Kitabı oku: «Craving Her Rough Diamond Doc», sayfa 2
“Yes.”
For once he didn’t say no. If he were a puppy, Imogen would give him a treat. More yeses was what she wanted to encourage in him. Plus, hard workers didn’t lie down on the job, though they might ask for help to get up. She lifted one hand toward him. “If I fall, just cover me with leaves or something suitably survival-oriented.”
His hand was large and warm, and were she not exhausted, Imogen would’ve sworn her skin buzzed where his touched it. Distracting, and probably due to her poor, overworked hands having to grip that rope so hard for so long. Even if the universe was dead set on punishing her for her stubbornness, at least Wyatt seemed to have softened to her a little. Enough to be cordial, if nothing else.
Once she was upright, he released her hand, waited for her to get a drink, then started up the steep incline. A shorter stride and a slower pace said he was waiting for her to keep up, probably another nod to cordiality. The air no longer crackled with irritation, and Imogen wanted to keep it that way. She tried to move faster than she actually wanted to move: zero miles per hour.
When she resorted to using the trees to slingshot herself further up the incline, Wyatt backtracked and took her by the hand to haul her the rest of the way up the hillside. “Not in the mood to chase you down the hill when you start rolling, or to carry you to the hospital when you fall and crack your head open.”
“So gallant,” Imogen murmured, but she held fast to his hand—grateful not only for the assistance but for the distraction his touch provided. The sensation wasn’t buzzing, though it had a kind of vibration to it. It was more like an energy she couldn’t identify. Waves of tingly awareness raced up her arm and to distant, interesting parts of her body. Parts that now demanded more attention than her screaming muscles. If he could keep this Helpful Polite mask on, she might revisit that drink idea.
“Big step.” Wyatt dragged her attention back to climbing then took both of her hands in his and hauled her the remaining few feet, past the tree line to the grassy ridge.
When she was steady, he released her, fished out his cellphone and strolled a short distance away, leaving her to take in the view.
Imogen folded back onto the ground, her eyes tracing the contours of the rolling green hills that spread out in front of her. “Okay, the view was worth the hike on screaming limbs.”
“Thought it was a good reward.”
He sounded distracted. She glanced his way and watched him scowl at the phone in his hand. “Trouble?”
“Need a new one…” He tapped the screen a few more times and shook his head.
“Want mine? It’s the toughest of cellphones. Waterproof. Easy to use. When you can get a signal, that is.”
“Why do you have a waterproof cell?”
“Sometimes I get caught in the rain with the top off my car.”
He shook his head, but the small smile made it less judgmental. With her phone in his hand, he took a few steps away to make his call.
She should definitely take a picture when he got done. Also maybe take a picture of him and his whole chiseled-muscles thing. Hard. He was probably hard all over. If only he was less mentally hard. Short-sighted. Narrow-minded…
He was probably thinking the same thing about her. Which was fine. If it got her what she needed, he could think what he liked. She already had a friend, and one was plenty. The last thing she needed was to impress another member of Amanda’s family and have them start comparing notes on her. Or conspiring to make her stay.
He kept his voice low, but she could hear the tension in it as he spoke.
“So you have to climb a mountain to use a cellphone around here. Sort of negates the convenience factor.” Talking to herself, another sign she was tired, crazy, or that maybe it was time to give up. As she gazed over the scenic panorama, she caught a glimpse of something white in her peripheral vision. On a flat spot inside the trees down the ridge sat lots of big white blocks placed in a rectangle. She waited for him to hand back her phone and asked, “Did you start building up here first?”
“No…” He didn’t need to look where she was pointing to know what had roused her curiosity: the barrier wall surrounding the old family graveyard. She didn’t need to go there. Best leave that undisturbed. She disturbed enough on the mountain without turning her loose on the dead too. “That’s not a house foundation. You had enough of the view?”
“Picture, then I’m done.”
Having confirmed the agency couldn’t get a suitable replacement by tomorrow, he’d best consider whether or not to brave the week alone or give her the shot at the job she repeatedly demanded.
Wyatt waited at the trees for her to get the photo and rejoin him. Her feet dragged—not nearly as much bounce in her step as when she’d haughtily stormed his mountain—but she didn’t look so close to dropping as she had when he’d hauled her with him up the climb. “Need help?”
