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ting the semicircle of brothers, T.J. stood beside Luke, studying the nonexistent space between Mark’s body and Amy. “Something wrong, Ames?”
She tensed at the nickname, her fingers digging into his arm. “Twisted my ankle in the parking lot.”
T.J. stepped forward. “Want me to take a look at it?”
“You’re a vet, not a medic,” Mark said, leading a limping Amy to one of the two empty chairs.
“I didn’t realize they were calling the PJs out for twisted ankles,” T.J. shot back.
“I’ve got her.” Mark lowered Amy down, his hands on her arms and his face close to hers.
“You don’t have to put on a show,” she whispered.
“I don’t mind.” It beat handing her off to one of the cowboys hovering nearby ready and willing to swing her onto the dance floor. He’d counted three men looking her way as they’d hobbled toward the Benton brothers. Despite what Amy might believe, those men hadn’t seen her long, jean-clad legs or her wide blue eyes and thought widow. He’d bet money there wasn’t an ounce of pity in any one of them.
Mark lower himself onto one knee beside Amy’s feet and lifted her calf up, resting it across his thigh. “Let’s have a look.”
He slipped her shoe off, running his hands up to her ankle. He’d spent the past few months treating strangers, but touching them had never felt personal. With Amy, it was. Her skin was soft and smooth. The ruby-red nail polish on her toes caught the bar’s dim lighting, pulling his focus from his job.
Mark held Amy’s foot in one hand, turning it left and right, while his other hand rested on her calf, drifting higher than necessary. “Does this hurt?”
Amy nodded. “It does. When you turn it to the side. But just a bit.”
His fingers traced the curve of her ankle, his touch bordering on teasing. If anyone looked too closely, they’d realize Mark had stretched the definition of “ankle exam.” He looked up at her, hoping like hell she couldn’t see the heat he felt pulsing through his body in his gaze.
“Good news,” he said.
“I’ll live?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
He nodded. “It’s not sprained. Rest it for a bit, and you’ll be back on your feet by the end of the night.”
“But no dancing?” she asked as he slipped her shoe back on and lowered her foot to the floor.
“I wouldn’t recommend it.” Mark stood. “I’ll get you a drink. What are you having?”
“White wine, please.” He could hear the hint of laughter in her tone, as if she’d enjoyed their little performance. “But I’m buying, remember?”
“You can pay me back later,” he said before she reached for her purse. “I don’t want you to disturb your ankle. Save me a seat?”
Amy patted the empty chair beside. “All yours.”
He placed their order at the bar and turned to watch the dance floor. He knew most of these people, and even the ones he didn’t looked like locals. Not many tourists in Heart’s Landing. Sure, they were close to the coast, but most visitors preferred the towns on the water.
The music switched from upbeat to slow and romantic. Couples moved closer or left the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted two familiar faces and frowned. Gabe and Eloise had abandoned the group table in favor of the dance floor, pressing up close to each other.
Mark shook his head as he paid for the drinks. He hoped they knew what they were doing. The ties between the two families ran deep. A one-night stand could lead to hurt feelings and broken friendships. If not tomorrow, then when Gabe returned to his team. But maybe they’d found a way to avoid all that emotional crap and just have a good time. Hell, maybe he should ask for a road map.
5
AMY STARED AT the dance floor. She should be out there. Dancing. Laughing. Flirting. It didn’t matter if half the men in the bar looked at her and thought, There goes Darren’s widow. That wasn’t how she saw herself. Not anymore. And it was time to do something about it. Before her body’s reaction to a pretend ankle exam ruined her relationship with one of her closest and oldest friends.
Mark had touched her in a crowded bar, and she’d been tempted to press her bare foot against his thigh. The moment had felt intimate and wild. But she suspected that was only partly due to the way his hands had moved over her skin—and partly due to their shared secret. She kept so many locked away that having a partner in this ruse sent misguided signals to parts of her body she’d ignored for a year and a half.
She stole a look at Mark, standing at the bar. He was like a guard dog, keeping watch over her as he waited for her wine. He offered so much more than a shared confidence, she realized. If she stumbled, Mark would catch her. Always. He was her safety net, her friend, and damn it, she couldn’t stop thinking about the look in his eyes when he’d seen her in her underwear. Hunger?
“Hey, Ames.” T.J. sat down in the chair next to hers, holding a beer bottle in one hand. “If you need crutches, I think we have some at the house from when Luke busted his knee. I could head back and pick them up for you.”
Amy smiled, patting his arm. “Thanks, but that won’t be necessary. I’ll be back on my feet soon.”
