The Texan's Royal M.D.

“Charlotte, Amalia, please be quiet for a moment.”

The girls’ high-pitched giggles dropped a few degrees in decibel level, if not in frequency.

“Come sit beside me, Anastazia, and tell me what happened during your run on the beach.”

“How do you know something happened?”

“You have kelp dangling from your ear.”

Zia patted both ears to find the offending strand. “So I do,” she replied, chuckling.

The lighthearted response delighted Charlotte. The girl hadn’t laughed very much lately. So little, in fact, that her rippling merriment snagged the attention of every adult in the room.

“Tell us,” the duchess commanded. “What happened?”

“Let’s see.” Playing to her suddenly attentive audience, Zia pretended to search her memory. “A little boy got sucked in by the undertow and I dove in after him. I dragged him to shore, then administered CPR.”

“Dear God! Is he all right?”

“He’s fine. So is his uncle, by the way. Very fine,” she added with a waggle of her brows. “Which is why I agreed to have dinner with him this evening.”

Two (#ulink_6dcba80d-da43-5de4-92dc-1186bfc9b2f6)

As Zia had anticipated, the announcement that she’d agreed to dinner with a total stranger unleashed a barrage of questions. The fact that she knew nothing about him didn’t sit well with the overprotective males of her family.

As a result, the whole clan just happened to be gathered for pre-dinner cocktails when the doorman buzzed that evening and announced a visitor for Dr. St. Sebastian. Zia briefly considered taking the coward’s way out and slipping down to wait for Brennan in the lobby. But she figured if he couldn’t withstand the combined firepower of her brother, cousins and the duchess, she might as well not waste her time with him.

She was waiting at the front door when he exited the elevator. “Hello.”

“Hi, Doc.”

Wow, Zia thought. Or as some of her younger patients might say, the man was chill! The easy smile was the one she remembered from this morning, but the packaging was completely different. He’d traded his cutoffs and flip-flops for black slacks creased to a knife edge, an open-necked blue oxford shirt and a casually elegant sport coat. The tooled leather boots and black Stetson were a surprise, however.

Like most Europeans, Zia had grown up on the Hollywood image of cowboys. Tom Selleck in Last Stand at Sabre River. Matt Damon in All The Pretty Horses. Kevin Costner in Open Range. Living in New York City for the past two and a half years hadn’t altered her mental stereotype. Nor had she stumbled across many locals here in Galveston who sported the traditional Texas headgear. It looked good on Brennan, though. Natural. As though it was as much a part of him as his air of easy self-assurance and long-legged stride. It also lit a spark of unexpected delight low in her belly. The man was primo in flip-flops or cowboy boots.

She did a mental tongue-swallow and asked about his nephew. “How’s Davy?”

“Sulking because he got cut off from TV and videos for the entire day as punishment for skipping out of the house.”

“No aftereffects?”

“None so far. His mother’s patience is wearing wire thin, though.”

“I can imagine.”

“My family’s having drinks on the terrace. Would you like to say hello?”

“Sure.”

“Be prepared,” she warned. “There are a lot of them.”

“No problem. My Irish grandfather married a Mexican beauty right out of a convent school here on South Padre Island. You haven’t experienced big and noisy until you’ve been to Sunday dinner at my abuelita’s house.”

Now that he’d mentioned his heritage, Zia could see traces of both cultures. The reddish glint in his dark chestnut hair and those emerald-green eyes hinted at the Irish in him. What she’d assumed was a deep Texas tan might well be a gift from his Mexican grandmother. Wherever the source, the combination made for a decidedly potent whole!

As she led him to the terrace that wrapped around two sides of the condo, she was glad she’d decided to dress up a bit, too. She spent most of her days in a lab coat with a stethoscope draped around her neck and her rare evenings off in comfortable sweats. She had to admit it had felt good to slither into a silky red camisole and a pair of Gina’s tight, straight-leg jeans with a sparkling red crystal heart on the right rear pocket. Gina had also supplied the shoes. The lethal stilettos added three inches to Zia’s own five-seven yet still didn’t bring her quite to eye level with Mike Brennan.

She’d clipped her hair up in its usual neat knot, but Sarah had insisted on teasing loose a few strands to frame her face. And Dom’s wife, Natalie, contributed the twisted copper torque she’d found in a London shop specializing in reproductions of ancient Celtic jewelry. Feeling like Cinderella dressed by three doting fairy godmothers, Zia slid back the glass door to the terrace.

The twelve pairs of eyes that locked on the new arrival might have intimidated a lesser man. To Brennan’s credit, his stride barely faltered as he followed Zia onto the wide terrace.

“Hey, everyone,” she announced. “Say hello to Mike—”

“Brennan,” Dev finished on a startled note. “Aka Global Shipping Incorporated.” He pushed to his feet and thrust out his hand. “How’re you doing, Mike?”

“I’m good,” he replied, obviously as surprised as Dev to find a familiar face at this family gathering. “You’re related to Zia?”

“She and my wife, Sarah, are cousins.”

“Five or six times removed,” Zia added with a smile.

“The degree doesn’t matter,” Sarah protested. “Not among the St. Sebastians.” She aimed a quizzical glance at her husband. “How do you two know each other?”

“Mike here is president and CEO of Global Shipping Incorporated, the third largest cargo container fleet in the US,” Dev explained. “We contract for, what? Eight or nine million a year in long-haul shipping with GSI?”

“Closer to ten,” Brennan responded.

Zia listened to the exchange in some surprise. In the space of just a few moments her sun-bronzed beach hottie had morphed to cool cowboy dude and now to corporate exec. She was still trying to adjust to the swift transitions when Dev threw in another zinger.

“And now that I think about it, doesn’t your corporation own this resort? Along with another dozen or so commercial and industrial facilities in the greater Houston area?”

“We do.”

“I’m guessing that’s why we got such a good deal on the lease for this condo.”

“We try to take care of our valued customers,” Brennan acknowledged with a grin.

“Which we certainly appreciate.”

Devon’s positive endorsement might have carried some weight with outsiders. The two other males on the terrace preferred to form their own opinions, however. Skilled diplomat that he was, Gina’s husband, Jack, hid his private assessment behind a cordial nod and handshake. Dominic was less reserved.

“Zia told us your young nephew almost drowned this morning,” her brother said, his dark eyes cool. “Pretty careless of your family to let him go down to the beach alone, wasn’t it?”

Brennan didn’t try to dodge the bullet. A ripple of remembered terror seemed to cross his face as he nodded. “Yes, it was.”

Aiming a behave-yourself glance at her brother, Zia introduced her guest to Gina, Maria and Natalie, who kept a firm hand on the collar of the lean, quivering hound eager to sniff out the new arrival. The twins regarded him from the safety of their mother’s knee, but Brennan won giggles from both girls by hunkering down to their level and asking solemnly if that was a tree sprouting from Charlotte’s head.

A giggling Amalia answered for her sister. “No, thilly. Those are antlers.”