by Roxie Noir
I push through the double doors to his wing, expecting the nurses to be crowded around their station, but there’s only one woman there, and she looks up at me through half-moon reading glasses. I smile at her anyway and put the box on the counter, opening it.
“Who are you here to see?” she asks, her expression not changing.
“Hunter Casden,” I say. “And I brought donuts for all the nurses, as a thank you for working so hard...”
It seems like there should be more to say, but I can’t think of it.
She looks at me. She looks at the box.
“Where are they from?” she asks.
Come the fuck on, they’re donuts, I think.
“Aunt Mae’s,” I say, trying to keep up the forced cheer. “I’d never bring you donuts from anywhere else.”
She considers this for a moment, then stands, slowly, her hands on the desk, and peers into the open box. I swear she’s examining the donuts like she’s a jeweler and they’re cut diamonds.
“Ooh, maple nut,” she says at last. “My favorite. No one ever brings these.”
The nurse grabs one and finally cracks a smile.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” she says. “Hunter’s in his room.”
Practically on cue, I hear a burst of female laughter come from his door. The nurse and I share a look.
“I hope you’re his sister, because otherwise you’re not gonna be too popular around here,” she says. “I’ve never seen a group of women so interested in checking a patient’s vitals.”
I look down at the box.
“Well, that’s why I brought these,” I say.
“Good thinking,” she says, and takes a bite of hers.
I swallow, smile, and walk into Hunter’s room with the box of donuts.
“Hi,” I say.
Three women in scrubs and Hunter all turn toward me. They’re standing and he’s sitting up on the bed. When he sees me, he smiles, and the nurses all pause for a moment.
I hold up the box, almost like a shield.
“Donuts?” I ask.
The nurses swarm me, ooh-ing, and I lift the lid off the box. Behind them, Hunter swings his legs off the bed and stands, a little more slowly than normal.
“Guys, this is Clementine,” he says, walking toward me a little gingerly.
All three nurses stop and look at me, donuts in hand. They’re clearly not thrilled, but the one on the right, wearing floral scrubs, manages to smile first.
“We’ve been hearing all about you,” she says.
“We heard Monica kicked you out last night,” says the one wearing green scrubs.
The final one, wearing pink scrubs, laughs. She looks like she’s in her forties, smile lines around her eyes.
“Damn, I was hoping you were his sister,” she says.
Hunter skirts around them, wearing an under shirt and pajama pants, and puts a hand on my hip. Then he leans down and kisses me.
It’s a slightly longer kiss than it needs to be.
“Donut?” I ask.
He takes one and I set the box down on the bed, grabbing the last old-fashioned for myself. Hunter puts his arm around me as we lean against the sink.
“How’s he doing?” I ask the nurses.
“I’m right here,” Hunter says.
“Yeah, but you’ll just tell me you’re fine,” I tease. “I want the truth.”
“That is the truth,” he says, taking a bite of donut. “C’mon, Clem, I’m practically good as new.”
“His lungs are damaged, and it’s hard to tell how much,” says Pink Scrubs.
“I inhaled some smoke,” Hunter admits, taking another bite.
“He inhaled some very hot smoke,” Pink Scrubs says.
“They’re doing a CT scan on me today because I haven’t impressed the doctor,” he says. “They might want to keep me another night.”
Shit. I was secretly hoping I’d get to... well, not take him home to Lodgepole, but at least take him out of here.
“We just can’t get enough of him,” says Floral Scrubs.
I laugh, even though it’s not that funny.
A few minutes later, Pink Scrubs more or less herds the other two nurses out of Hunter’s room, waving to him.
The second they’re gone, he moves around in front of me, his hands on my hips.
“I thought they were never gonna leave,” he murmurs.
“Maybe I should call in sick so I can stay here and make sure none of the nurses are putting the moves on you,” I tease.
“They are definitely putting the moves on me,” he says. “It’s only eight in the morning and I’m half-expecting one of them to come in here salaciously sucking on a popsicle.”
I laugh, and I let my hands alight on his shoulders, because I’m not quite sure where he’s burned. He still smells like smoke and fire, the scent probably imprinted on his skin, and he leans down and kisses me slowly, his hips pressing mine into the sink behind me.
Desire unfurls through me like a ribbon uncoiling, and before I know it I’ve got both hands in his hair, pressing his face to mine. Hunter lifts me up onto the edge of the sink and I arch my back as he presses between my legs.
He pulls back for a moment, and I realize he’s breathing hard, harder than normal.
“You okay?” I whisper.
Hunter puts one hand on my jaw and runs his thumb along the edge of my bottom lip, smiling at me like we’ve got a secret.
“Yeah,” he says.
I know for a fact that I can’t have him right now, in his hospital room, while the staff is doing morning rounds, but holy shit do I want him.
I’m desperately relieved that he’s fine, but no matter how much we kiss or hold hands I can feel the wild, primal urge to really get close to him, to get him inside me, like that’s what will prove once and for all that he’s really here and really okay.
He’s still running his thumb along my lip, and without thinking I suck it into my mouth to the first knuckle and run my tongue along the salty pad, looking up into his deep blue eyes.
