His slow nod belied the fast grin displaying his teeth. “I got it. We’ll start when he feels better, right?”
“Of course.” She smiled, turning to Slate for reassurance, her uncertainty blatant in the slump of her shoulders and plea in her eyes.
Slate stepped forward. He rested his hand on her arm, steadying her and giving silent approval. “Ronan, since everything is worked out. I think you should leave and let Amelia and her son get some rest. We’ll let you know how he’s doing in the morning.” He looked for Becky, she’d agree with him on that point. She was the doctor after all. But She-Doc was nowhere to be found.
His neighbor didn’t put up a fight or even seem angry. Instead, a building happiness wiped the usual snarl from his lips. “Can I look in on him?” Ronan reached for his brown leather hat, the wide brim curled just-so on the edges, framing a braided tan hatband. He fingered the edging as he waited for their answer.
Slate shrugged and nodded at Amelia. “It’s up to her.” He didn’t have a tender spot for Ronan, their history had too dark, too deep of a river between them. But Slate refused to get in the way of the James siblings reconciling, especially with the benefit it brought him.
Family needed family and he wasn’t egotistical enough to believe that he was enough family for Amelia. He wasn’t his brother or hers and he didn’t want to even pretend to try. However, he could pretend to be friendly at least with Ronan – the man did own the bank holding the trust to MacAllister land.
Amelia led her brother from the room. The solid thud of his boots on the wood flooring had the same pace and tempo as Robbie’s would. Slate clenched his fist. He hadn’t really thought of his little brother in so long. Hadn’t been wrapped up in the memories. The emergency with Robbie’s boy must have triggered some tingling awareness in his side, because that’s where the ache started.
He pinched the skin over his rib, releasing it and then rubbing it with his palm. The tingle increased to a burning heat, an aching throb. Slate winced. Whoa. He leaned against the wall and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, breathing in short gasps. The pain reminded him of the time he’d been kicked by a damn horse in the ribs and he’d been flattened to the ground, the air knocked out of him for a painful few minutes.
What the hell?
Chapter 27
Becky wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Throwing up sometimes took more effort than the dang procedures. The conflict in the library had shaken Becky harder than the repair surgery. She hustled back to the bedside of her young patient.
Dad would have to wait. Correction, Becky didn’t want to deal with her emotions surrounding her dad. She’d gladly wait.
When Amelia returned to the kitchen with Ronan, she leaned over her son like Becky wasn’t there. The gold in her bob matched a deep burnished gold glinting in the closely cut style of Ronan’s hair. Even the lines of their profiles had a similarity – his angles sharper and more distinct than her softer lines, but alike enough to define them as closely related.
Willing to absent herself from the room and the disguised tension between the siblings, Becky didn’t say a word as she backed out the door.
In the hallway, she made her way into the dark corridor and shakily claimed a spot in the bay window furnished with plush pillows and a folded fleece blanket tucked in the corner. The angles of the glass did little to hide the contrast between the white snow and the black of night as nickel-sized flakes rushed against the windows.
Resting her cheek on the cold panel between her and the outside, she closed her eyes and breathed. Breathed deep. Deep as she could, the fog with each exhale spread across the glossiness in front of her, blurring the storm outside.
Her mom was dead. While the fact released a bung-load of stress from Becky’s shoulders, it also piled on an even heavier realization. Her dad hadn’t worked in years. He’d been a personal nursemaid for Mom. Why was he there? At Slate’s? And why hadn’t he sought her out? She probably should go find him and discuss the situation, but at the moment, Becky couldn’t do more than enjoy the silence, the relief from Mac being safe from danger for the time being and a break from Slate’s intensity.
He did everything with the single-mindedness of a Civil War General. He’d shown up in Spokane to help her with her mom’s funeral… She didn’t care how he’d found out, he’d been there for her when even her dad hadn’t been available for her to lean on.
The abrupt ringing of the telephone – a landline set up further down the hall in a separate sitting area – startled Becky from her musings. She huddled into the corner, not hiding, but not wanting to be found either. Seclusion for just a few more minutes… before she had to face her dad and disappointment… before she had to face the happy MacAllister family.
