Becky pushed a wheelchair through the doorway to the hall leading to the treatment rooms. Jiggling the handle, she spoke without looking up. “I couldn’t find the good one. I think Junior took it again for his barn games. This one will do for now, at le—” She stopped, looking into Slate’s eyes.
“Hey, She-Doc.” His lopsided smile could have been from the loss of blood, from the dragons flapping in his stomach – he was too masculine for butterflies – or maybe from the humbling reality that he hadn’t bothered to find out if she was okay since losing her mother or where she and her dad were staying.
She ignored him, turning to Shelley instead. “Trauma unit two should do for MacAllister. I’ll be back there in a little bit. I’ll be right there to check over the wound and remove the material. I’ll get the suture supplies to save time.”
Becky didn’t wait on an answer. She disappeared into an office, leaving Shelley alone with Slate. A challenge. He could do a challenge.
First, he needed to sit down.
Shelley patted the vinyl back of the wheelchair. “Go ahead and take a seat. We’ll take care of you.”
He sat, without fighting to hold onto a macho image. Help was more than welcome… it was needed. Shelley rubbed his uninjured shoulder. “You look terrible. What happened?”
“A. Wolf. Attacked.” He didn’t want to go into the details, didn’t have the energy to waste when all he wanted to do was apologize to Becky.
Shelley set the brake beside the trauma bed. “Oh my. I’ll get Dr. O’Donald. Just a moment.” And she left the area, Slate didn’t notice which direction.
The minutes passed in heart beats, swelling in his hand, warm, hot, warm, hot, warm…
Chapter 31
Shelley leaned against the doorjamb to Becky’s office. Concern deepened the crow’s feet at the corners of her concerned eyes. Shelley had the best bedside manner Becky had ever seen. The people of Colby were lucky to have her in their clinic. “Dr. O’Donald? Slate MacAllister claims he was attacked by a wolf. I can’t see much under his hand, but there looks to be a lot of blood. What do you want me to do?”
“A wolf attack? Oh my word, Shelley. I’ll be right there. Can you grab the coagulant, just in case he doesn’t stop bleeding? And maybe the electric cauterize machine, too, please?” Becky forgot her anger. Grabbing supplies stacked on the shelves outside the nursing station, she jogged the short distance to the unit Shelley had parked him in. “Slate?”
His head lolled back and he smiled with a sleepy slow curve to his lips. “Hey, She-Doc.”
“You already said that to me. What does that mean?” Becky assessed his condition while trying to keep him awake. Maybe She-Doc was another horse name.
“It means. Like a girl doctor?” His blue eyes searched her face, dark lashes stark against the increasing pallor of his skin. Tears filled his eyes. “He didn’t make it. There was nothing we could do. He didn’t stand a chance, even with all the stitches.”
Her chest tightened and she choked on the air trying to go in and out of her body. “Didn’t make it? Who? Mac? Oh, shit, is Mac… dead? I can’t…” She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. How was that possible? How could he be dead? She’d done everything possible. She hung her head, covering her eyes and forehead with her hand.
“What? Mac? No. He’s fine. Pig, Jr. died in the wolf attack today. We didn’t have a chance in saving him. He died before Ronan or I even knew he was in trouble.”
Relief coursed through her like a river flooding its banks. She reined in her racing pulse. “Oh, good. I mean, not good for the horse, but I thought you meant Mac, and I… well, I’m not prepared for that kind of loss.” She had to stop thinking, stop being so involved, had to depersonalize the situation. He had a wound that she would tend as his doctor. He’d made it clear he wanted nothing else. Didn’t trust her.
Becky couldn’t see much of the bite with his hand and dark shirt covering it. “I’m going to cut your shirt from your shoulder. I’m sorry for damaging your clothes.”
His soft chuckle caught her off guard. “Always trying to get me out of my clothes.”
Becky bristled, but reached for her scissors and began cutting, careful not to nic skin or jar the wound. She half-shrugged. “Not anymore. You made it clear that’s not an option. I apologize for putting you in that position. I’m not usually so unprofessional.” She didn’t meet his eyes, just continued cutting around his hand, sliding the material away from his flesh, battling back the desire being near him sparked. Well, her body might try ignoring her, but she’d never let him know.
