2. Dakota
By the time the stranger was out of surgery, I’d learned more about his injuries. Apparently, he’d been lying on his side because he’d been shot in the rear. That’s right—the rear. If it weren’t for the blood and the surgery, it might’ve even been funny. I could imagine him telling the story at a bar, leaning in with that scowl of his, warning people to “never turn your back on trouble.”
It was only a graze, so the bullet hadn’t gotten lodged in deep muscle or bone, but it was significant enough that he’d required surgery to clean the wound and repair some damaged tissue.
A deep laceration to the butt would have anyone bleeding like a stuck pig, given the heavy blood supply there, so the amount of blood covering the sheet and his shirt made sense. He’d likely have some swelling and bruising around the area. Maybe a limp and a hefty dose of discomfort while seated, too, but I couldn’t deny how relieved I was that it hadn’t been more serious.
I’d be just as relieved for anyone else, though, of course. It wasn’t just because he was hot. Nope. Definitely not. The fact that even lying in a hospital bed with a bullet wound, he looked like he could moonlight as an action hero? That was just a minor, utterly irrelevant detail.
That said, the reason I was now sitting in his room in the post-anesthesia care unit to wait for Adam to take his statement was absolutely because he was hot. Well, that, and I was curious as heck about how he’d managed to get shot in the butt. Lots of wacky things happened in Charlotte Oaks, but that just wasn’t the norm. I couldn’t imagine anyone in this town thinking that was a good idea, and in my line of work, I saw more than my fair share of things that “seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Bored, I looked around the room, my eyes landing on the chair in the corner. There was a plastic bag of bloody clothes, and beside it was another smaller bag holding the patient’s personal items. I leaned forward, squinting as I spotted a photo peeking out from the folds of a brown leather wallet. There was a boy, probably only three years old. The boy was laughing as he sat on the shoulders of a man… and oh my lanta.
It was him. The scary stranger, but different. Younger—though still just as huge. There was no scruff on his jaw, and his hair was cut in that military-style I could spot from a mile away, thanks to how many folks in my extended family were former military.
But probably most alarming of all—he was grinning. Wildly.
I flicked a glance at the sleeping man in the hospital bed before creeping closer to the photo. The difference between the now and then versions of him was like night and day. If I thought he was hot before, that smile in the photo? That smile made him handsome in the way action movie heartthrobs were handsome. Sure, he was hot while scowling. But while smiling? He was a dang forest fire.
Too scared that I’d get busted snooping to risk continuing to stare at the old photo, I took my seat again. He looked angry, even in his anesthesia sleep—brows furrowed, jaw clenched, like he was fighting some internal battle even while knocked out cold.
But I guessed I would be, too, if I’d gotten shot in the butt. The man was built like he could handle a world of hurt, but no one walked away from that injury without at least some indignity.
After a while, he stirred, and I hopped to my feet. I smoothed my hands down the front of my dark teal scrubs, feeling the fabric cling to my sweaty palms. Then, I approached the bed with the same caution you’d use when creeping up on a bear fresh out of hibernation. And considering the looks he’d worn earlier, I wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t bite.
“Hey there,” I said, giving him my best bedside manner smile. “Welcome back to the land of the conscious. Need anythin’?”
He blinked at me, a deep trench forming between his thick brows. “You’re an ER nurse.”
I let out a short, breathy laugh. “I am.”
“This isn’t the ER.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, his tone every bit as peachy as Bailey had warned. “Well, seems I don’t have to ask if you know where you are. Can you tell me what day it is?”
“Yeah.”
I lifted a brow, waiting.
“Wednesday.”
“Good,” I said with a nod, working my way through the other questions to assess if he was alert and oriented. Should the PACU nurses be asking these questions? Yes. But were they here right now or even aware that their patient was awake? Nope. “Can you tell me your name?”
Instead of answering me, he flicked a glance behind me, so I looked over my shoulder at the whiteboard on the wall. His chart info was scrawled in loopy, feminine handwriting in blue marker, including his name—Tucker Black.
It seemed to fit him. If I were the aura-reading type of healer instead of a nurse, I’d guess black would be the color of his.
I looked back at this Tucker Black with a wry smile. “Doesn’t count if you have to look at your notes before you answer.”
He grunted.