Amelia appeared. Light from the kitchen lent a soft halo around her butter-colored hair. Not for the first time did jealousy swarm Becky with insecurity. She’d never been completely good enough for anybody and her mother’s voice chattered madness in her memory – always something about not smart enough, not skinny enough, not enough makeup, too much makeup, not whatever. Never enough money or time.
Watching Amelia, Becky gave herself one minute to pretend the overwhelming expectations of her life had been left in Spokane, ripped from her by the snow storm and cold miles. She breathed easy, slowly, softly. And couldn’t help but overhear the conversation as it carried over the hardwood floors to her.
“Robbie? Is that you?” Amelia’s tight voice clenched at the cozy warmth of the house.
A lengthy pause of silence stole the peace from Becky’s nook.
Amelia didn’t speak again. She dropped the phone on top of the table, picked it back up and slammed it twice more onto the hard surface. She growled.
Becky raised her eyebrows.
Spinning on her heel, Amelia raced toward the library.
Becky couldn’t help but stare at the unmoving phone. The elusive Robbie. What if she picked up? Could she ask him what was going on?
Before she could make a decision whether to stay in her cozy spot or investigate further, Slate exploded into the hallway, moving faster than Becky had seen the cowboy move before.
He stopped in front of the table, staring at the phone, squeezing his hands closed and then opening them. Closed. Open. Closed. Open. Visibly, he took a deep breath, the width of his shoulders tapering to his tight waist enhanced by the broadening of his chest with each inhale.
Becky decided to stay right where she was. The view… outside the window… was spectacular. She’d look out of the glass in a minute…
Slate exhaled on a whoosh, the sound carrying to Becky, making her shift with guilt. And yet – could not pull her from the nook right then. A peek into Slate’s personal life drew her like a hummingbird to sugar. She couldn’t look away.
He picked up the handset with slow deliberation. “Robbie.”
Tucking her chin, Becky leaned closer. Slate sounded breathless. He turned her way, more visible in the lighter end of the hall. A wince tightened the corners of his mouth. With his free hand, he held his side.
“What happened? Don’t lie to me, man. I feel like a herd of horses ran over me.” His long pause suggested he listened, then he grunted. “Robbie. I’m not stupid. I don’t care what you think is going on. Fine. Fine. Nope. I highly doubt that.” He inhaled sharply, clenching his fist and slamming it beside the base of the phone. “No. Don’t come back angry, Robbie. Dammit, brother. I can tell you’re mad. Well… I —” He pulled the earpiece from his head and glanced at it, then pushed it back to his ear. “Hello? Robbie?”
His rage filled the air with a ferocious rumble. “Dammit!” He hung up the phone, bracing himself with his hands on either side and hunched his shoulders. Sharp breaths due to anger or pain, Becky couldn’t tell, moved his back.
Seconds passed. A minute. Maybe two before Slate straightened from his position. His gaze fell on Becky.
Oh, crap. She froze. Not that she was moving a lot in the first
place, but she even held her breath. Maybe he wouldn’t see her. Maybe he wouldn’t know that she’d heard everything like the worst kind of eavesdropper – the kind that seems more like a stalker than a professional doctor.
Hell, it’d been like that from the beginning with him. Even preparing to take his vitals that first time in the office, she’d had inappropriate thoughts.
What did the man do to her that made her so… so… unprofessional?
“What’d you hear?” Slate’s hands didn’t relax. He’d obviously spotted her. Hopefully he couldn’t see the blush rushing up to her hair, maybe even down to the tips.
“I’m not sure.” She rose from her spot and approached him with caution. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on. Don’t really care to be honest. But I think something is wrong with you. Your breathing is way off.” And he’d paled considerably since she’d seen him in the library with Ronan – more so than any conversation could do.
He pushed at the air like waving her concern away, but grabbed for his side, grimacing. “I need to sit down. Can you have Amelia meet me in the kitchen… please?”