He dropped his hand, dragging the remaining flannel and undershirt section with it.
Becky gasped. He hadn’t only been holding cotton and blood. He’d secured a large chunk of skin and flesh in place with his applied pressure. Jagged lines framed a dark purple-maroon mass of torn muscle with yellow tendon beneath and, oh man, was that the grayish tinge of his shoulder socket? “Slate, the damn animal tore clear down to the bone.” She fumbled at the tray for a stack of gauze, spraying the exposed wound with an aerosol antiseptic laced with analgesic.
Smoothing the gauze in place, she racked her brain for an acceptable form of treatment. It hadn’t clotted acceptably yet which wasn’t surprising considering the depth and size of the bite. She ached for him. “I can’t believe this happened, Shelley had to run to the supply closet in the back to find our QuickClot. Can you move your fingers?” He stared at her but complied with wiggling his fingers as they rested on his leg.
The MacAllister family alone would fund much of her clinic’s expenses. She’d already seen them more in the last couple weeks than she’d seen the rest of the county combined.
“I’m going to give you a shot of antibiotics and then I need to start stitching this up. Okay?” Becky busied herself at the tray, filling two syringes with anesthetic to numb the area and a third for antibiotics like she’d promised.
His free hand came up and wrapped her wrist in careful, tender, blood-covered fingers.
She froze, lifting her gaze to his face.
He watched her, his eyes focused on her mouth.
Becky bit her bottom lip, self-conscious but unable to stop the insecurities from pounding her from all sides. “You need to let me work.”
“No. I need you to listen to me.” Husky and warm, his voice curled around her like a hug, thawing her cold irritation with him. He waited as she processed his demand. “I’m an idiot. You do something to me that I’m not comfortable with. No, just hear me out.”
“You’re not in love with me, Slate.” She shook her head, incredulous at the thought, but hopeful at the same time.
He pulled his head back, leaving his hand around her wrist. “Who said anything about love?”
“Uh… crap. Nobody? I don’t know.” She sighed. Of course not. Jumping to conclusions. Like a romance novel. Thank goodness she hadn’t been addicted to porn videos, she’d think the bank teller, Chet, was going to try having his way with her. “I’m sorry. There I go again.”
Frustration strengthened his voice. “Damn it, enough. Quit saying you’re sorry and let me get through this.” He straightened in the chair, gritting his teeth with each subtle adjustment. She didn’t answer, shocked by his tone. “I’m the one that’s sorry. I jumped to so many conclusions with you, we didn’t stand a chance.”
Was that it? She paused, thinking maybe there was more and he was just taking a breather. After a solid fifteen seconds of silence, she bit out. “That’s a piss-poor apology. Do people actually let you get away with that crap?” Becky returned to her task.
He didn’t ask if she wanted a chance with him, just that he’d sabotaged them from the start. Encouraging. Tilting up the vial, she pushed the needle through the silicone top and introduced air before sucking out the liquid.
He stared at her, his mouth open partway. After a second or two of shock, he spoke with deliberate calm. “I can’t believe you just insulted my apology.”
“We
ll, something needed to happen. I felt like you were piling on more that you’d feel bad about later.” She angled her jaw. Sticking him with the needle might feel better than she thought. “Plus, you… you kissed me. Who does that if they aren’t interested?”
His thumb on her wrist started to circle, rubbing the sensitive skin at the crease. She didn’t pull away like her mind screamed for her to do. She couldn’t.
Becky angled her wrist but his hold didn’t release – like velvet covered steel. She pressed her lips together and gave him her best you’re-pissing-me-off-and-that’s-not-smart-because-I-know-how-to-use-a-scalpel look. He didn’t budge. She sighed. “Okay, if you weren’t going to tell me you loved me, then what? You’re not comfortable with me, right? Isn’t that what you’re saying?”
“No. I mean, yes. Shit, woman, what I said was I’m not comfortable with how you make me feel.” He closed his eyes, but didn’t let her go.
