would come along. It would be his fault, wouldn’t it, if she didn’t have her needles and prodding things. Someone could up and die, couldn’t they?
    He didn’t want that on his conscience. With a shrug, he picked the bag up, found it heavier than he’d imagined. He thought he’d just run it over to her, drop it off, and that would be that.
    He decided to take the car rather than cut through the forest. It was too damn hot to walk. And besides, if she’d dawdled at all he might beat her there. He could just leave the bag inside her door and drive off before she even got home.
    When he pulled up in her drive, he thought he had accomplished just that and was disgusted with himself for being disappointed. He didn’t want to see her again. That was the whole point.
    But when he was halfway up the steps, he realized she’d beaten him back after all. He could hear her crying.
    It stopped him in his tracks, the sound of it. Hard, passionate sobs, raw gulps of air. It shook him right to the bone, left him dry-mouthed and loose at the knees. He wondered if there was anything more fearful a man could face than a weeping woman.
    He opened the door quietly, eased it shut. His nerves were shot as he