Disobedient Cowboys [Lone Wolves of Shay Falls 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (2 page)

“Ma’am,” he said firmly, “I don’t need you to do that.”

“It’s okay. I’m a registered nurse.” She pointed to the fitted, blue scrubs she wore. “See?”

“No, it ain’t okay. You’re hurt, too.” To prove the point, he reached out to her face, which was stinging and hot now that she thought about it. Still, his gesture was what had her attention, a motion she saw in a disjointed sort of slow motion. His touch was as tender as a lover’s would be, and it sent a funny pang through her. He came away and showed her his fingers, which were dotted with blood.

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “I’m fine.” The world reeled around her, though, and she clutched at him for support. “Just a little dizzy.”

His chest muscles flexed as his arms went around her again, and she noticed his wince of pain. Still seeing double, she tried to focus on the task at hand. A closer look at his chest injury made her frown hard. It didn’t look like an impact injury. In fact, she didn’t think it was from the accident at all.

“Is that a gunshot wound?” she asked, seeing speckles creeping in from around the outer edges of her blurry vision.

“That don’t matter right now.”

“Of course it matters. Let me look at it. It’s my job.” The words sent a gasp from her, even though her head was growing much lighter and it was getting tougher to stand. “My job! I forgot. I’m late for work.”

That was the last thing she remembered before she teetered forward, collapsing straight into his arms as she passed out.

The morning after Rose’s twenty-first birthday, she woke up to the first and only hangover of her life. What she woke up to this time was worse.

The remnants of a pleasant, recurring dream faded, taking away the soothing
whoosh
of a waterfall and smile of the faceless man. She was left with a headache that beat at her skull too hard for her to even groan. As soon as she flinched, pain shot through her neck and most every muscle she possessed. She felt like she’d been hit by a car. And as dim, blurry memories emerged through the murky surface of her brain, she realized she wasn’t far from wrong.

The accident! She’d hit a wolf, and more importantly, a man. She hadn’t even helped him. Was he all right? Damn, had she blacked out in the middle of trying to render him aid, leaving him to die?

Her eyes flew open at that, and when the sharp edge of pain in her skull eased up a bit, she glanced around slowly. She wasn’t outside anymore. She was lying in a strange yet oddly familiar room. The scents and sounds were like a second home, even if the cool, blue-white walls, ceiling-mounted television, and sterile furnishings didn’t register in precise memory.

She was in a hospital.

Turning her head slowly to glance beside her, she confirmed her location by spotting a bedside curtain and an IV pole. Her clinical mind kicked in as she watched Lactated Ringer’s solution drip at a fair pace through clear tubing. The digital pump controlling the rate was programmed to release eighty ccs per hour. Regardless of being hydrated this way, her lips and throat felt dry, and the latter was a little scratchy to boot. She reached up to feel around her chest, which was throbbing and tender. Electrodes were pasted beneath her collarbones. Not enough equipment was attached to her to suggest intensive care, so she wasn’t too bad off. Still, as she tried telling that to her body, it rebelled at every eye blink and twitch.

A chair had been pulled up close beside her bed, and sitting on the blue-upholstered seat was a weathered, brown Stetson. Western decor in a cowboy town wasn’t necessarily an alarming discovery, but on a chair seat?

When she turned her head again, she sucked in a little breath. She wasn’t alone in her private room after all. A man stood at the sole window, staring out at a sunny morning with his hands propped on lean hips. As her gaze traveled over the powerful lines of his back, she knew exactly who he was. The thought made her heart give a little skip.

“Hi,” she managed, her voice coming out a little hoarse.

He spun around from the window. A smile lit up the scowl he’d turned with, starting a much more pleasant throb in her body.

“Rose!” he said, heading toward her. “You’re awake.”

“You know my name?”

“I found your driver’s license in your wallet. I’m Caleb, by the way. Caleb Green.”

“Nice to meet you,” she stammered, wondering whether “nice” was the right word to use when an introduction involved ramming someone with a car.

Wow, the man was even more handsome when she wasn’t seeing him in shades of blurry gray. His hair was a rich, chocolate brown, worn longer in the front and trimmed close in back. His bangs were swept to the side over his forehead, framing amazing violet eyes. His snap-front denim shirt was open just enough to display a tantalizing hint of chest hair. His jeans were oh-so snug over taut thighs, not to mention a crotch bulge he almost caught her staring at.

She detached herself from his sex appeal to conduct a clinical assessment of how he moved, checking for any limps, favored limbs, or grimacing that would indicate how badly he’d been hurt. But he strode with purposeful, lithe boot steps, focused completely on her. She felt heat flush into her cheeks and wondered whether a fever was setting in.

“I’m so sorry I hit you,” she said, clearing her throat to try and get some volume back. A stale, medicinal taste lingered in the back of her mouth. “I swerved to avoid an animal in the road, and I guess you must have been right there.”

“Yeah, I suppose you could say I had a front row seat,” he said, picking up his hat and setting it in his lap as he sat down beside her. His scent was very manly and smelled faintly of shaving soap. She swallowed as he took her hand. His was incredibly warm and strong. “It was my fault. I should have been watchin’ where I was goin’. How are you feelin’?”

His cowboy twang twisted nicely in her stomach.

“Like I was in a car accident. But I don’t think I’m done for just yet.”

“The doc said you were real lucky. You hit your head and got a bit concussed. Bruised, too. And the airbag scratched up your face a bit. But no broken bones or nothin’.”

Her other hand flew to her face. No bandages, but a sticky smear over one cheek suggested some kind of ointment had been applied to her abrasions.

“Do I look like as big a train wreck as I feel?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

He squeezed her hand. “You look as beautiful as you did when you were busy tryin’ to rescue me.”