“And how is that?” Torn between the desire to let him hold her arm forever and the need to help him, Becky tried speeding things along.
He opened his eyes, fixating on her with an intensity that darkened the blue of his eyes to a near-black. “You make me feel like my mares and stallions act. Like love could be just around the corner.”
Horses again. “Don’t mares and stallions screw like crazy?” Oh boy. At that point, she did pull from his grasp, leaning over his shoulder to withdraw the gauze from the hole. She coughed to cover her embarrassment.
She ignored his subtle scent she’d grown used to in the short time she’d been exposed to it. She tried acting like he hadn’t just said he might be able to fall for her. “This might burn a little, just breathe through it.” She sprayed the anesthetic in the syringe over the bared tissues.
He hissed. “You need to work on your warning system.”
Yeah, so do you, Slate.
“I’m not done. Hold on, in fact, squeeze that towel until I’m done.” She didn’t wait for him to be ready. The distraction of reaching for the rag and following her orders would take attention off the shots. She inserted the numbing one deep into the fibers around the bloody site. The antibiotic plunged nicely into the thicker tissue of his posterior biceps. She leaned back when she’d removed the syringe needles. “Let’s give the numbing agent a few more minutes to set in.” Becky leaned back, allowing herself a few moments to study him – the chiseled angle of his jaw, the sharp square of his chin, the shadow of his stubble as it darkened the dips and valleys of his face. Lips she’d tried getting into bed or hay if one was being technical.
He hadn’t flinched under all her administering, which didn’t fool Becky, but she let it slide.
“And yes, horses screw when they want to, a lot if they want. Which we could too, but I’m likely to get attached. I don’t do one-night stands.” Slate shared his half-smile again. His comment and the heat in his eyes made her breathing hitch. He continued. “Is there any way you’d consider starting over? At least pretending to start over? Or something? We could go on a proper date. I could try to impress you with my veterinarian skills?”
“Do you think you could avoid comparing me to a horse? Or any other farm animal?” Becky didn’t even know where it would go, the possibilities were endless. Hopefully bed.
He completed his smile. “No more animals.”
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t believe in starting over.” She watched his smile fall and rushed on. “What I mean is, I think we can learn from our mistakes. Why do a do-over when you learn along the way?”
“So what you’re saying is…” Slate tilted his head, the angle only accentuating the lean muscles in his neck down to his good shoulder – which was naked.
She almost giggled at the naked thought. “I’m saying once we get this wound figured out and you get back on your feet, you can pick me up on Friday. I want a proper date, with flowers.” She thought for a second, what else constituted a proper date? “And chocolates. I want those, too.”
“Chocolates? Flowers?” He applied pressure to her wrist, bringing her to a sitting position with her knees touching his. Drawing her across his lap to rest on his torso, Slate whispered, “I can do that. If you promise to let me get to second base.”
Hypnotized by the suggestion with his lips scant millimeters from hers, Becky didn’t dare move. She swallowed, putting up only a token fight. “Your shoulder. We shouldn’t…”
“Screw my shoulder. I’ll heal. I need to know that you forgive me. I need you to forgive me.” He waited, his breathing shallow and forced, uncertainty deep in the black of his eyes.
And had she really been that mad? Or maybe just mostly hurt. She didn’t love him either. Yet. But maybe she could. He did something to her insides that couldn’t be explained by medicine or other sciences. And oh did he infuriate her.
But on the other hand, he did promise to feel her up, and what kind of a girl would she be, if she turned down a good… Slate leaned his head closer, his lips moving toward hers. Slow, millimeter by aching millimeter.
Finally, she couldn’t take it any longer and she pressed toward him, closing her lips over his, connecting.
Slate chuckled, but quickly moaned into the kiss, matching her heat for heat. Their tongues melded together and the instant connection fused them together with a strength Becky hadn’t expected. She’d been waiting long enough for that kiss, to keep going. She pulled back, but missed his lips too much to stay away, and she slammed back into him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders, careful not to bump his damaged area.
His good hand came up to rest at her waist, his fingers encompassing her ribcage under her bra line. His thumb grazed her flesh, back and forth, back and forth. Tingles zinged all over and she melted a bit to the floor. Nipping her bottom lip, he angled his head to kiss deeper.
