by Peak, Renna
I dress as quickly as I can, though it is still difficult to stand upright.
It’s only a few minutes before Clara pounds on my bedroom door. “Are you all right in there?”
I limp over to the door and swing it open to find Clara standing before me, hands on her hips. She gives me a bright smile. “I thought maybe you fell over or something.”
She’s changed into a lovely garment, one I haven’t seen before. The neckline of her dress plunges to the swell of her breasts.
I avert my gaze as I edge around her, trying to ignore how my jeans feel suddenly a bit too tight. “We should get to the physician. And I insist that you have your injury checked as well.”
“I told you, I’m fine.” She follows closely behind me. “Do you need me to help you?”
I grunt in response—I’m still limping, but the pain in my leg doesn’t seem nearly as bad now that I can’t get the image of her in that dress from my mind.
“I can help.” She slides beside me, wrapping her arm around my waist. “We really need to get you some crutches. Or a cane or something.”
“An ankle support will be fine.” I have to grit my teeth, though I’m not sure if it’s because of the pain or because of how the warmth of her body beside me is making me feel things I definitely should not be feeling.
“Well, I guess we’ll see what the doctor says about that.”
She doesn’t leave my side until we’ve reached the truck when she turns to me with a grin. “I guess I’ll be driving.”
“I’m perfectly capable of driving my own vehicle.”
“Nick…” She shakes her head. “If it was your left foot, maybe. You really think you can push on the gas pedal with your ankle looking like that?”
I don’t even need to glance at my leg to know she’s right. My ankle has swelled again after twisting it during the brawl.
“Do you think you’re capable of turning the steering wheel? With your rib injury?”
She wraps her arms around herself, bracing the area almost reflexively. “I already told you I’m fine—”
“And yet, I can see you’re not.”
“I’m better off than you, though.” She frowns, looking over at the truck before turning back to me. “I can get us into town.”
I decide it’s best not to argue the point and instead toss the keys to her.
“You’re actually going to let me drive?”
“Don’t make me regret my decision.” I look over at the door to the truck, immediately regretting having purchased the thing in the first place. Of course, I had no idea then that the pain in my leg was going to be so severe or that climbing into the vehicle was going to hurt so much.
“Here, let me help…” Clara seems to sense my dread and walks over to me again, sliding her arm around me once more.
I suppose I can’t complain, her nearness does make the pain in my ankle instantly subside, though every part of me knows how inappropriate it is to feel this sort of an attraction for someone under my employ.
We somehow make it into town without too much trouble—Clara, of course, has to fiddle with the radio the entire drive, though I’ve told her numerous times there is nothing to listen to.
But for some reason, it doesn’t bother me as much as it did the first time we rode together in my truck.
She parks and rushes around to my side of the vehicle to help me out. Even with her assistance, I land with a thud on the ground, sending a jolt of pain up my leg.
“Should we get you a wheelchair, maybe?” She winces at what must be my pained expression as I try to put weight on my foot.
“I’m…fine,” I say through my clenched jaw.
“If you say so.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know why you have to be so stubborn about this—”
“I’m not…being…stubborn.” I can barely get the words out, I’m so focused on making it through the entrance to the clinic.
She rolls her eyes before she turns to hold the door open for me. “You’re the most stubborn man I’ve ever met, Nick Smith.” She shakes her head again, wrapping her arm around my waist to lead me to the desk.
The woman sitting behind it smiles up at the two of us. “How can I help you?”
“My friend here needs some medical attention. I think he broke his leg a few days ago—”
“It’s merely a sprain,” I interrupt. “If I could get some sort of ankle support, I’ll be fine.”
Clara lifts a brow and turns back to the woman behind the desk. “He needs crutches, too. And an x-ray.”
“No problem at all. I’ll be glad to get you checked in—”
“She also needs to be checked by the physician,” I say without looking over at Clara. “She’s had a rib injury this morning—”
“It’s actually a few days old, too.” Clara says without looking at me. “It’s just a bruise.”
I cock my head, looking over at her. “A few days old?”
“It’s nothing. Prince kicked me—”
“You were kicked by my horse?” I frown, turning back to the woman behind the desk. “She’ll be seen, as well. I insist upon it.”
“Sure,” the woman at the desk says. “I can get you both checked in. I just need your names—”
“Clara Weaver and Nick Smith.” Clara turns to me. “I really am okay, though.”
I give her a solemn nod. “We’ll let the physician be the judge of that.”
The woman at the desk looks up at us with a smile. “I’ll just take a quick peek at your IDs, and you’ll be all set.”
Clara reaches for her bag, but I stand frozen as my face begins to burn.
My ID. I certainly have it in my wallet, but it definitely does not have the name Nick Smith on it.
Clara
It’s funny—if I didn’t know better, I’d say that Nick suddenly looks terrified. He wasn’t scared when we were almost hit by lightning, or when Adam punched him, but apparently the doctor makes him nervous. What a weirdo.
“It’s fine,” I tell him gently. “I’ll be with you the whole time. It’ll be over before you know it.”