“No, I’m better.” Betterish, maybe. She stuffed her phone into her pocket and took the kind of deep breath a person did when about to attempt something requiring concentration.
He helped her off the first ledge-like step anyway, then let go. A few steps down and he turned to look back at her, needing reassurance she wasn’t going to fall after he’d worked her like a mule all afternoon. Her own fault, too stubborn to stop when it had got to be too much, but he’d feel bad if she got hurt because he’d let her exhaust herself. He’d never thought she’d actually pose a threat to his rule about the cabin or he’d just have put the earplugs back in. Why hadn’t that occurred to him earlier?
Was this what it would be like to let her work for him? Someone he’d always needed to keep an eye on wouldn’t be much help. As nurses were always in demand, it made them hard to get on short notice. Amanda’s opinion of Imogen counted for something, but he had to wonder if part of her support was just friendship or knowing how fast Imogen would be available. But in his experience, annoying and stubborn were easier to suffer than superior and condescending. Having her work for him might even make him look good enough by comparison that he’d become the one the patients opened up to, rather than his nurse.
His shoulder cracked against a tree, forcing him to look where he was going again. “If you need help, say something.”
“I will,” she called, her voice labored and breathy.
No, she wouldn’t. She’d set her mind on proving she could work herself half to death and suffer no ill-effects. Who could deny Wonder Woman a job?
Maybe he’d been a little premature on the insubstantial label. She was substantial enough to fight for what she wanted.
“I’m fine. It’s a little easier going down. You just have to kind of control your fall by using the trees. They’re like nature’s speed bumps.”
It was the nature’s speed bumps bit that got him. He laughed out loud, surprising himself, and lost his footing. The second time one of her quips had cost him his balance. His legs shot out from under him, and he did precisely what he’d been worried she’d do.
He fell down the mountain.
CHAPTER TWO
IN THE SPACE of a few seconds Wyatt traveled several yards down the mountain and was caked from hip to heel with a layer of dirt. Some time during his impromptu trip the outside of his right forearm had caught against something. It hurt.
“Wyatt!” Imogen shouted his name twice before he sat up. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s okay. I’m okay.” And just as soon as he finished a mental inventory of his parts and aches, he’d believe his own words.
She knelt and lifted his arm to look at the gash he knew was there.
“Wow, whatever got you must have been sharp. It opened the skin right down to the fascia. Muscle doesn’t look cut. You don’t have a scalpel in your pocket or something, do you? Open pocket knife? Broken glass?” She slid her fingers into his, keeping his arm up and stationary so she could get a better look at it. “It needs stitches.”
“Hard to conduct myself when I’m watching someone else,” he muttered. Stupid. Of course he’d have to fall in front of her. And now that her fingers were linked with his, he realized how small they were, fine-boned and delicate. How in the world had she managed to move the logs at all? Her slender fingers didn’t look strong enough to flex the stiff gloves, let alone haul timber. She may be tall, pushy and annoying, but her hands were soft. Feminine.
“Yep, you should’ve kept your eyes in front of you and let me fall if I was going to. I said I’d yell if I needed you.” Imogen wiggled her fingers free and shifted her hands to the hem of his shirt, which she tugged. “Take off your shirt. Need pressure on that and I’m not taking off mine.”
Another travesty.
“It’s not covered in mud?” He looked at himself again, shrugged and raised his arms so she could lift the shirt. Her little hands shook—just the barest tremble—as she helped him out of his shirt.
“Do I make you nervous?”
“Oh, yeah. Earlier with the chainsaw and now I’m afraid that I might ogle you, and that’s hardly professional.” She smiled at him and teased, but he recognized a bedside manner when he saw it. Her voice had changed. Her whole demeanor had changed. The words may be teasing, but the tone was sweet. Much sweeter than she’d shown him so far. Distracting him from the pain and humiliation, and doing a damned fine job of it too.
“Not that it’d be my fault,” Imogen added, helping him up. “I’m sure you spent years bench-pressing fallen trees just so you could make annoying women babble at you when you fall off mountains.” She flipped the shirt inside out and gently wrapped his arm. “Pressure here. Try not to jostle that, there’s grit and debris in the wound. You think a speck of dust in your eye hurts…bits of dirt and wood in an open wound would be torturous.”
