by Julie Miller
“Physically, your friend only needed outpatient surgery. I removed the bullet and stitched up his shoulder and scalp. Gave him a shot of tetanus and antibiotics, an analgesic for the pain and a blood transfusion. We’d be life-flighting him to Jackson if you hadn’t stepped in to stop the bleeding and get him here when you did.”
“Thank goodness for my first-aid training.”
Dr. Russell scoffed. “You patched him up like a field medic.” Coming from a former Army doctor, she supposed that was high praise. “Kept him from going into shock. Probably saved his life.”
Ava summoned a smile. The men at that trucking center two years ago had done the same for her before the ambulance and police had arrived. “I’m glad I could help.”
“My nurse is moving him to a curtained-off section of the waiting room until we can get a room fixed up for him. Frankly, I’m more worried about the less obvious injuries. X-rays didn’t show a skull fracture, but he really needs someone to keep an eye on him the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Wish I knew who to call, in case somebody’s worried about him.”
Kent Russell didn’t know her history or her pen name. But as Pole Axe’s only full-time doctor, he knew she’d been the victim of an attack before moving to Wyoming. Although she’d started the long healing process with doctors in Chicago, she’d transferred the final stages of reconstructive and cosmetic surgeries to the hospital in Jackson. Dr. Russell had been tasked with changing her bandages and inspecting skin grafts and the newer, less obvious scars for signs of infection as she healed from the procedures.
Ava shrugged. “I’m not sure what else I can tell you. He seems to recall more distant memories, actions rather than names and places. He doesn’t remember much about yesterday or today. That will all come back to him, won’t it?”
“Possibly. Right now, his brain is like Swiss cheese. He can tell me he’s a Marine Corps brat who moved around a lot as a kid, could name bases where they lived, but he doesn’t know his parents’ names or even if they’re still alive.” His gaze swept the parking lot beyond her truck before coming back to her. “Could we finish this conversation inside?”
“Sounds like you’ve already found out more about him than I did.” Ava tunneled her fingers beneath the dog’s collar. “I need to get Maxie home to exercise her.”
And she needed some time alone in the great outdoors to decompress from all the violence and mystery and maleness that had intruded on her life that afternoon.
Another thing she appreciated about Dr. Russell was that he didn’t mince words—not about her medical visits, and not about today’s events. “Ava. It’s a gunshot wound. I had to report it. Sheriff Stout was delayed at the scene of an accident, but I just got word that he’s on his way. I don’t think you want to have that conversation out here in public. I know how you feel about town gossip. Not that I blame you. If one more of those old biddies tries to set me up with her daughter...”
Ava didn’t hear the end of his complaint. She was focusing in the rearview mirror at periodic traffic moving slowly along the main drag, the tourists strolling along the sidewalk window-shopping and the locals who were heading into town for drinks at one of the two bars or dinner at the barbecue joint on Main Street. No sign of Brandon Stout and his official black-and-white SUV. Yet. She needed time to prepare for this meeting. She didn’t do well with surprises to begin with, and she’d had far too many unexpected encounters already today.
“Bring the mutt in with you.” Dr. Russell brushed his fingers against her arm, quickly pulling away as soon as he had her attention. “I know she’s your security blanket. You ought to get a therapy dog vest for Maxie, so no one questions why she’s with you 24/7. She’s well-trained. Probably wouldn’t have any trouble getting certified.”
Compliments about Maxie usually made her smile. But she was in more of a panic when she swung her gaze back to Kent’s. “You called Brandon?”
Not wasting time on an apology, Dr. Russell continued. “I know you two have history. But he’s going to have questions for both of us, and I don’t want to report to Stout’s office any more than you do. Larkin’s not my only patient. It’s after-hours and I don’t have anyone watching the front desk.” He tapped the pager on his belt. “Mr. Garcia’s already coded once. I need to stay close by until we can get him stabilized enough to move him to Jackson.”