Nodding, hand outstretched as if to offer help to a man who refused to acknowledge any problems, Becky quirked her lips to the side. She desperately wanted to check him, make sure he was okay, but he didn’t hang around in the hall with her. Yet, why would he? He wasn’t a creepy hall-lurker like she appeared to be.
Sometimes she annoyed herself.
Sighing, Becky escaped the direction Amelia had run. As upset as Amelia had been, Becky couldn’t see her leaving Mac’s side by too far a distance.
The first place she looked led her to the library. Maybe, just maybe, Amelia had stayed put after telling Slate about the call. Becky gave herself a silent high-five when she spotted the blonde hunched over the arm of the couch. Sobbing.
Taking a deep breath, Becky moved toward the crying woman. The only person who had ever lost it on a continuous basis had been Marianne and those jags had usually been for personal gain and never for emotional release. In all honesty, Becky had no idea how to deal with the struggles presented before her. She didn’t even know the whole story.
“Ahem.” Becky rolled her eyes at making the situation more awkward – at least for herself. Amelia didn’t move or even pause in her teary outburst which wasn’t that loud, surprisingly. Cautiously, Becky placed a hand on Amelia’s shoulder.
Jolting upright, Amelia stared at Becky with her mouth shut tight. She wiped at the moisture covering the lower half of her face, sniffing. Red-rimmed, her eyes darted around the room as if she’d been caught doing something illegal or immoral.
A few seconds passed with both women stuck in their spots.
Another sniff, a swipe, and Amelia lifted her chin. “I’m sorry. I don’t…” She pushed her hair behind her ear. “I’m not a crier, you know?”
Becky half-shrugged. “Seems like you knew what you were doing.” She offered a grin and reached for Amelia’s hand, pulling her to her feet. “Something’s wrong with Slate. He’s in the kitchen and asked to see you. Do you need a few more minutes?”
Amelia tugged at the bottom of her shirt. “No. Let’s go.” She smeared on a brave smile and pretended her face wasn’t splotchy or her eyes swollen.
Jealousy still rose in Becky before she could stamp it down. Even after a solid cry Amelia’s beauty only seemed more enhanced. Becky would look like she’d been beat to the floor with a wet mop and left to die. A dirty mop.
In the kitchen, Becky and Amelia stopped beside Mac who slept peacefully.
The scraping of a chair across the floor pulled them to the breakfast nook area where Slate slumped in a cushioned seat. His head rested on his arms on the table, his shoulders rising and falling in a rapid rhythm.
“Oh my word, Slate. Let me…” Becky yanked at the stethoscope she’d hung around her neck, snapping it into place and reaching for his back. She nudged the collar of his shirt down and slid her hand with the cool round piece down over his skin. The loud thump-thump of his heart conveyed a rate of roughly eighty beats per minute, give or take without a way to calculate accurate time.
Skimming the disk over his back to the next side to focus more on his breathing, Becky acknowledged a surge of tingles in her stomach. She’d wanted to touch him so badly, feel him so close, his bare flesh beneath her fingers, but in that second when she had hard muscles under her palm, all she wanted was to make sure he was alright. She’d read of heart attacks and strokes in healthy men. He couldn’t be having a stroke, could he?
“Is he okay?” Amelia pressed her hand over her mouth, wrapping her other arm around her waist.
Becky let the stethoscope fall back to dangle from her neck. She tucked an arm across his collarbones just under his neck. “Help me lift him up.”
Amelia followed Becky’s lead and braced Slate upright.
Unbuttoning his flannel as fast as she could, Becky tried peeking at his face to check for pupil dilation if his eyes were open, but they only fluttered when he almost fell. By the time she finished, she and Amelia huffed and puffed from the effort of holding him.
Becky gasped. “He’s heavy. Let’s see if we can lay him down on the floor.” The man was all muscle and she’d never been more aware of the saying that muscle weighed more than fat. Judging by the difficulty she had in controlling him to the ground, Slate didn’t have a damn gram of fat on his body.
A solid thud jarred a wince from both women when his butt hit the ground. Becky slowed the fall of his head to the floor, only barely noticing the silken strands of his dark-as-night hair.