Half an hour later Wyatt sat in the passenger seat of her ridiculous purple vehicle, instructing her through town. His little town wasn’t particularly secluded, not like the communities he drove the practice to, but it still took time to get there from the mountain. But it took no time to get through the tiny town to the large lot where his big shiny silver bus was parked.
A much better bus than Dad’s. Getting that wreck off the mountain would give him the incentive to get the cabin built. It just meant going inside first to get stuff. Pictures. Mom’s jewelry box. The family bible. Dad’s crossbow. Important stuff. The only problem? Wyatt didn’t want to go inside.
“This isn’t the hospital,” Imogen said, dragging his mind back.
“No. It’s my practice.” He popped the car door open and stepped out, closing the door again with his knee to keep the pressure on his wound. “Keys, right front pocket.”
Imogen looked at the jeans pocket and then back up at his eyes. The fact that he was standing there, shirtless and bleeding, demanding she fish around in his pocket after he’d spent the day repeatedly refusing her requests registered. “It’s locked.” And his arm hurt, but he wasn’t going to admit that. He added a word to avoid admissions. “Please.”
She crammed her hand into his pocket and retrieved the keys. “Which key?”
He indicated and she let them inside.
“Why are we wasting time here?”
“We’re here because it’s close, it has all required medical supplies, and there’s no waiting.” He followed her, bumping the lights on with his good elbow. “First exam room, you’ll find everything we need in the cabinets.”
Imogen went ahead of him, doing as he’d bid, but obviously not happy about it. “This is silly. I’ll clean it, dress it, then we’ll go to the emergency room. You cannot suture the outside of the forearm on your dominant hand. And, yes, I noticed you’re a righty.”
Time for her to kick up another fuss. If she wanted the job, she’d prove it. “That’s why you’re going to do it.”
“I’ve never sutured.” She grabbed supplies and then headed to the sink to wash up. “And it’s kind of illegal. I’m an RN, not a PA. Actually, it’s illegal for you too.”
“After you glove, wash my arm from the elbow down. Then irrigate with the saline and grab a mirror from the third drawer so I can see it.”
“All that I can do. It’s legal.”
Her thoughts played across her face so clearly she might as well have said them. She thought he was testing her.
Of course he was testing her.
“I bought the supplies. This is my practice, and you don’t work for me,” Wyatt murmured as she set about cleaning his arm. “You’re just a friend I’m trusting to help me out.”
“You have funding. Didn’t the funding buy these supplies?”
Smart. But also cautious and a little too reticent—traits that wouldn’t serve her well around here.
“No. I haven’t actually acquired funding yet.” Another test. One that stopped her cold.
“Amanda said you were in danger of losing your funding.” She lifted her gaze from the wound and stared at him with the biggest blue eyes he’d ever seen. Big blue eyes with a smudge of dirt under one. It was good his hands were occupied because he had a sudden urge to thumb the smudge away.
She had to stop staring at him like that. Made it hard to focus. She was probably experiencing the same thing. He was making the tests too hard.
“That’s what I told her, and if you’re her friend you won’t tell her different.” Her mouth had fallen open with surprise. Wyatt tilted his head to try and see what she was doing as it was the only way to keep from staring at her mouth. He coughed. “She wouldn’t accept her full salary if she knew it came from me and not from a fund.”
She started moving again. Despite her suspicions and the long day, her hands moved steadily and gently over the wound. “So, this is a regular practice? That stuff about getting the use up…”
“That’s true. There is funding available if I can get the patient base big enough. Until then…” She should smell terrible. He knew he smelled awful after the long day, but she smelled good, and she’d worked herself hard—probably to the point of dehydration.
She dried his arm after flushing the wound and checking under magnifying glass for any debris. Whatever her thoughts about his revelation, she kept them to herself. “It looks clean to me, but I still wish you’d—”
“You want me to trust you. Show me I can.” He reached out with his other hand, making contact with her forearm. Whatever strange chemistry rumbled between them, she felt it too. Her gaze fell to his hand, compelling him to take it away. “Today I saw a hard worker, someone who wants to help. Now show me someone who is willing to take the same chance on me that she’s asking me to take.” Wyatt smiled, trying to soften what amounted to a dare.