A flicker of warmth at the compliment was quickly overshadowed by embarrassment. “Not much of a rescue, was it?”

He gave a little laugh that she had to smile at. “You were so determined that you didn’t realize I wasn’t the one in need of rescuin’.”

She glanced around. “How did I get here? And where
is
here, exactly?”

“I carried you to the nearest hospital. Shay Falls Community.”

She tried unsuccessfully to sit up. “What do you mean, you carried me? How on earth did you manage that?”

He used the bed controls to raise her up. “You were already in my arms when you passed clean out. I knew this place was just up the road.”

“Two miles away! You couldn’t possibly have carried me that far.”

“I’m stronger than I look.”

“You were hurt.”

“I ain’t sayin’ it was fun.”

She sank deeper into the pillow behind her head. “Wow. Thank you so much.” She thought of the injuries she’d catalogued on him. “Is that why you’re still here? Did they treat you, too?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t need treatment. I just stayed to make sure you were all right. They kicked me out last night, but I stopped in this mornin’ to see how you were.”

He’d really been worried about her. She couldn’t help but feel a flush of pleasure at the thought. Still, she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t realized they needed rescuing.

“Of course you need treatment. I saw that injury. You were shot in the chest, weren’t you?”

He hesitated. “It’s nothin’.”

“Nothing, my foot.”

Fighting a wave of dizziness, she leaned over to him. Without even thinking of the propriety of what she was doing, she took hold of his shirt with both hands and yanked. The snaps gave way, and his shirt pulled open to reveal a rock-hard, extremely masculine chest with just a smattering of curly hair. She swallowed and surveyed the injury that was indeed there.

And she frowned at it.

“It doesn’t look nearly as bad as I remember,” she said. “Did the bullet come out through the back?”

“Nope. I took it out.”

Her mouth fell open. The question of why came to mind, and an answer just as rapidly. Hospitals had to report all gunshot wounds to authorities. For some reason, this man didn’t want anyone to know what had happened. Maybe she should butt out.

“I got in front of a hunter’s bullet,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “Huntin’ season’s on around here. I ain’t big on doctors, so I treated it the old-fashioned way.”

She blinked. Must be a cowboy thing. “Oh.”

She was still holding his shirt open with one hand, smoothing the area around his damaged chest with the other. The hole had looked ugly and pus-filled when she’d seen it last. Now, it was clean, and the angry redness around it had subsided. Unbelievably, the wound was already closing.

“Well, whatever you did, you did it right,” she said. “This looks much better. Maybe you should consider a career in medicine instead of ranch work.”

“I don’t work a ranch no more,” he said, and his face hardened. “Not for a long time now.”

“Sorry.”

He stared at her intently as her fingers traced over the lines of his muscled chest. From this close, she could see that his eyes weren’t pure violet. Flecks of yellow dotted the irises, looking like sparkling little highlights in the morning light. That, coupled with her blow to the head, likely accounted for the bizarre golden gleam she’d thought she’d seen in his gaze after the accident. Those eyes were so intense. And the way he was staring deep down into her, well, it was hypnotic. Captivating. Something compelling that she couldn’t turn away from.

His other hand reached for the fingers she was using to stroke his skin, and she froze. Why ever had she been doing that? Instead of tugging her away, however, he covered her hand with his own and held it over his heart. She could feel the pulse beat thundering in his chest, and hers responded with a jungle dance of its own.

Every line of his face was taut, from the intent line of his brow down to his finely chiseled jaw. Her gaze fell to his lips, which were no longer twisted in a smile. Even wearing a serious expression, that mouth was perfectly curved. His lips were full, almost criminally sensual. She couldn’t help thinking about kissing them, and she licked her own. They felt dry, whereas his appeared perfectly soft, moist, and brownish pink.

She leaned closer, watching those lips move as he faintly, almost inaudibly, whispered her name.

“Good morning,” came a voice from behind her.

She whirled around, the spell between them shattered. A doctor stood in the doorway, glancing over a chart she assumed was hers. He looked up and noticed her rather incriminating pose, still tugging Caleb’s shirt open across his bare chest while he clutched her hand against him.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” the man said in an almost humorous tone. When his gaze shifted to Caleb’s and then hers, however, the smile faded. He took on a similar expression to the one Caleb had locked on her just seconds before—the one he was now directing back at the man in the starched, white medical coat.

Rose pulled away and sat back in bed, watching as the two men traded stomach-churning looks. Something unraveled between them as they stared at one another, and she almost felt like she was the one intruding on a private moment. Then the doctor’s eyes found hers, and a whole new roller coaster began until she felt downright giddy.

What was happening to her? One thump on the head and she felt like a rabid fan meeting rock-and-roll idols. This wasn’t like her, not one bit. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was channeling her mother, also known as Often-Wed Wendy. Rose groaned inwardly. She’d obviously hit her head harder than she thought.

Would every man she encountered trigger such a visceral attraction? An ironic about-face for her, considering she’d never had any taste for that sort of nonsense. She’d ignored the parade of forgettable guys who’d tried to capture her attention in high school, and then she had gone to college in pursuit of a vocation with a low percentage of males. Not to mention her gynecology checkups were always peppered by surprised—and sometimes doubtful—looks when she admitted she was still a virgin. And now Little Miss Virgin Nurse had developed the hots for two guys in ten minutes? She was in trouble. Big, big trouble.

“Rose Hartford?” the man asked, seeming to come to his senses first. Good thing, considering she’d been the one who’d slammed into a tree.

She settled deeper against her pillows. “That’s me.”

“I’m Dr. Williams.” As he strolled into the room, she saw the name embroidered on his lab coat beside the hospital logo.
Stephen A. Williams, M.D.,
it read.
Hospitalist.
“How are you feeling today?”