“Let’s try another one,” I said, making my tone as sweet as the syrup on my momma’s famous pancakes. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“I got shot.”
“You sure did, and in the butt, no less. Tough break.”
He glared at me, and I swallowed a giggle. The man looked ridiculous. He was too big for his hospital gown, too, even though most people basically swam in them. The blood pressure cuff on his arm was the extra large one reserved for the thigh of someone my size, and he was trying so hard to look tough as nails in such a vulnerable situation that I nearly reached out and pinched his cheek.
He should have terrified me. He looked like the kind of guy who, in any other setting, would make most men take a step or two back before he even opened his mouth. Worse, he might have been the one who was shot today, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he were usually the one who did the shooting.
So… why wasn’t I terrified?
Maybe it had something to do with the way he’d been smiling in that photo with the boy. I didn’t know if he was a dad or a doting uncle, but there was no mistaking the fondness in his grin. He could frown at me all day, but Mr. Big Grin was still in there somewhere, wasn’t he?
The door slid open, and I turned to find the newly engaged Officer Adam Wilson slipping into the room with a notepad in hand. Tall and solid, Adam had the kind of presence that commanded attention without trying—broad shoulders, sharp jaw, and that steady cop’s gaze that always made you feel like he was two steps ahead of you, whether you liked it or not. Considering he was the not-so-friendly neighborhood narc growing up, that meant I usually didn’t.
“Tucker Black?” he asked as he slid the door shut behind him. Then he caught sight of me, started to give me a friendly nod—like we weren’t standing over a man who’d been shot—but then did a double take, his eyebrows pulling together in that classic Adam way, like he was already trying to figure out what trouble I’d gotten into this time. The frown that followed was as predictable as it was brotherly. “Kota?”
“Adam.”
His eyes narrowed, and his lips rolled between his teeth like he was holding something in. If I had to guess, it was the kind of admonishment a big brother figure often rained down on his poor, unsuspecting little sister figure. One who was totally minding her business and staying out of trouble, mind you, regardless of what he might be thinking as he stared at me with his “cop face” on.
“Out,” Adam said without preamble, jerking his chin toward the door with that no-nonsense look that could’ve sent half the department running for cover. But he forgot who he was dealing with—I hadn’t listened to him when we were kids, and I sure wasn’t about to now.
I pouted. Yes, actually pouted. Because I may be in my late-twenties, but this guy had been bossing me around since before I was born. The way I heard it, the little boy version of the cop in front of me put his face near my momma’s belly and ordered me not to come out of there on football Sunday.
I didn’t listen to him then, either, in case you were wondering.
But then I snuck a glance at Tucker Black and found him watching me warily… almost as if he was nervous that I would stick around.
Why, though?
Well, why not? Maybe I’d overstayed my welcome. It honestly wouldn’t be the first time. I could be… a little much. Or so I’d been told.
So, instead of telling Adam where to stick his command for me to get out, I let my crossed arms fall from my chest and nodded at him. “See you at supper? Chili night.”
Adam groaned. “Again?”
“Excuse me, but if I’m gonna win this year, I need plenty of test dummies.”
“You do realize most people use family recipes handed down for generations when enterin’ to win chili cook-offs, right? They don’t do a bunch of recipe research and throw spaghetti at the wall until somethin’ sticks.”
I rolled my eyes. “How do you think those traditional recipes were invented in the first place? Besides, I’m gonna throw beans, not spaghetti, and at you , not a wall, if you talk trash about my chili goals. Got it?”
He tapped my nose in that infuriating big-brother move, and I swatted at his hand before turning back to the patient. It looked like he’d been watching our exchange with a mixture of annoyance, amusement, and confusion. All three of those things were probably caused by the fact that we were having a friendly chit-chat while he was in a hospital bed with a bullet wound.
Real professional.
I gave him my brightest smile, holding up my hands. “Sorry. I’ll leave you in Officer Wilson’s hands so y’all can get to the bottom of this. Um, no pun intended. Feel better.”
I wasn’t sure what I expected him to do or say in response to that. Most of my usuals blessed me with a chuckle when I turned on the goofball nurse routine. But, for this guy, I suspected the slight jerk of his shoulders and lift of his chest that told me he’d had to physically hold in a laugh was about as close as I would get.