Hunter growls, his other hand grabbing my ass even harder, and he presses his hips against me, his cock a hard steel rod.
“You’re beautiful and I want to fuck you right here on this sink,” he whispers.
There’s a knock on the door, and before either of us can say anything, a woman breezes into the room, looking down at a clipboard.
“Good morning, Mr. Casden,” she says.
I spit out his thumb as she looks up at us, but there’s no way I can pretend we were doing anything but making out on the counter. For a moment, the three of us just stare at each other.
“I’ll give you a moment,” she says, her tone surprisingly professional.
“Thanks,” Hunter and I chorus.
She walks back out, and we just start laughing.
“Maybe that’ll keep the nurses off me,” Hunter says.
“That was my plan all along,” I tease.
I kiss him again quickly, then hop off the counter, adjusting Jane’s jeans. Hunter reaches into his pajama pants and rearranges his dick, making a face.
“I’ll see you tonight, Casanova,” I say, and give him one more kiss.
“I can’t help it if everybody wants me,” he says.
Then he smacks my ass as I leave.
The doctor is standing right outside the door. I nod at her quickly, pretty sure she’s laughing.
“Thanks!” I say.
“Not a problem,” she says. She’s young, maybe in her thirties, and looks Southeast Asian. “Don’t worry, it happens more than you’d think.”
“Sorry,” I say.
She laughs again, and I head to the elevators, then out of the hospital.
38
Hunter
I stare up at the ceiling as the cot starts to move, slowly, into the giant white tube. Some thoughtful person taped photos up there: autumn leaves, Yosemite Valley, a river, some penguins.
They tried, I think, and I close my eyes. I’m not reall
y claustrophobic, but does anyone enjoy being trapped in a narrow tube?
I’m not supposed to move during the CT scan, but the second I’m in there, I swear my entire body starts itching. My foot keeps twitching for no reason. I’ve never been able to hold still, so why start now?
Think about something else, I tell myself.
I think about getting a job in Lodgepole. I think about the rest of the crew, still fighting the Saturn fire, though it’s off in the middle of nowhere again.
I think about Clementine that morning. Sitting on the sink, her legs around me. The look in her eyes as she sucked on my thumb that sent a bolt of pure need through me, like I’m not really okay until I have her again.
My mind wanders, and now I’m just fantasizing, nothing much else to do in this big tube. Yanking off her jeans. Leaning her back against the mirror, her knees on my shoulders, her thighs against my face.
The sound she makes when I lick her, when I slide my tongue between her lips and—
“Excuse me, Mr. Casden?” a voice says. “Could you please not... move?”
I come back down to earth, and instantly realize that my dick is sticking straight up like the goddamn Washington Monument.
“Sorry,” I say, clearing my throat. “I... fell asleep.”
“No problem,” the voice says.
I take a deep breath and think about what the rest of the Canyon Country Hotshots are doing right now. I think about it very, very hard.
That afternoon, they finally let me go visit Porter. I walk there on my own, though the nurses make me take a tank of oxygen and a mask, just in case I get winded walking from one side to the hospital to the other.
I actually do, just a little. I don’t use the tank though.
Porter’s got even more flowers than me. They’re stacked on the sink, on the bedside table, and when I peek into the bathroom, there are a couple bouquets in the shower.
His leg is in traction, and he’s got a cast plus some kind of metal framework on the thing.
“Casden,” he says as I walk in, rolling my oxygen tank behind me.
“How’s it going?” I ask, sitting in the armchair next to the bed.
“Better than it was,” he says. His words are slow and a little blurry, and he’s blinking hard at me, like he’s trying to clear a film from his eyes. “But hell, crawling through a pit of live snakes is better than yesterday was.”
“I’d take it,” I say.
He blinks again, then rubs his eyes with one hand.
“They put me on morphine and I’m high as a fucking kite,” he says. “God, why do people like this?”
I couldn’t be less surprised that Porter doesn’t like being high. The man might have some control issues.
“I couldn’t tell you,” I say.
He looks at his hands, then shakes his head. He clears his throat.
“Thanks for not leaving me behind,” he says, still looking at his hands, clenching them slowly, then unclenching. He shakes his head again and looks at me.
“You could have gone on and no one would have blamed you,” he says.
I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, and look at the tile floor.
“I wasn’t the best Marine and you can probably guess why,” I start.
“Cocky, impatient, problems with authority?” he says.
I didn’t mean for him to actually guess, but I go on.
“But I don’t leave men behind to burn to death,” I finish.
“I had my knife,” Porter says. “I wasn’t gonna burn to death.”
It’s not a nice thought, but it’s comforting in a strange way.
“What I’m trying to say, here, is that I know we don’t get along too well sometimes, but you’re one of the best men I’ve got and I’m going to spend the rest of my life glad you were on that lookout with me,” he says.
I open my mouth to say that none of us would have left him, but he holds up a hand.
“Don’t get talkative about it,” he orders. “Am I gonna see you next year?”
I stand up, sensing that this is over.
“Hell yes,” I say.
“Good,” he says, and I leave.