“That’s not the only problem. You’re trusting me to do this right without any practice. I’ve never so much as stitched up a turkey for Thanksgiving.” Imogen held the mirror up so he could see the wound. Seeing it made it sting worse, but she was right—flayed to the fascia. Should be easy to stitch.
“If you can follow directions, you’ll do fine. If you mess up, I’ll go and get new sutures put in tomorrow. But if they’re good, I’ll give you two weeks to prove you can handle the position.”
“I thought I’d already proved myself on your mountain.” Imogen pointed an accusing gloved finger at him.
“I never said yes.” Antagonizing her before making her stitch him up might not be the best idea he’d ever had, but he’d rather she snapped at him than a patient. “I just let you move the logs.”
Her eyes called him an ass again, but to her credit she bit her tongue.
“You were being very annoying,” Wyatt said, and when she scowled, he held up one hand, “But I can now see your bedside manner is different.” When she still scowled, he corrected himself. “It’s better. Good.”
“A month. That’s the bare minimum required for a fair trial,” Imogen countered.
“Is it?” Wyatt couldn’t help but grin at her. She was ballsy, and that was something people here would respond to—it was easy to respect bravery. “One month, unless you do something so terrible I can’t keep our arrangement. Behave, and don’t annoy my patients.”
He was the cousin of her best friend, and they were close. Close-ish. Imogen wasn’t entirely certain what that entailed, but it didn’t matter. He might be kind of a jerk, but she had to believe he wouldn’t do something to ruin her life. Oh, sure, he might not hire her because she allowed herself to be talked into doing something illegal, but the chances were slim that he intended to jeopardize her license.
Imogen wanted to say no, be as uncooperative as he’d been all day. She’d learned how to be stubborn the last time she’d held still for six months. But being flexible might actually get her what she wanted. Unless he tried to trick her again.
She considered his expression, saw nothing but sincerity there and sighed. Like she had a choice. She wasn’t built to leave someone suffering if she could help them. Leaving him with an untreated injury just because he ticked her off…Couldn’t do it. And she couldn’t go halfway on her promise to Amanda—she made promises so infrequently already.
“I suppose we should numb it. Where’s your pharmacy? And tell me what to give you.” If the stitches were crooked, loose or too far apart, it was his own bossy fault.
He rattled off directions and sent her packing with his keys to a locked cabinet for drugs and a suture kit. Not even a flinch when she gave him the injection. He just started explaining how to work the needle and the kind of stitch he wanted.
Imogen drew a deep breath and picked up the instruments. She’d seen this done a million times. She’d removed stitches a million times too. No problem. It was just like repairing a hole in her favorite dress. If her favorite dress happened to be made out of human flesh. Ugh. Amanda had better have booze at her house left over from her non-pregnant days.
The first stitch seemed to take forever. Imogen realized she was wincing in tandem with Wyatt’s frowns. She tried to relax her forehead, a tension headache brewing between her eyes. “Looks straight.” A slight tug tested the give, and when it looked decent she allowed herself another deep breath, “One down. How many do I need to do?”
After looking at the cut again, he asked, “How many do you think?”
“Six? Seven?”
“Sounds about right.” He smiled, a gentle but encouraging light in his eyes. The man didn’t trust her to haul logs but he trusted her to sew up his body. Very strange. “You’re doing great. Just do that a few more times.”
She moved on to the second stitch, ignoring the warmth tickling her belly from his praise and his faith in her.
If this was a glimpse into what the coming month had for her, she wouldn’t be bored.
But she should probably invest in a big bottle of aspirin.
Wyatt unlocked Amanda’s back door and stepped into the mud room between the back porch and the kitchen. Amanda and her mother, Jolene, had twin cottages two hills down from the mountain. It was normal business for him to invade and use the shower whenever he pleased. Normal enough he’d forgotten to mention it to Imogen after she’d stitched his arm last night.
He didn’t want to be impressed with the way she’d handled his little test. She had skills and, more importantly, she had the touch. Soothing. And at odds with the chemistry that roused urges in him he should ignore.
His thoughts had swung between irritated attraction and worry about how she would be with the patients. At best, she was someone they’d get used to and come to care about who’d quickly abandon them. Like all the times Josh had been passed from one transitory doctor to another. Sometimes they’d changed every visit. It kept things impersonal. A revolving door that left people not knowing who to trust. He didn’t want that for his patients.
