by V.K. Sykes
* * *
Holly raced up Broad Street, pushing her luck with more than one traffic light. Maddie had heard from the clubhouse that Nate had been taken to St. Luke’s for x-rays. She’d told Holly to go without her, since she wanted to wait for Jake.
At the ER, Holly bent the truth and presented herself as Nate’s personal physician. She knew it was the only way they were going to let a non-family member in to see him. Besides, it wasn’t a huge lie. After all, she’d be taking care of Nate now, more involved in his recovery than his actual doctor. Fortunately, she must have looked imperious enough that the clerk believed her.
Holly took directions from a nurse and headed through the trauma center. A middle-aged man in a golf shirt, medical bag in hand, had just emerged from the closed curtains surrounding the bed number she’d been given. She gave him a warm smile.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Holly Bell, Nate Carter’s friend. You must be the team physician?”
He gave her an appraising look, then stuck out his right hand. “Joe Morehouse. Nice to meet you.”
“Did you take x-rays yet? Schedule an MRI?”
“The films showed nothing broken. I’m pretty sure it’s a deep bone bruise. I don’t see any reason for an MRI yet. Maybe in a couple of days if the pain is worse even after the anti-inflammatories kick in.”
Holly would have sent Nate straight to the imaging department, but she knew it was useless to argue with the team doctor. “I couldn’t believe how hard that ball was hit. I’m worried about a glenoid labrum tear. Or worse.”
“It’s obviously possible, but I doubt it. I’ve seen hundreds of these injuries,” Morehouse said, a little crustily. Holly held back a resigned sigh at her dubious talent for pissing off older male doctors.
“If his shoulder doesn’t start to improve in a few days, we’ll do an MRI and refer him to a surgeon. If necessary,” Morehouse added in an end-of-the-discussion voice.
Semi-satisfied, Holly shook his hand again and headed toward Nate’s bed. Parting the closed curtains, she slipped inside. Nate had dozed off. She leaned over the side of the bed and brushed a feathery kiss on his pale, damp forehead. As his eyes cracked open, he broke into a sleepy grin. Her knees went weak with relief that he seemed at least marginally okay.
“Hey, baby,” he murmured.
“Great job stopping that line drive with your shoulder, tiger.” She kissed his forehead again, and then his ear and his stubbled cheek. “At least you didn’t do it with your forehead.”
He chuckled, then winced. “I thought I made a good play. The ball didn’t get through to the outfield.”
“Right. But unfortunately the batter was safe at first.”
“Yeah. Stinks, doesn’t it. You’d think that for all this pain we could at least have made the out. I really hate giving up cheap hits.”
“Cheap hit?” she teased, glad that he could joke about it. “The guy practically ripped the cover off the ball.”
“Nah, he didn’t quite get all of it.” Nate gave her a lopsided grin. “Thank God, or he’d have ripped my arm right off.”
That thought made her stomach lurch again. All things considered, Nate had been very lucky.
“I ran into the team doctor in the hall. It doesn’t look like it’s as bad as I feared it could be,” she said, sitting gingerly on the bed and resting her hand on his thigh.
Nate grimaced. “It’s bad enough. He says I’ll be out for a month. I’m not dead, but it’s a bitch for the team. And for me.”
Holly nodded. “I know, sweetheart, but don’t forget you’ve got me to help you. You’ve got your own private and very personal physician now.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “As soon as they tape up this shoulder we can go play doctor—in private, and very personally.” This time his sleepy grin was lecherous.
She poked him on his good arm. “I don’t think there’s much wrong with you after all, Mr. One-Track-Mind.”
He reached up, curling his good hand behind her head to bring her close, kissing her deeply, his tongue slipping easily into her mouth. A shimmering heat flushed her skin and sank low in her belly.
She broke away with a gasp and slid off the bed. “For God’s sake, Carter! You’re supposed to be resting, not making out.”
He reached out for her. “I can rest when I’m dead. Come back here.”
She stepped away from his long reach. “No, you listen to your doctor. And to me. They don’t like extra bodies hanging around, so I’ll head out into the waiting room. I have to call the Cardiac Center and check in, anyway. One of my patients is unstable. Tell the nurse to come get me when you’re done and I’ll drive you home.”
When she turned to go, he managed to grab her wrist. “Holly?”
She turned back and gave him a questioning look.
“Thanks for coming. It means a lot.” There was more than a hint of relief in his voice.
“They couldn’t have kept me away.” She blew him a kiss and left.
Chapter Fifteen