Dance With Destiny Read online

  DANCE WITH DESTINY

  Copyright © Louise Crawford, Ramona Butler, 2011

  Smashwords Edition ISBN 978-1-4659-4373-6

  Cover art by Shannon Traynor

  For other books by Crawford and/or Butler: http://www.LouiseCrawfordbooks.com or http://www.LFCrawford.com or http://www.RamonaButler.com

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted to any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  Chapter One

  Dr. Colorado Jackson leaned back in his soft leather recliner and sighed. His eyes gritty from fatigue, his body a lead weight, he was too tired to enjoy the lights of Carson City or the nearby ridge of moonlit mountains.

  Three surgeries – two planned, one emergency. Afterwards he'd picked up daughter, Kayla, at his parents' before stopping at the Wednesday night farmers' market for vegetables, fixed dinner, then ate. His next job, to cajole Kayla into brushing her teeth, putting on her jammies and picking out a story for night-night. The To-Do list seemed endless.

  God, he was tired. And lonely, his inner voice whispered. He shoved it away. Lately, the darn voice sang out whenever any available woman popped into view. He was too busy to date, too busy to even watch TV, much less put time into a relationship.Between Labor Day accidents and his and Kayla's adjustment to her return to school, he couldn’t remember a worse September. First grade was a "big deal," her exact words.

  "Daddy! Look!" His six-year-old daughter's voice blasted through the doorway ahead of her long gangly legs. Kayla definitely took after him in her height and hair, but not in her other features. Even with a mop of taffy-colored curls, her dark eyes and coppery skin broadcast the Paiute heritage of her mother.

  Kayla jolted to a halt before his chair, blocking his view of the television news. Not that he cared, he wasn't paying it any attention. She held a torn piece of paper.

  "Guess what?" she said, her dark eyes crinkling with excitement.

  The ache of loneliness resurfaced as Kayla held up the scrap. Tenderly, he brushed back stray wisps of hair from her face. "Hmm?" His thoughts swirled like dry leaves on the wind. Her mother had been dead for two years now, and he still missed their good-natured debates over cultural differences, their camping trips along the Truckee River, their companionable silences. And their love-making.

  Warmth surged through him. He hadn't thought about that in awhile.

  "Good god, Cole, you're thirty-five, not dead," his mother had reminded him at their Sunday dinner. His frown had stopped her from pursuing the subject – but not for long.

  Kayla crawled into his lap, waiting patiently, as patiently as a precocious six-year-old could manage. She was used to his long, thoughtful lapses. "What?" he asked, ruffling her hair. “I thought you were all fired up to use that Ouija board we bought at the flea market. Tell my fortune."

  Her eyes beamed. "I did! Look!" She handed him the paper.

  He read seven digits and the word YES. “Okay I give up. What’s it mean?”

  “The Ouija board said YES!”

  Her excitement made him smile. “YES to what?"

  “A new mommy!"

  "What?" he squawked, almost dropping the darned piece of junk. "You had a great mommy. And you have Grandma!"

  She frowned at him, her serious expression so like Lanni's he stifled a grin. Kayla got furious when he didn’t take her seriously. Looking much too stern, she said, "Grandma says you should have a wife that's not in heaven. And for gosh sakes, I need a mother!"

  That sounded like Mom. Outspoken and trying to marry him off every other month. "Are you unhappy with just a daddy?"

  She hesitated. "There's a mother-daughter dinner at school. Cindy's going."

  He sat forward, shifting Kayla to his knee. "Maybe Cindy's mom would take you, too." Sylvia, Cindy's mom, was a willowy redhead. Nice to look at, but somewhat cannibalistic, at least where he was concerned. She’d made it clear she wouldn't mind playing footsie. When he'd shown no interest, she'd introduced him to every other woman in the neighborhood.

  "I don't want to go with somebody else's mommy, I want my own!"

  Why was work so much easier than parenting? He rubbed the stiffness in the back of his neck. At least in the operating room he knew what he was up against and had a game plan. With Kayla the game plan shifted every month. He felt like a football player who'd missed practice and forgotten all the plays.