A few lights burned inside the cottage, enough that it looked like Imogen was awake, but when he knocked on the glass no one came. As tired as she’d been, there was a real chance she was still asleep, which would throw a wrench into their schedule. Wyatt waited another minute then let himself inside.
A quick check of the bedrooms assured him she was awake. The eventual sound of the shower told him where she was. He backtracked to the sofa and sat, mental images of her in the shower turning his thoughts back where he’d been fighting them since yesterday.
As pushy and stubborn as anyone he’d ever met, Wyatt couldn’t put his finger on precisely what kept her in his mind—other than her appearance. He’d only really ever dated stereotypical Southern women. Sweet, though sometimes he knew it to be an act. But not too challenging. Easy to understand, and because of that easy to be around. Easy on the eyes. Imogen may have that last bit, but there was nothing else easy about her. To be fair, she was a good nurse, so if she could handle the PR aspect of the position, she might be easy to work with.
The bathroom door opened and she came out, wrapped in a towel and swathed in billowing steam. Wyatt stared.
His presence caused her to gasp and clutch at the top of her towel, her hand folding over the place where one corner was tucked in, keeping it on. The action drew his gaze to her breasts, but the look on her face had him looking up again.
“You’re here. What are you doing here?” She checked the front seam of her towel, making sure she was decently covered.
“No shower on the mountain yet.”
When she didn’t say anything else, he added, “I knocked. Then I used my key.”
She frowned and nodded, turning toward the room she was sleeping in.
“Done in there?” Wyatt called after her.
“Yes.” She stopped and looked from the bathroom to him. “The water. There’s probably not much hot.”
She hurt. He could tell by the way she moved, stiffly and slowly. She’d been trying to steam the soreness out of her body. It hadn’t been a shower for cleanliness. Her hair was mostly dry, and secured in a fancy braid. Not a trace of the pink remained in the pale tresses. The baby-fine tendrils forming a halo around her clean face were damp and curling. A hot flush colored her skin, from the shower or her attire, he couldn’t be sure. Not that he really cared. His body appreciated the result.
Wyatt cleared his throat. “It’s fine. Be ready in half an hour.”
He tried not to watch as she walked to the future nursery where she slept, wanting to see every inch on display and not wanting it at the same time. Guilt won and he dragged himself to the bathroom. She was in for a long day and it had already started on the wrong foot, sore from the logs he’d practically dared her to move.
The cold shower, surprisingly timely and bracing, sluiced over him with a wave of painful shivers. Wyatt placed both hands against the wall of the shower and stayed still until he could stand no more.
Any other day, he would’ve said the sight of an attractive woman wasn’t enough to send his thoughts spiraling out of control. Any other day, he would’ve believed himself in control of his body.
It figured this would all happen on a week they were scheduled in towns with the dinkiest motels in history. He’d grown accustomed to sharing a double room with Amanda. It worked fine with cousins sharing; Amanda was as close as a sibling. As far as he could tell, the further along in her pregnancy she’d gotten, the more she liked having someone close by. But with Imogen…could that be a bad idea?
Nah. Well, probably not. They were adults. And after her first day deep in the mountains Wyatt doubted either of them would be feeling particularly lustful. Sometimes he felt almost as sensitive to the behavior and opinions of non-locals as his patients were, and he already knew what they’d think of Imogen. If only he’d managed to get a temp hired yesterday. The option of firing her spectacularly, distasteful as it was, might be just what had to happen.
“Imogen, we’re almost there.”
The voice, a low, manly rumble, distracted her into wakefulness. And his scent…She’d thought she’d dreamed it. He smelled good, the whole front of the bus smelled like him. Her sleep-addled brain mixed with hormones surged in response to his extremely appealing pheromones. She didn’t figure out what he’d said until she’d blinked away all that fog from her brain. “How long?”
“You’ve been asleep about two hours, and we’re about half an hour out. We probably won’t see as many patients today—the Trout Derby is on—but just in case, I want you prepared,” Wyatt answered, while steering the big silver bus slowly down yet another winding country road—both doctor and driver of this practice on wheels. “I need to go over what’s expected of you first, so wake up. Have some coffee.” He handed her a thermos so she could refill her cup and drink herself sentient.
