All She Ever Wanted - Barbara Freethy [7]
"I can't believe she's been in San Francisco for years. Why would she come here after everything that happened with Emily and with me?"
"She always loved the cable cars."
Cole's chest tightened. Natalie had loved the cable cars and the sailboats down at the marina, the fresh crab on Fisherman's Wharf, the long walk across the Golden Gate Bridge. At one time, he'd thought she'd fallen in love with the city as much as with him. Hell, maybe it had always been the city and never him. Not that he cared anymore. She was old news. Nothing was worse than old news.
"What was that book she was talking about?" Josh asked.
"I have no idea." It occurred to him that it was the second time that day someone had mentioned something about a book.
Silence fell between them as several long minutes passed. It was too quiet. Cole didn't like it. "Do you think she's coming back?"
Chapter 2
Natalie could not go back in there. She could not stitch up Cole's head and act like there was nothing between them. Like they'd never been friends, never kissed, never made love ...
She leaned against the wall and tried to breathe. She hadn't felt this unsettled since she'd seen her first dead body. She was a twenty-nine-year-old doctor, not a foolish nineteen-year-old girl with a mad crush on the most attractive man she had ever seen. She wasn't naive anymore. She wasn't reckless. She wasn't stupid. Was she?
No. She couldn't go back there—not to his room, not to the past. She had her life together now, and she'd worked damn hard to get it that way. Cole Parish was no longer part of that life. That's the way he'd wanted it then and the way she wanted it now.
Why was it all happening tonight? First that author on television talking about a story that sounded a lot like Emily's, and now Cole. Was there a full moon? For three years she'd lived and worked in San Francisco, and he had never crossed her path. She'd almost forgotten about him, or pretended to forget about him, which wasn't easy considering he ran the biggest newspaper in town. And today he was here in the flesh, all six foot two inches of him.
He was bigger than she remembered, a full-grown man with strong shoulders, muscular arms, and long, lean legs. But some things hadn't changed. His hair was still a rich, deep brown, and his eyes were as dark and unreadable as ever. In the past those eyes had accused her of terrible things. And his voice ... his low baritone voice had once told her he loved her, then later told her he never wanted to see her again.
She'd loved Cole more than she'd loved anyone in her life, and he'd hurt her. Even now she could feel the deep ache in her heart that had once been a blistering, unbearable pain. She didn't think she could go through that pain again. Nor did she think she could go back into the examining room.
"Steve," she said abruptly, as a second-year resident walked by, "there's a head laceration in room two that needs stitches. Can you take it for me? I've got a phone call."
"Sure. I'll be right there."
Natalie nodded and walked quickly down the hall. She was a coward. There was no doubt about that. It was better this way. Cole could get treatment for his injury, and she could take care of people she didn't know. People who hadn't broken her heart.
* * *
Cole stared at the young man preparing to stitch him up. "Where's Natalie?"
"Dr. Bishop? She had to take a phone call. I'm Dr. Fisher. I'll take care of this for you."
The doctor might believe that Natalie had a phone call, but Cole didn't.
"Could you hold still, please?" the doctor asked.
It took all of Cole's willpower to do just that. His mind was running in a dozen different directions, and they all led back to Natalie. She was living and working in San Francisco. They could have run into each other at any time. Maybe they'd even seen each other in a crowd or almost bumped into each other at the grocery store or the movies.
Why had she come to San Francisco to work? She could have gone anywhere. St. Timothy's was a good hospital, but there were good hospitals across the state