  He lifted Kayla from his lap. "Someday, I'll meet someone special enough to marry, but until then, Grandma or Sylvia will have to fill in. Sorry."

  "Cindy's mom says you're a 'gorgeous muscle hunk', even if you're a klutz on the dance floor. What did she mean?"

  He almost choked on his smothered laughter. "I think it's hunk of muscle. And she was giving me a compliment." Sort of. He'd have a talk with Cindy's mom. Six-year-olds were like tape recorders, one never knew what they might pick up and then spit back at the worst possible moment. He imagined Sylvia's embarrassment when he repeated her words to her. No, she'd probably just laugh and say, "Well, it's the truth!"

  Sylvia was a good friend, but he wanted more than fun and games. His friend Web would suit Sylvia, those fly-by-nights would hit it off.

  As Kayla disappeared into the kitchen with her precious piece of paper, he rubbed his eyelids and tried to dispel images of Kayla’s mother, Lanni. Could he ever have with someone else what he'd had with her? Twice in one lifetime seemed too much to hope for. Lightning never struck twice.

  He heard Kayla in the kitchen punching the phone buttons. Calling Cindy no doubt.

  Thinking about the mess left from dinner, he trudged into the kitchen, dreading the clean-up. Yep, it was still there, no good fairies had found their way into his life. Grabbing a sponge, he swiped it across the flour-covered table where he and Kayla had made pizza--low-fat, at Kayla’s insistence. Another swipe of the sponge sent flour flying and he sneezed. Once. Twice. "Ah-h-h-"

  "Daddy, it's for you!" Kayla sat at the counter, her legs dangling over a barstool, phone extended toward him.

  His sneeze dissolved. What did Sylvia want now? With an impatient stride, he crossed the white expanse of kitchen tile, rinsed his hands and took the phone. "Hey, Sylvia, you need to be careful what you say around the kids."

  "Excuse me? Who is this?" A soft, feminine voice delighted his ear, sending ripples of unexpected pleasure through his belly, choking off his sputtered reply.

  "Hello?" The voice rippled through him again. Soft and sultry.

  Curiosity swept through him, followed by a rare rush of interest. Unprepared for either, his elbow slammed into Kayla's half-finished glass of milk, which crashed to the tile along with the phone. "Darn it!" He stepped toward the mess, felt a sharp stabbing pain in the ball of his foot. "Ow!" Cringing, he examined his sole, searching for the sadistic sliver.

  "Hello?!"

  The receiver lay in the milk puddle, but he could still hear the woman's voice. By now, she sounded irritated. He hopped over to the counter as he wrestled the telephone back to his ear. "Hello?"

  Click. She'd hung up.<
br />
  Darn it! He glared at the shards of glass peppered across the floor. Kayla climbed from the stool, circumvented the broken glass and retrieved the broom and dustpan for him. "Who is she, Daddy?"

  "Who is who?" he grumbled as he swept up the wet mess and hobbled over to the trash basket. The broken glass tinkled as it slid from the dustpan. Like bells, he thought, remembering the woman's voice, dusky bells.

  "The lady who belongs to the phone number."

  "What?"

  "I called my new mommy."

  He dropped the dustpan and crouched down beside Kayla, ignoring the sting beneath his big toe. "Darling, you can't just call somebody up and tell them they're supposed to marry your dad and be your new mom." More frustrated than angry, he hugged her. She was growing up so fast, and more headstrong every day.

  "But I made the wish – and Ouija board said yes and the phone number came..."

  He shook his head. "I know you want to believe it's a magic board, Pumpkin, but it's just a game." He wished he could make everything okay. "I know it must be hard to see other kids with their moms, but this isn't the way." Maybe he'd ask out that nurse in the emergency room again. If the wine he'd spilled didn't leave a stain on her dress, she might say yes. She had a five-year-old daughter. Kayla would have a sister...