Shaking her head at the inevitability of the reunion vibe Brandon attached to any conversation with her, Ava hooked Maxie’s leash to her collar and climbed out of the truck with the dog heeling beside her. Ultimately, she wasn’t going to let her trust issues and need for isolation jeopardize someone else’s life. Together, they strolled across the nearly empty parking lot. “I’m sorry to hear about Mr. Garcia. He was a friend of my grandfather’s. Will he be all right?”
“For an eighty-eight-year-old man, he’s holding his own.” He opened the automatic door and stood back for Ava to enter the clinic’s waiting area ahead of him. “Your friend Larkin has been asking about you.”
“He’s not my friend.”
The doctor chuckled behind her. “Tell him that.”
Ava tightened her grip on the leash and let Kent pass her to the reception counter. “Has he been...talking about me?” Larkin wouldn’t have bragged about meeting her alter ego, would he? She’d made it clear how much she relished her privacy.
Dr. Russell picked up a laptop from the counter and typed in some tidbit of information. “Are you kidding? First, he wanted to know if you’ve ever shot at someone with that gun of yours. Then he went on about how lucky he was to faint on the right front porch, since you had the knowledge and means to patch him up.” He arched an eyebrow and grinned. “He also wanted to know if you were seeing anyone.”
“I’m not.”
“I suspected as much. But as your local physician, I told him I couldn’t reveal that kind of information.”
“Thank you.”
“I numbed the areas where I gave him stitches. I couldn’t risk a normal sedative with that head injury. Although he’s physically fit, he’s pushed his body to the limit.” He inclined his head as the nurse pushed a wheelchair with the very patient they’d been discussing down the hallway. “He’ll be out of it for a while. I want to put him to bed and keep him under observation for at least twenty-four, preferably forty-eight, hours.”
Larkin’s chin rested against his chest and his eyes were closed. Or maybe he was doing that squint thing again, where it looked like he was asleep, but in reality he was aware of everything and everyone around him. At least his color was better—a healthy tan instead of that blotchy pallor he’d had when he’d been sliding in and out of consciousness. There was a neat white bandage over the gash in his scalp, and they’d changed him from his torn, bloody shirt into a hospital gown with a blanket draped across his lap. The sling that cradled his left arm rested on a plastic bag that held his scuffed boots, socks and folded-up jeans.
Despite her resolve not to have any interest in the enigmatic stranger, Ava’s brain couldn’t help but note three things. The angles of his rugged face were even more compelling without the blood streaming down the side of his head and matting in his golden beard. His shoulders stretched the thin cotton of the hospital gown to the point it could barely tie behind his neck. And what was he wearing underneath that blanket if he was barefoot and holding his pants? Her palms itched where she clutched Maxie’s leash as they remembered how she’d clinically molded her hands over his legs and buttocks when she’d been tending his wounds and searching for ID.
Her observations seemed to heat her blood, making her feel far too aware of the scars marking her face and body, and the emotional inadequacies that were even more crippling. What she might once have embraced as a healthy interest in the opposite sex, the frissons of lusty awareness that bubbled through her veins and fed her imagination with possibilities now made her self-conscious. She twisted h
er fingers into her ponytail and pulled it over her shoulder, instinctively hiding the most noticeable mark that branded her as a victim—that told the world she was less.
Her eyes went out of focus as she dropped her gaze to the clinic’s vinyl floor. This was wrong. Being attracted to any man was wrong. Her therapist had said if the right man came along, one day she’d be able to move past her trust issues and form a healthy relationship. But she couldn’t trust a man she’d just met. And there was nothing right about this Larkin Bonecrusher in the flesh. She only felt this pull toward him because he was hurt, and he’d needed her. The scars and the hang-ups and the big white dog plastered to her side hadn’t mattered when he’d collapsed into her lap and huddled against her. She’d been strong enough to be his match in his time of need. She’d been whole enough that he hadn’t looked at her with pity or awkward politeness or even fear. He’d simply needed her to be there for him. And no man—no one—had needed her for a very long time. It felt almost...normal. But normal was a scary possibility for her. Normal had left her life the night she’d stopped to help another stranger.