While she was waking up, he went through a list of common-sense expectations any nurse fresh out of school could have anticipated. Imogen only really felt awake when he got to the weird stuff.
“Wait…What?”
“Someone, probably an older lady, will come early and bring us something she made—food, usually baked goods of some description. Take some, even if it’s just a little, and eat it. Thank her. If you’re feeling conversational, ask for the recipe. Be courteous, be nice, even if it seems weird. Most of our patients are children, who you probably can’t offend, or the elderly who you can. Treat them like you would your grandparents.”
“I never knew my grandparents, Wyatt, but I would never be rude to a patient.” She really did need to wake up if she was going to maintain a professional attitude with him. All about family, right out of the gate. “And just so you know, I’m great with kids. And I don’t run around hitting those of voting age with sticks and telling people they have ugly babies.” Although after yesterday it might be unsurprising he thought the worst of her. She’d hoped her agreement to stitch him up would have negated their earlier interaction.
“Don’t be dramatic. I’m not saying you’re going to be rude, what I’m saying is that your definition of rude and the local definition will be different. Polite, distant professionalism is worse than rude here.” He glanced at her long enough to establish eye contact and nodded once, then took his eyes back to the winding road.
“They want to treat us like family—and it won’t be that way off the bat, but it’s the goal. They’ll listen to and respect care instructions if they think of you as family—someone here for the long haul. When they feel comfortable, they’ll talk us up to their friends and families, and the number of patients will increase—which is crucial to getting the funding approved.”
His dark eyes had been warmer yesterday, when he had been walking her through the stitches. Where had that guy gone? “Won’t that kind of behavior from a stranger seem fake?”
“Not if you do it right. Try to be Amanda,” Wyatt suggested, glancing her way again.
Message received. You’re not good enough.
She could read between the lines. Why can’t you be like Amanda? My last nurse was better.
My last girlfriend was prettier.
My last girlfriend knew how to make jam.
Imogen rubbed her head and drank more coffee. Coffee, good for more than waking you up. Also a great scapegoat to blame when your hands trembled.
Ignore it. He didn’t think she could do the job. Fine. She had a month to prove him wrong. This judgmental stuff wasn’t about her as a person.
He’s not Scott.
The little mantras calmed her enough to get her hand under control, but Imogen still couldn’t bring herself to look at him, knowing her eyes would be glassy and wet. Instead, she focused on the window. “Amanda is effusive with everyone.” As the landscape rolled past, her vision cleared and her mind followed. “She’d take candy from a stranger then invite him home after announcing she lived alone and the nearest neighbor was a mile away.”
“She’s not that bad.” Wyatt chuckled. Like any of this was funny. “But you had it right about the friendly-to-strangers bit. Not insanely trusting but friendly.”
“I don’t know how to be Southern and candy-sweet.” Distance. Keep distance. Keep calm. He didn’t know any better. His opinion didn’t matter. Do the job. Go home. Pretend to drink the Kool-Aid, just don’t swallow it.
“All I’m saying is be nice. Friendly. Think of something to say to personalize your interactions. Compliment patients, ask their advice, engage them somehow, and don’t use any of your annoying tricks.”
“Back to thinking I’ll purposefully antagonize the patients? I have some training, you know.” She took a deep breath, counted to ten and smiled past the lump in her throat. She could fake a smile. It was the least offensive mask she had, even if perhaps not the most healthy. “Anything else?”
Wyatt looked at her a little too long, but the road demanded his attention and, let off the hook, she looked back out the window.
“Two more things,” Wyatt said. “One: there isn’t much black and white out here—the law, and how stringently it’s followed, is fluid. Don’t get involved unless something is likely to harm the patient or someone else.”
“Like?”
“I’ve treated and not reported a hunting accident before,” Wyatt answered without hesitation, so matter-of-factly that he might have simply expressed his love of potatoes.
“A shooting?” That just seemed wrong. Dangerous.
“Shot himself in the leg, but missed any major trauma.”
“That’s…”
“Illegal. I know.” He didn’t seem fazed by it, though. “The patient was hunting in the off-season, which is to say: illegally. But the way I see it, and the way pretty much anyone in the area would see it, a man has a right to feed his family. Happened on his land. He’s not well off, but he’s making the most of what he has. I wouldn’t want him punished for making sure his kids didn’t go without.”