  Dear God, here he was ready to get married just to give Kayla a mother and sister. But what about love? What about the kind of electrical storm he'd experienced the first time he'd met Kayla's mother?

  He bandaged his foot with quick economical movements. Why couldn't he be as deft at a dinner party? He grimaced, recalling just a few of the fiascos. His dating disasters simply didn't make sense; he had a reputation for miracles in surgery, but outside of O.R...

  Oh well, his gift was in the operating room with his patients – that was enough.

  The buzz of his pager tickled his side. "I'm on my way," he muttered, mentally making arrangements for Kayla. His parents were out of town, so he'd call Sylvia, drop Kayla off there.

  Dialing Sylvia's number, he picked up the scrap of paper Kayla had written the numbers on and was half tempted to punch the digits in again. No. Ridiculous. He’d never be able to explain the call.

  "Hello?" Sylvia’s voice broke into his thoughts.

  “Sylvia.”

  “Yes, it’s Sylvia and if I didn't know better I'd say this is the celebrated Dr. Jackson." She sounded wide-awake. "What's up, Doc?"

  Cole dropped the paper into the trash, tried to get his mind focused. "An emergency at the hospital. Can you watch Kayla?"

  "No problem."

  "Thanks. I'll drop her off."

  He sighed. Now all he had to do was pack Kayla into the car, then drop her at Cindy's, and get himself to the hospital. No problem.

  *****

  Destiny Moon stared at the phone as she hung up. Strange. That voice had sounded familiar. A patient? Or just the spirits playing tricks. Maybe Old Man Coyote, that mischievous trickster was up to something.

  A quick glance at the alarm clock told her it was on the blink again. Still fuzzy with sleep, she slid from bed, switched on lights, and pulled on her white pants and top. With a longing glance toward the tea kettle, she grabbed her motorcycle helmet and leather jacket, then dashed out the door. No time for tea tonight. But at least she'd gotten eight hours sleep, that was something.

  She cranked the engine and raced to work, the clean smell of the nighttime desert filling her nostrils. After an internship in New York and a year of residency in Reno, the chance to complete her residency at Carson-Tahoe Hospital where they were adding a new pediatrics wing and had openings for more Family Practice physicians was heaven-sent. Two more months and she'd be through with her residency, ready for a vacation. After that, she'd be job-hunting. Would Carson-Tahoe make her an offer?

  As if in answer, she saw Dr. Web Baker waiting for her near the entrance – ten feet from his Mercedes. The Chief of Pediatrics, Web was handsome in a manicured fashion. Thirty-five, one ex-wife, no children. She perceived him as a kid who saw women as lollipops. And she was simply the untried flavor.

  "Hello, Boss," she said casually, helmet under her arm.

  "Ah, Destiny, the light of my life." He gave her a soulful look. "Heard you handled the Adams kid like a charm. Settled him right down."

  Bucky Adams, a wild eight-year-old who had his mother under his thumb, reminded Destiny of her own kid brother when he was small. So she'd made it a game to see how long he could sit with his legs straight out, given him a tiny mirror to count his teeth, keeping him busy while she gave him a routine physical and a clean bill of health.

  She shrugged off Web's words, figuring it was just a prelude to whatever he was really after. Half his job was overseeing Family Practice and Pediatrics, his specialty, but that didn't require meeting hospital residents at the door.

  "How about breakfast when your shift's over?" he asked, his smile orthodontic perfect.

  She shook her head. "I'll be dead on my feet in twelve hours. I'll need sleep, not food." She could catch a bite in the cafeteria between patients.

  He hiked one blond eyebrow. "Well, how about sleep then?"

  She laughed. "Right." Not likely.

  "You could come to my place, rest for a bit, then take a swim in the pool..."

  They turned the corner and she pushed through the door marked Staff. "You passed your office," she reminded him as he continued to follow her to the women's locker room. She left him outside.

  After tucking her helmet and jacket into her locker, she slipped on her doctor's smock, experiencing the same thrill she got every time she put it on. Now if only Web would give up...