At least Larkin, as she was coming to think of him, wasn’t afraid to show her his face or let her look him in the eye when she demanded it. And it was such an interesting face...
“No.” Ava muttered the admonition, needing to focus on what was important here.
“No?” Kent Russell frowned, looking up from his laptop, not understanding the directive was aimed at herself.
Ava snuffed out that flare of awareness buzzing through her veins and tilted her chin back to Dr. Russell. “Sorry. I had something else on my mind. You do good work, Doctor. He looks a lot better.”
“I promise you won’t have to be here much longer. I waited until the sheriff called to say he was on his way before I went out to get you.” The nurse wheeled Larkin beside a gurney that was already enclosed on two sides by curtains. As the nurse moved the bag from Larkin’s lap to the foot of the bed, Dr. Russell tapped something else onto his laptop and then closed it. “If you’ll excuse me a minute.”
He strode across the waiting area to where the nurse was setting the brakes on the wheelchair and moved in beside Larkin to help him stand. Ava glanced away as the blanket fell to the floor, revealing far more tanned skin down the back of the hospital gown than she was certain Larkin—or anyone—would want to show the world. As the nurse hastily scooped up the blanket and wound it around Larkin’s waist, Ava found herself glancing back with a naughty fascination and spotting the distinct line where the tan ended, and a curve of much lighter skin peeked into view.
Feeling the heat creeping up her neck, Ava turned to face the opposite wall. What was wrong with her? True, she hadn’t seen a man’s seminaked body in several years, but she wasn’t a virgin, either. The only man she lusted after these days was the title character of her books. And although they’d shared a few dramatic, life-celebrating kisses, Larkin and Willow had yet to consummate the frustrated desire simmering between them. Ava couldn’t bring herself to write that scene. The idea of sex had been perverted by the kidnapper who’d used his power over her to satisfy his own sadistic needs.
However, the tragic incident hadn’t killed all sense of longing inside her. Why couldn’t she stop noticing and, worse, reacting to the Marine on her doorstep?
Was she transferring her dormant desires onto a manifestation of the fictional hero she’d created?
“Ava?” a deep, husky voice called to her. She held tight to Maxie’s leash as she spun toward the man being tucked into the hospital bed. Larkin’s eyes opened wide and met hers across the waiting area. He pushed himself up off the pillows and smiled. “You stayed.”
Dr. Russell pressed against his patient’s uninjured shoulder. “Mr. Larkin, if you could just—”
“Wait.” Larkin Bonecrusher pushed back. “I want to see her.”
“Close the curtain,” Dr. Russell ordered.
“I didn’t know she was still here. Ava?” Before the nurse could reach the curtain, Larkin swung his legs off the edge of the bed, banged his stitched-up knee on the wheelchair, then cursed the state of his undress and sat back on the bed. “Why am I so damn groggy? Where are my clothes?”
“Lie down before you fall over.”
Larkin rose again, clinging to the edge of the bed, the pleading expression in his eyes sending a message she didn’t understand. “Ava? I need you.”
Ava shifted on her feet, wondering at the urge to say or do something to calm him down. The instinct to help was almost as powerful as the need to bolt from this place. But the battle between the woman she used to be—the woman who wouldn’t hesitate to help someone in distress—and the hypercautious woman she’d become ended abruptly when the outside doors opened again and a man in dusty jeans, wearing a gun and a tan uniform shirt, strode in.
Chapter Four
“Ava! There’s my favorite gal.” Sheriff Brandon Stout took off his cowboy hat and raked his fingers through his dark, sweaty hair before tossing it onto the reception counter. With the same outstretched motion, he wound his arm around Ava and pulled her into a hug against his stocky chest. He held her so tightly that the corners of the badge pinned above his pocket pinched into her cheek. One thousand one. One thousand two. She inhaled a panicked breath, drawing in the smells of smoke and perspiration and something more pungent like gasoline. Ava was mentally suffocating in even this casual embrace. “How are you holdin’ up? He didn’t hurt you, did he? I checked your truck before I came in. There was blood on the front seat.”