Murmurs and a slight moan from the table pulled Becky’s attention. “Mac is stirring, he’ll need you there when he wakes up.”
Okay, what could be wrong? The similarity between their first real meeting and that moment struck her, making her hands shake as she pulled his shirt from the waistband of his jeans. A white undershirt blocked further inspection.
Becky glanced over her shoulder. “Is Mac okay?”
Amelia called from across the tiled floor. “He seems fine. How’s Slate?” Nerves added a tremor to her voice.
Not answering saved Becky from locking in one way or another. She honestly didn’t know what the heck was going on. She lifted his white shirt, the cotton soft and worn to her touch. She pulled it up, revealing his clear skin.
With how high his pain was, she’d expected to see blue and purple splotches covering his torso where the muscles lined his ribs. Or angry red marks along his well-sculpted pectorals to the over-defined shadows of his abs. “I don’t… know. What hurts, Slate? What’s going on?”
He groaned, rolling his head from side to side. Lifting a hand, he tried pushing Becky from him, but she pinned the offending limb beneath her knee. “Shhh. It’s okay. Just a minute, I’m just checking to see if you have any injuries.” She pressed carefully around the uncolored flesh. “Amelia, what’s going on? Does Slate have allergies or anything I don’t know about?”
“Not that I know of.” Amelia stepped to Becky’s side, glancing back to Mac before taking a look at Slate. “What’s wrong with him? He looks fine.”
Something was obviously off. She rocked back on her heels, in a deep squat, and tapped her finger on the thick leather of his belt. “Hmmm.” Becky fell to her knees and leaned as close as she could without seeming perverted.
Every inch of his exposed body met with her inspection. At different angles, on all fours, she inspected his chest from mere centimeters away. The heat from his skin clashed with hers.
“Um, Dr. O’Donald? I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you doing?” Amelia’s small voice interrupted the process of elimination running through Becky’s.
She sat up and chewed on her bottom lip, hands resting on her lower thighs. “I’m not sure. Somehow he’s in such extreme pain he’s virtually passed out and yet there isn’t one abrasion or contusion on him. Like it’s all in his head.” She pulled her lower lip between her forefinger and thumb, pinching
them to stop from chewing the skin off. Little evidence existed to explain what pained him, but she could at least try to treat him.
Becky slapped her legs and pushed up from the ground. “I’ll get some ice. Why don’t you see if there’s a thin towel around here and drape it over his ribs?”
Ice cubes clunked into the bowl Becky snatched from the counter when she pushed the brim to the button. Mac didn’t stir.
Rather than take the time to search out a plastic bag to dump the ice into, Becky returned to Slate as Amelia finished placing the towel. Becky used an extra cloth Amelia had grabbed and wrapped the ice like a package. Resting on the well-positioned cloth, the ice would melt but the cooling effects would hopefully help.
Becky raised her head to find Amelia watching her with a small smile on her lips. Becky rolled her shoulders and pressed her lips together. Discomfort didn’t adequately describe the moment.
“You do well under stress, don’t you?” Amelia laughed. “Every time I see you, you’re surrounded in chaos, but nothing seems to ever faze you.” She moved to stroke Mac’s hair.
“Um, I need to be able to. Keeping calm helps resolve a lot of problems.” Becky plopped onto her butt beside Slate. Nothing more she could do while waiting for him to revive.
Amelia lowered her voice, staring at Mac and all but ignoring Becky. “I’m sorry about your mom.”
Clearing her throat, Becky nodded. “Thanks.” She reached into her pocket and turned on her phone, seeking distraction. A double beep saved her from having to say anything more. Two voicemails? In the blizzard? Hopefully, there weren’t any emergencies in town. She’d have a helluva time getting there – even in her beast of a truck.
Weird, she’d been under the impression reception was a no-go in the house. Sitting at Slate’s side, she punched the button to call her mail and lifted the phone to her ear.
She hadn’t had a chance or even cared enough about any calls when she’d been in Spokane. She’d shut the phone off, forgetting about it until Amelia had started in on her mother.
Spurs and Lace (Lonely Lace Series Book 1) Page 17