Page 35 of Property of Doc

I honestly wish I had half her energy. I like to think of myself as a go-getter, but she literally never seems to stop. As I follow along with the group who came out to the barn, my mind is whirling about everything I need to get done. Mongrel taps my shoulder and says, “If you need me to pick anything else up while I’m at Herb’s, just send me a text, Gretchen.”

“Thank you,” I reply.

By the time the men start rousing, with the help of several willing hands, I have all the strawberries dipped, decorated, and boxed up, as well as the pretzel rods. The only thing left for me to do are the Rice Krispie treats, and those will be easy enough to do when I get back.

After making sure everything is cleaned up, I head into the common room where lunch is being served, once again buffet style. I grab a plate and fill it before I look around for Doc. Spying him sitting at a table with Mongrel, I walk over and set my plate down. He stands, kisses me, then says, “Let me grab you a drink, baby.”

“Okay, thanks,” I reply, sitting down. “I appreciate you getting the strawberries, as well as the other things I needed,” I tell Mongrel. “Believe it or not, I was able to get most of it done before everyone started getting up.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. I think most of the brothers are still legally drunk,” he says.

“You don’t seem to be feeling the aftereffects,” I muse. “How is that?”

“Because every other drink I had was actually water,” he admits, shrugging. “I’m not a big liquor drinker, quite honestly, but I knew it would be flowing, so I made sure thatIpoured my shots. Some were just H2O instead of Jack is all.”

I start laughing because that’s ingenious as far as I’m concerned. “I’m sure your liver appreciates your forethought,” I finally say once I’ve calmed down.

Doc returns with my drink, setting it on the table before he sits. “Thanks for the banana bag,” he says, looking at me. “I feel human.”

“I made up a few more and left them in the infirmary in case anyone has a need,” I admit.

“I’ll let Rio know,” he says. “You ready to go riding after we eat?”

“I’m pretty excited, actually. It’s been a long time since I was on a horse, though.”

“It’s like riding a bike,” he deadpans, causing all of us to burst out laughing.

CHAPTER

TWENTY

Doc

“We’re gonna take out Karev and O’Malley,” I say as we approach the stables. At her raised brow, I grin. “Apparently, Issy was in the middle of aGrey’s Anatomybinge when both were born. They’re interns on the show.”

“I know, I’ve watched it as well. I need to catch up, though,” she replies. “Did I tell you how much I like that cowboy hat?”

“Several times, but I think my favorite was when you were bent over the side of the bed taking my cock like the good girl you are,” I tell her.

“Honestly? You in scrubs does it for me. When you’re dressed in your biker stuff, with your leather cut, your worn jeans, and your boots? That does it for me too, honey. Finding out you’re also a cowboy at heart? Well, you’re all of my book boyfriend fantasies rolled into one fine specimen of a man,” she states. “I’m in a constant state of arousal when you’re by me, Doc, and that’s no lie.”

“You’re not going to want me to bring this up, but the day we found you and I carried you out of that warehouse? You never looked more beautiful to me, Gretchen. I know what youthinkI saw, and yeah, it was hard to miss, but what I was actually seeing was a warrior, a survivor. I love you, down to the marrow of my bones, baby. You’re always going to do it for me, whether you’re naked, in a nightie, in your scrubs, or jeans and a T-shirt.”

“Honey, I smelled like the bottom of a sewer that had been sitting out in the hot Texas sun,” she protests.

“No, you smelled like the woman who was thrown into the pits of Hell and came out a victor. You’re my kryptonite, sweetheart, and I’ll decimate the world to keep you safe and whole.”

“You have to stop being so sappy, Doc, because I want you again and there’s no place we can hide out for a little while.”

“I’ve got just the perfect spot,” I reply, leading her over to the ladder that goes up into the loft. “We may have to get creative, but we’re good at that.”

If a person can die from being sexually sated, then we’re both knocking on the door. As I help Gretchen clean up after our impromptu trip to the hayloft, it dawns on me that she hasn’t had a period.

“Sweetheart?”

“Hmm?” she replies. Her head is down as she slips her boots back on.

“I need you to look at me,” I instruct, which has her head snapping in my direction, a look of concern replacing the euphoric, sated expression she had just moments ago. “When was your last period?”