He looks at me oddly, his expression too blank, but I’m not surprised that a grown man doesn’t want to admit he’s afraid of the doctor.
I shove my ID toward the woman at the desk, then look at Nick expectantly.
“She needs yours, too,” I remind him, since he hasn’t moved.
He clears his throat. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten mine.”
The woman purses her lips, and I frown. It took way too much effort to get Nick to the clinic in the first place—if I take him back to the house for his ID, I know I’m never getting him back here.
“Can you check him in anyway?” I ask. “I’ll run back to the house and grab—”
“No,” Nick says firmly. “You promised you’d let them look at you.”
I promised nothing of the sort. But that’s a different issue at the moment.
“Look, this town isn’t very big,” I say to the woman. “We might be new around here, but surely you’ve heard about us by now. You know who we are. If you need his official ID, we can come back with it later. But please, we need someone to look at his foot now.”
“And her ribs,” Nick adds, looking at me. To the woman, he says, “I can pay up front for any treatments, if you’re concerned about fraud.”
“Does that mean you don’t have insurance, either?” the woman says, pushing her red-framed glasses up her nose.
“I have insurance,” I say, reaching back into my wallet. I have no idea if it’ll cover anything way out here, but I pass her the card anyway.
Nick just shakes his head again. “I’m still happy to pay up front.”
“Sir,” the woman replies, gently but firmly, “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you might be underestimating the cost of your treatments. If your ankle is broken, it might be as much as—”
“I assure you, money is no object,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Ma
y we see the physician now?”
He says it with such authority that the woman doesn’t even attempt to question him, even though her lips squeeze together again. She types something into her computer. “Someone will see you back in just a moment.”
I help Nick hobble over to one of the chairs.
“So money is no object?” I tease him quietly.
He gives me a sharp look. “I…”
“Don’t worry, weirdo. I already know you’re rich. You bought an entire house’s worth of furniture in one go without even blinking. Without even glancing at the price tags, most of the time. People don’t do that if money is tight.” I help him into one of the chairs and take the seat beside him, leaning close so I can keep my voice low. “Don’t worry—if it’s supposed to be a secret, I won’t tell anyone. But it won’t be a secret for long if you go around declaring that ‘money is no object’ wherever you go.” My hand is still on his arm, but I keep it there. “As for the doctor and all the rest… Don’t worry. I’ll be there with you.”
He frowns. “I don’t need you there.”
“Of course you don’t.” I fail to hide my grin. “You’ll be just fine without me.” This man is stranger than I ever imagined that first day I met him…obviously wealthy, but living by himself in the middle of nowhere. Stubborn and proud in some areas, but a complete softy in others. I want to know about who he is, where he’s come from, but I know if I try to ask him that will only open me up to more questions about Adam.
Adam. What am I going to do about Adam? He’s staying here in town. He’ll probably come out to the ranch again if I don’t reach out to him. I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to think about that part of my life ever again. But it doesn’t look like I can escape it. One way or another, I have to make it clear to Adam that we’re over. And that means having a real conversation.
My stomach knots up just thinking about it. Fortunately, though, I don’t have much time to stew over those feelings. A nurse comes out and says, “Mr. Smith?”
I never bothered taking my arm away from Nick’s. Now I help him to his feet and lead him hobbling across the waiting room.
The nurse’s brow furrows. “We should get you a wheelchair, Mr. Smith—”
“I’m fine,” he grumbles.
But she shakes her head and hurries away. Before we even reach the spot where she was standing, she’s wheeling a chair toward us. Nick stiffens, and I swear he almost argues with her. After a moment, though, he sighs and lets me help him into the chair.
“Ms. Weaver needs to see someone, too,” he says to the nurse. “I think she may have a cracked rib or two.”
“None of my ribs are cracked,” I tell her. “I’m staying with Nick.”
The nurse looks between the pair of us before glancing down at the clipboard in her hands. “The doctor will see both of you. But there’s only one of her, so she’ll have to do it one at a time. You’re welcome to stay with each other, and I promise, everyone will be taken care of.” She steps behind Nick’s wheelchair and begins pushing him along before either of us can argue again.
Once we’re shown to a small, clean examination room, we don’t have to wait long for the doctor to show up. Dr. Henson is a cheerful-faced woman in her mid-fifties, and she smiles warmly at both of us before turning her attention toward Nick.
“So, Mr. Smith,” she says pleasantly, “I hear you’ve had some trouble with your ankle. Can you tell me what happened?”
I don’t think anyone could find Dr. Henson scary, but I’d understand if Nick is still nervous. I keep a reassuring hand on his shoulder while he answers her questions and while the nurse checks his heartbeat, blood pressure, and other things.
Finally, we help him up onto the exam table so she can get a better look at his ankle.
“Look at you,” I tease him, trying to lighten his nerves. “You’ve got three beautiful women looking after you.”
He shoots me a glare—he really is so easy to rile up—and I swear he actually blushes a little.