39
Clementine
I’m on livestock duty at the Ponderosa Ranch. It’s mostly horses with a couple of goats and llamas thrown in. Or maybe they’re alpacas. I can never tell.
Anyway, I spend half the day telling people where their animals are. Then I spend the other half looking at animals and trying to figure out where their owners are.
The animals and the people are about equally helpful, to be honest.
When it’s over, it’s already evening. I wolf down a sandwich that the Red Cross gives me and head to Jane’s for a quick shower, because I smell like animals and B.O., and it’s gross.
Jane’s already there when I unlock her door with my key, standing at the counter and eating a bowl of cereal. She gives me a long look up and down, spoon in mouth, and looks irritated.
“You know you have an entire stash of your own clothes here, right?” she says.
“Sorry,” I say, looking down at myself. Then I look back up. “Wait, I do?”
“Yeah, you leave something here practically every time you visit, dumbass,” she says, and walks out of the kitchen and into her bedroom.
Jane rummages through a couple of drawers before finally pulling out a couple of t-shirts, an old pair of corduroys I’d completely forgotten I had, a knee-length jersey skirt, and several pairs of socks.
“Pants-stealing jerk,” she says, and walks back into the living room.
“Thanks!” I call after her. “Can I use your shower?”
“Knock yourself out,” she calls.
I shower fast, and I’m pulling on the pants I found, wishing that my stash included underwear, when I have a thought.
It’s Hunter, pressing me against the sink this morning, me sucking on his thumb.
I pause for a second, heart pounding, heat gathering below.
Then I take the pants off, grab the skirt, and pull it on, sans underwear.
I hesitate again.
Really? I think.
An old memory: Hunter and I, eighteen, at the county fair. I’m saying something but he’s just staring at my chest, not hearing a word I say.
I skip a bra and pull on a t-shirt. My heart’s going a mile a minute.
This is trashy as hell, I think. Who the fuck waltzes into the hospital without panties so they can get laid easier?
Besides the hooker in that one episode of the Sopranos. It’s you and her, Clementine.
I stuff the rest of my clothes into a bag, then grab my jacket and put it on, hiding my nipples at least. I’m not going in there completely slutty.
“I’m gonna go visit Hunter again before I head home,” I say, walking back into the kitchen.
“I can’t believe you’re dating Hunter Casden again,” Jane says. “You guys were so gross. Did Mom tell you she had to throw out that couch because it was practically—”
“Yeah, she told me,” I say.
“You know you have to tell me how the hell you got back together someday, right?” she says. “Like, I get that now isn’t the best time, but damn, Minty.”
I shrug my bag over my shoulder and think.
“He was staying next door with the hotshot crew, we made out, then we had a bunch of sex in a lookout cabin, and voila!” I say, waving my hands in the air.
“Definitely not good enough,” she says.
“Bye,” I say, laughing.
I walk through the hospital, and somehow, no one looks at me. No one stares, open-mouthed, as I walk by, even though I feel like there’s a big neon sign over my head that says SKANK, and the knowledge of what I’m doing has me wildly, insanely, incredibly turned on.
I take the elevator up. I head for the nurses’ station and wave at them. They wave back. I keep pretending that I have underpants on and walk into Hunter’s room, shutting the door behind myself. The lights
are half-off, and he’s propped up in the bed, watching TV, looking bored, and he grins when he sees me.
“I get out tomorrow,” he says.
I put my purse on a chair, my heart thumping, and lean over the bed to give him a kiss.
“What then?” I ask.
“I’m gonna stay with my parents for a few days, but my fire season’s over for this year,” he says. “I can just start looking in Lodgepole, because for some reason they don’t want guys with burns and fucked up lungs tagging along.”
He grabs my jacket and tugs me closer. He’s got the bed tilted a little higher than forty-five degrees, so he’s basically upright.
“And I can take up residence in your bed and start convincing you this is a good idea,” he teases.
I kiss him again, then sit on the bed, one hand on his chest.
“I don’t need convincing,” I say quietly. “I think it might work this time.”
“I want it to work,” he says, and puts his hand top of mine.
“I want it to work too,” I say, and squeeze our fingers together.
“I think I’d have fallen for you even if I just met you last week,” he says, his voice still quiet and serious.
Then he grins.
“I mean, your ass looked great in that skirt at the spaghetti dinner,” he says. “I got at least thirty percent hard watching you walk up to that microphone.”
“Only thirty?” I ask.
“It was a fast walk,” he says. “And your ass looks good in this skirt, too.”
“Should I walk around and see what percentage you come up with?” I ask.
Hunter grins and puts his hands behind his head, so I stand up and shrug off my jacket. My nipples point outward like arrows, and Hunter laughs, pushing the sheets off himself and sitting up.
“Clem, I swear to God—”
I put one hand on his chest and push him slightly backward, even as he cups one breast in his hand, his palm rough on my nipple through my shirt.
“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?” I ask, grinning.
“I can rest later,” he says.
I push harder, and he lets me move him backward.
“You’re an invalid, you know,” I say. “You’ve got an oxygen tank and everything. I wouldn’t want you to have an episode.”