“Ahem. Dr. O’Donald, I have your QuickClot.” Shelley smothered the laughter in her voice.
Becky jerked back, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. “Sorry, right. Thanks, Shelley.”
“Mm-hmmm. No wonder he came straight here instead of going to Lacey Caverns.” Grinning, Shelley put the clotting agent down and patted Becky’s shoulder. “If you need any…” She shot a look at Slate and raised an eyebrow. “Help, just holler, dear.” And she stepped out of the room, her laughter leaving a trail behind her.
The mood broken, Becky drew on a new set of gloves. “Okay, enough. I need to finish this. Plus, I don’t want you to get the wrong kind of idea about me. I’m not that kind of girl, you know?” Plus, Shelley was a friendly woman who lived in a small town. By dinner Becky would find out about kissing Slate from her dad.
“I know what kind of girl you are, She-Doc. I’d like to see if I can help you bring her out more.” He winked and watched her move toward his shoulder again.
Blushing, she worked in comfortable silence for a while, at least through six stitches or so before asking. “So what had you come in here besides this? We haven’t spoken in a few weeks.”
The distraction did its job. Slate floundered for the chance to explain as well as get away from the focus of the stitches. “Ronan claimed you got the blood sample for testing.”
Incredulous, Becky jabbed the needle and suture a little too sharply into Slate’s slowly numbing skin. He jumped and she slowed down. “Oh, sorry. I needed blood for my tests. I didn’t authorize anything else to be done.” She tossed a mangled curved needle into the metal pan with a clang.
“I know.” He watched the needle move closer, then stop.
Becky couldn’t believe it. “You know?” She hadn’t given him oral meds, so there wasn’t any likelihood he was doped up.
“Yes, I know. You’re a great doctor and I’m sorry to have ever doubted you. I’m just worried about the blood tests.” He watched her hand warily.
“But from what Ronan said, it sounds like the blood is just to document that Mac is a James. He has some kind of penmanship samples being studied for print analysis. If they don’t match up, then Robbie and Amelia
aren’t technically married which makes Mac illegitimate. The crazy thing is the dates on the license claim it happened at a time when I guess Ronan drove him out of the city.” She shrugged, waving her needle and suture through the air. “I don’t know. But what I would like to know is what the hell happened to make you have so much pain but not show any signs of damage.” She tilted her head as she sewed in another strand of Vicryl nylon.
“It’s kind of weird, but I believe it’s called twin telepathy – it’s nothing crazy or supernatural. The studies suggest that there are varying depths of connectivity between twins. We’re identical which increases our likelihood to connect telepathically.” Slate contemplated what she’d said while she finished up the stitches.
“I’ve always wondered about that. It’s a very unique phenomenon that hasn’t been resolved from the theoretical stage just yet. I’d love to read up on it and then discuss it more with you, if that’s okay?” The discussion added to the mood of foreplay for Becky and she ached to put the suturing material down and curl up on his lap and go for second base right there.
The deep heat in his eyes and the soft puckering of his lips suggested he noticed the mood too.
Determined to finish his care, Becky tied off the final sutures. “Thirty-nine and forty. Wow, that wolf really did want to eat you, didn’t he?” She sat back, rolling her shoulders and neck. “Amazingly he didn’t hit any major arteries or venous structures. I even stopped the bleeding without needing the coagulant. Do you want me to order some rabies tests?” She worried about the diseases she couldn’t see, couldn’t diagnose. Rabies were fatal.
“No, they weren’t rabid. They smelled vulnerability and blood. Natural animal instinct.” He caressed the area around her handiwork.
She acquiesced to his veterinarian knowledge. If he didn’t want the tests, she wouldn’t make him take them.
Without looking her way, he murmured with his nerve-caressing-skin-tingly voice. “Thank you. I meant it when I said I’d like to explore this further.” He lowered his voice further and focused his eyes her way. “I’d like to kiss you again.” Like he’d read her mind.
Spurs and Lace (Lonely Lace Series Book 1) Page 21