Meanwhile, Dr. Henson has begun examining his swollen ankle. It certainly looks worse than it did last night. She’s gentle, feeling the swollen skin and prodding lightly, but I still sense him stiffen in pain, and I don’t miss the slight intake of his breath.
Without thinking, I reach down and take his hand. I promised him he wouldn’t have to do this alone, and I stand by that. Sometimes just having a friend with you makes these things easier.
If we’re even ‘friends,’ I think. Honestly, I’m not sure what to call him. Yesterday, we were employer and employee. Granted, he was an employer I was having sex dreams about, but dreams could mean anything. This morning, though, we kissed. Twice. And I tingle all the way to my toes just thinking about it.
Yeah, I have no idea what we are. We are definitely not friends, though.
His fingers feel so warm, laced through mine like this. I remember the way they felt tangled in my hair. And drifting up and down my back. I remember how much I wanted to feel those fingers other places, too.
I’m suddenly aware that my cheeks have gone blazing hot.
Nope, definitely not friends.
And considering Adam is probably just down the street from us right now, that is the last thing I need. The last thing I should even be thinking about.
I glance down at Nick. He’s staring up at the ceiling, his face blank, but I can see the tightness in his jaw. He’s doesn’t want to show that he’s in pain, or that he’s nervous. He might be the most stubborn man I’ve ever met, and all I want to do is lean down and kiss him on the corner of his mouth, to help ease some of that tension with my lips.
If I thought my cheeks were hot before, it’s nothing compared to how they feel now.
I’ve been told by friends who’ve had them that rebound relationships are some of the hottest, most intense relationships of all. Is that what this is? A rebound? After all, he is the first man I’ve met since running away from New York—not counting Bill down at the Feed and Supply, of course. And I certainly bounced into his arms quickly enough.
Rebound or not, you know better, I think. You shouldn’t even be thinking about a rebound until everything is settled with Adam. Your life is complicated enough already.
Decision made, I feel better. I decide to make myself a promise: that I’m not even going to let myself think about kissing Nick—or doing other things with Nick—again. Not until I sort myself out. It’s the least I can do.
But he kissed you first, a little voice reminds me. What if—
No. I’m not going down that road. I’ve made myself a promise, and I’m going to keep it.
Even then, it takes all of my willpower to turn to the doctor and push the rest of it out of my mind.
Nicholas
I’m not certain what’s more distracting—having the physician press uncomfortably on my leg or having Clara’s hand in mine.
I stare up at the ceiling, counting the holes in the acoustic tiles to keep myself from thinking of either.
“Nick?” Clara squeezes my hand. “What do you want to do?”
“About what?” I glance over at her and notice the three women in the room are staring at me expectantly.
“You’re such a weirdo.” She grasps my hand tightly. “Do you want to get an MRI or not?”
I sit, swinging my legs over the side of the uncomfortably small examination table. “I fail to see the need—”
“Like I said,” the doctor interrupts. “I doubt that it’s broken. But I can’t tell you how extensive the ligament damage is without an MRI.”
“I’ll be fine. An ankle support of some kind is all I require.” I realize as soon as I’ve spoken that my “American” accent has disappeared. I clear my throat, trying to get my well-rehearsed cowboy drawl back into my voice. “Something I can walk on.”
“That’s highly inadvisable, Mr. Smith.” The doctor blinks at me a few times, almost as though she can’t believe I’m declining the offer of further medical assi
stance. “That ankle is going to need surgery. You’re just going to keep injuring it—”
“Should I require surgery, I’ll…” I stop myself before I say I’d rather return to Montovia if I actually need surgery. “Just a walking boot, please.”
The physician frowns at me, staring at me for a long moment. “I can’t force you to do anything. But I highly recommend—”
“Nick.” Clara interrupts and squeezes my hand again. “Why are you being so stubborn?”
“I just want to get back to my ranch.” I look between the two women. “I promise you, should my leg get any worse, I’ll happily complete whatever testing this is. But for now, the pain is perfectly tolerable.”
“Hm.” The doctor shakes her head. “Well, let me know if you change your mind. Molly will get you a walking boot for now.” She motions at the nurse, who nods at the doctor before she leaves the room.
“Now,” the physician continues, turning her attention to Clara. “I understand you have an injury to your ribs?”
“I should remove myself so you can thoroughly examine her.” I slide off the table, immediately regretting my decision to put weight on my leg.
“Sit down, weirdo.” Clara pulls my arm, guiding me back onto the examination table. She turns back to the doctor. “It’s not that big of a deal, really.”
“If you’d be more comfortable, we can move you into another room.” The doctor glances between the two of us. “I’m going to need to take a look…”
Clara’s cheeks flush a deep red, and she releases my hand. “No… It’s okay. It really isn’t that big of a deal.” She glances over at me, but I avert my gaze.
She pulls the hem of her dress up, and from the corner of my eye, I can see everything. Her milky skin. The way her panties…
No. I am not going to allow myself to look at her. Or think about her. Or think about looking at her.
What is wrong with me, anyway? I don’t allow myself to get this way about women. Especially women under my employ. Not that I’ve had many women under my employ.