  But he was still waiting in the hallway. "It's going to be hotter than Hades this afternoon. Think about it. Desert sun, wonderful water..." Me, his eyes added.

  "Try one of the nurses, Web. I – I met someone." Only in her dreams, but he didn’t have to know that.

  Web stared at her. "Who?" he demanded.

  She said the first thing that came to mind. "A doctor, who else?" With a dismissive wave, she pushed past him to the restroom. Was her Paiute skin broadcasting her blush? She peered in the mirror. Why had she lied? Tired of putting him off? Yes. Why did he have to be so persistent? And likable?

  “He has to give up sometime,” she told her reflection. No doubt he would, when some other female caught his fancy. Soon, she hoped. It would make the last two months of her residency easier. Maybe the hospital would hire her. She hoped so. Her birthplace near Pyramid Lake wasn't far away, and she’d like to spend her free time there gazing up at crystal clear skies.

  Not with these eyes, she thought ruefully, they were bloodshot. Too many months of too little sleep. She splashed them with cold water, patted a wet paper towel against her cheekbones, and sighed. Maybe she should take Web up on his suggestion, take time for some fun, rest. No illusions. No expectations. If she wasn't sleeping or eating, she was working. But that was a resident's life. Still...

  She headed back down the hallway and knocked on the door to Web’s office, turned the knob and stepped inside. He wasn't there. It was an idiotic impulse anyway, she thought. Relieved, she backed out of the empty office and stumbled over a size twelve shoe into the clutches of two strong arms – captured by the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. Like a crystalline morning sky, a blue-violet heaven fringed with chestnut desert. Piercing eyes. Arresting. Most definitely male.

  Her breath caught. Size-wise, he reminded her of her brother, six-four and all muscle. She felt ridiculously adolescent in his grip, enjoying the fact he made her downright tiny. "Excuse me," she managed as she pulled free.

  He eyed her as though she might disappear in a flash of smoke. "My fault."

  His voice was deep and rich, and strangely familiar. Figuring he was on the staff, she looked for a name tag on his white coat but didn’t see one.

  “You’re not wearing a name tag,” she said, wondering where her breath had gone. Wondering who he was.

  His h
and drifted toward his breast pocket as he glanced down, a puzzled expression on his face. “It must have fallen off again.” He retrieved something from the floor "Yours?"

  She hadn't noticed the pen slip from her pocket. “Yes.” Their fingers brushed. Her skin tingled. Fresh heat stung her cheeks. Could he see the flames? Warmth spread up her arm.

  "Hope I didn't smash your toes," he said before flashing her a smile. The earth moved. His voice, a deep rumble, washed over her. His aftershave hinted at the outdoors and the masculine scent of new leather. He wore a bemused expression, opened his mouth, then closed it abruptly as his pager beeped. Backing up a step, he collided with an empty gurney, mumbled an apology to the orderly pushing it, and rushed off, his long-legged strides taking him quickly to the end of the white-tiled hallway and around the corner.

  Destiny hurried after him, scurrying past nurses, patients, and orderlies, intent on finding out the intriguing doctor's name. Was he headed to the operating room? Or the cafeteria?

  She felt like a teenager with a crush on the captain of the basketball team. She glanced at her watch. Darn, she didn't have time for a cup of coffee, much less romantic intrigue. Reluctantly, she turned on her heel and headed to the emergency room. She'd ask around. Someone had to know the delicious-looking hunk with the hormone-melting voice.

  Chapter Two

  Taking several deep breaths to slow his racing pulse, Cole strode toward the O.R. Destiny Moon, her name tag had read. For no reason at all, he felt spooked, then shrugged. Couldn’t be the same voice as the woman on the phone. It was just his imagination.

  “Destiny.” Her name flowed over his tongue like sweet home-churned butter across bread. The way she’d looked at him had about churned his butter, all right. It was a Sylvia kind of expression, only nothing about Destiny – he liked that name – reminded him of Sylvia. Recalling his run-in with the gurney, he felt like an idiot, awkward as when he’d had a crush on his eighth grade teacher, Miss Simons.