Blue Clouds by Patricia Rice Page B

him in. Corpses shouldn’t sneeze all night.”
    Seth eyed her drenched dress and cheerful expression with the same wariness his son had earlier. “I see. I take it Chad lost the gunfight at the OK Corral?”
    â€œI did not! She cheated,” Chad protested from his throne among the pillows and stuffed animals. “Dead men don’t sneeze.”
    Pippa thought she detected the hint of a curve on Wyatt’s chiseled lips, just enough to send something wickedly delicious plummeting fast and furious through her middle. Startled by her primal reaction to his proximity, she turned her attention back to the boy. For all she knew, Seth Wyatt was a dangerous psychopath. She should be afraid of him, not attracted. She had sick hormones and lousy taste in men.
    â€œOkay, so I lied,” she said breezily, dismissing her unpleasant thoughts. “Dead men don’t sneeze. We’ll fight it out again tomorrow, and you can make the rules. But I want the machine gun next time.”
    â€œThe machine gun’s mine,” Chad grumbled, snuggling back into the pillows and making a face as his father spooned the medicine down his throat.
    â€œThen I’m going to look for a hose,” she warned.
    Chad gave her an evil look that would have done his father proud.
    â€œGood night, cowboy. I’ve got to go change, before I join you on Boot Hill.” Pippa hoped that was a small snicker she heard as she swept out. If her new charge didn’t have a sense of humor, she would have her job cut out for her. Surely he hadn’t lost all his humor by the age of six, even in this grim prison.
    Seth caught up with her as she reached the open library overlooking the foyer below. “Miss Cochran, wait a minute. I must apologize for my son.”
    She halted and gave him a quizzical look, grateful for the dim lighting. She still felt as if a catfish bellyflopped in her stomach when she looked at Seth Wyatt. Perhaps it was the penetrating arctic eyes beneath those craggy brows that had her feeling as if she’d just been hooked and reeled in. She needed to be afraid of him for more than one reason.
    â€œYour son has nothing to apologize for except an excess of pent-up energy. Does he have access to a gym or pool?”
    Seth stopped short and glared down at her. “What in hell would he do with a gym?”
    Pippa stared at him in disbelief, her concern instantly diverted to the child and away from the father. “Hasn’t his doctor recommended a competent physical therapist? She would put together an exercise plan that would strengthen his muscles as well as work off some of that energy. You can’t keep a growing boy confined to his room.”
    She couldn’t read Wyatt’s expression. She suspected that even if the room contained more light than the dusk currently glimmering through stained glass, she wouldn’t discern a hint of emotion behind that stony mask.
    â€œThe doctor says his lungs are too weak for vigorous exercise and that encouraging him beyond his physical capabilities would only traumatize him further.”
    â€œThen get another doctor. That one’s a quack.” Not having patience for a man who gave up so easily, and not having patience for her own jangling nerve endings, Pippa left her new boss leaning on the library railing, staring after her.
    She really should quit arguing with her employers, she told herself. Look at where it had led last time. Instead of firing the incompetent hacks who sat quietly drinking coffee at their desks, doing as they were told, the hospital had fired the troublemaker first. Would she never learn?
    Still, she couldn’t leave that child cooped up in his miniature palace for the rest of his life. She couldn’t live with herself if she did. Of course, if she insisted on arguing with Wyatt, she’d find herself bounced out on her nose. What good could she do the boy then?
    The age-old question. Sighing, Pippa