One thousand three.
Maxie jumped to her feet as Ava wedged one arm between her and her old friend and shoved at his chest. “Too much, Brandon. We talked about this.”
“Right. Your three-second rule.” She wasn’t sure if that was amusement or irritation, or maybe even pity, in his tone, but he didn’t let go. He rubbed his palm in circles at the center of her back. “You must have been terrified. A trespasser, bringing violence right to your front door. You should have called me.”
“Brandon!” The tension exploding inside Ava must have traveled right down the leash because Maxie rose on her hind legs, propping her front paws against Brandon’s shoulder. The big dog used her full weight to knock the sheriff off balance and give Ava the chance to finally free herself.
“Down, girl.” Brandon grinned, pushing the dog off him, and wrestling a bit around her ears to show there were no hard feelings between them. Once the dog had plopped down into a sit between them, Brandon retreated a step, accepting Ava’s need for distance, if not necessarily understanding it. “My bad. When I get a call that says ‘Ava Wallace’ and ‘gunshot victim’ in the same sentence, I worry.”
“I’m fine.” Calming herself at the familiarity in his warm brown eyes, Ava even managed a smile. “I was surprised more than anything. I don’t get a lot of visitors.”
“And whose fault is that?” Brandon had grown a few inches and certainly filled out from the teenager she’d once known, but the boyish smile that had charmed her at seventeen was still evident. Undeterred by the distance or the dog between them, he reached out and tapped his finger beneath her chin. “Always working. My brainy English professor, writing that big dissertation.”
Ava glanced over to the curtained-off area, and saw the drape still billowing and the nurse’s white clogs returning to the bed as they finally closed off the space and gave Larkin his privacy. Since there were no bare feet in view beneath the curtain, Ava assumed the nurse and Dr. Russell had gotten him back into bed. Good. He needed to rest.
But the tight grip on Ava’s stomach hadn’t eased. There was so much wrong about this day, so much uncertainty surrounding that stranger that she felt it, too. Was this her empathy kicking in? Was she buying into the whole Willow Storm/Larkin Bonecrusher alliance he seemed to be clinging to? Did she simply want the man who seemed so alone against the world to understand that she ha
dn’t always been such a jumpy, antisocial freak? With that curtain closed, she’d probably seen the last of Larkin, and that was for the best. She didn’t need to get any more involved with his trouble. She had enough of her own she was struggling to overcome.
Brandon was still talking, and since there was no one else around, she politely smiled and faced him again. “I’d love to take you out sometime. Give you a break from all that work.” He winked. “Say the word, and I’m your man.”
Not. Going. To. Happen. The sabbatical story was the reason she gave anyone around here who bothered to ask why she kept to herself so much. The citizens of Pole Axe thought she was on an extended break from her university in Chicago, needing the quiet time and distance of her grandparents’ cabin to conduct her research. She already had her PhD and continued to publish an article here and there. But her books were her bread and butter. She’d earned enough on them that, even if she never finished the seventh one, she could live on what she’d saved and invested. So long as she lived frugally. And other than the calorie-laden specialty coffee she splurged on every Monday at the coffee shop, frugal and hermit went together. She hadn’t gone back to a classroom since the kidnapping. She probably never would. She’d loved teaching. Loved tapping into the creativity of her students and challenging them to create stories of their own. But she couldn’t do busy parking lots and campus crowds anymore. She couldn’t handle young men with hoodies and downturned faces that masked their expressions gaping back at her from the classroom.
Ava could control her fantasy world. Dragons and great battles, sword fights, curses and noble quests were all safer than the reality of her world back in Chicago—safer than even here in Pole Axe. Maybe if she never finished her book, she’d never have to return to the reality that was so hard for her.