Long Time Gone

  “Good choice. You’ll feel better faster. You want me to prescribe a cough suppressant?”

  I shake my head.

  “Rielle’s opinions of western medicine have rubbed off on you.”

  My father’s wife prefers natural remedies whenever possible. Most people attribute that mindset to her hippie-like upbringing. But the truth is before she married my dad, her financial situation dictated she find fast and cheap alternatives. She and I laugh that she’d rather be seen as a hippie than a cheapskate.

  The doc pulls out a syringe and a vial of clear liquid. She gets one affixed to the other and looks at me. “Drop your drawers. You get this shot in the butt.”

  Great. I hook my thumbs in my yoga pants.

  Just then, three fast knocks sound on the door before it opens a crack. “Doc, we need you right away in six.”

  “Dammit.” She gestures to me. “Get someone in here to do this.”

  That’s when I know the universe is giving me an opportunity for payback, because fifteen seconds later, Boone strolls in, a needle in his gloved hand, looking nervous.

  So the fever takes control. Or the bad angel. Or the devil in my soul that he put there when he left.

  “I’m here to—”

  “Give it to me, right?” I say huskily in my best phone sex operator voice. I turn around. Peering over my shoulder, I lock my gaze to his as I shimmy my yoga pants down to my knees.

  He hisses in a breath. He’s tempted to ditch decorum and drop his gaze from my face to my ass—which is completely bared by my thong.

  My ass wins out.

  Sucker.

  And oops—I accidentally shake it at him as I lean over to rest my hands on the edge of the exam table.

  “Hold still,” he says tersely. He preps the area with a cool swipe of liquid on my skin.

  I clench; I can’t help it. Better that than him believing I break out in goose bumps from his simple touch.

  “Relax,” he murmurs.

  Then before I fully prepare myself, he jams it in.

  A soft grunt escapes me.

  He soothes me, gently curling his hand around my hip. “Just a little more.”

  I know he’s dragging this out. Big surprise that the bastard gets off on causing me pain. The injection site starts to sting, sending electric sparks shooting beneath my skin.

  “Done.”

  Paper rattles and I look over my shoulder to watch him press a circular Band-Aid over the tiny dot of blood. Then he slowly sweeps his hand over my butt cheek.

  I feel the pure male heat of him even through the latex.

  “You can get dressed,” he says without conviction or even looking at my face.

  Asswipe.

  I don’t look at him as I yank my pants up.

  Boone is still standing there when I turn around. “I’ll come find you when you’re feeling better so we can talk.”

  I shake my head.

  “You can’t escape the past, Sierra. More to the point, you can’t escape me. See you around, McKay.” Then he flashes that killer smile—my smile, the one he used to bestow only on me—and backs out of the room.

  After that, I flee the office.

  Two days later, I flee Sundance.

  I tell myself I’m not fleeing from him.

  I tell myself the only reason my dad let me know Boone stopped by a few hours after he saw me at the clinic was so I could avoid running into him again.

  I’m in the clear now, with Wyoming in my rearview mirror and Arizona in my headlights.

  But as the miles drag on, I can admit I did run from him.

  I just didn’t expect Boone West to chase after me.