Chapter 9 #2
Noah’s a doctor? That at least explains the way he was examining my body outside.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “If you—why are you—?”
His gaze softens, and he lifts a hand to my face, his thumb brushing across my cheek. “It’s not important,” he says gently. “Will you let me help you? There’s no reason for you to sit here in pain.”
I nod and relax back onto the cushions as another wave of nausea washes over me. I close my eyes and take a steadying breath, then open them to meet Noah’s warm gaze. “Okay. I trust you.”
He nods once, then he gently adjusts my body, I assume shifting me to give him easier access to my shoulder. “Can we take this off?” he says, tugging at my sweater. It buttons down the front and I have a tank top underneath, but the question still makes me blush.
I mentally chide myself for having any kind of reaction. Noah’s a doctor, and right now, all he wants to do is…doctor me.
I nod, fumbling one-handed with the buttons, but Noah gently moves my hand away and takes care of them himself.
It shouldn’t be sexy. Nothing about the pain I’m feeling right now is sexy, and he’s being completely professional.
But Noah’s quiet focus, the surety of his movements, his calm confidence—those things are sexy, and I find myself captivated.
Or as captivated as I can be with my shoulder hanging out of joint.
“Sit up for me?” Noah says. He slips an arm behind me one more time and helps me sit up so he can slip my sweater off my shoulders and pull it out from under me. “It’s a complete dislocation,” he says. “Anterior. Which is the most common type of dislocation. It means the bone has shifted—”
“Forward and downward,” I say. “I know what it means.”
He nods appreciatively. “I forgot I was working on a nurse.” He takes hold of my arm, and I close my eyes, bracing myself for what’s coming.
“Try to relax for me,” Noah says, his voice soothing, and I take a deep breath.
“Good. Do that one more time.”
I breathe in and before I even realize what’s happening, Noah applies pressure to my arm, shifts, pushes, then pop.
The relief is immediate, and I breathe out the air I’m still holding in my lungs.
“How does that feel?” Noah says. His hand slides down my arm, moving it gently, tugging it upward, then pushing it back again, then moving it in one slow rotation.
“Better. So much better,” I say.
He nods. “Good. You’re still going to be sore. Tylenol. Ibuprofen. You can alternate every four to six hours if you need it. And I’ll see if I can rig you up some sort of sling for the next few days to keep you from overusing it. Actually, let me get you some pain medication now—”
I reach out and stop him before he can leave, grabbing hold of his sleeve.
He turns back, crouching beside me one more time. I reach for his hand, and he takes my fingers, holding them gently between his palms.
“Thank you,” I say. “That was much easier than going to the hospital.”
His face is unreadable, but that’s not much of a surprise. If I have a glass face, showing every emotion, right now, Noah’s is like a thick slab of granite.
“You’re welcome,” he says, giving my fingers a squeeze. I am not disappointed when he doesn’t drop my hand.
I rub my thumb over the top of his knuckles. “You’re a doctor,” I say simply.
A shadow passes behind his eyes, and he takes a deep breath. He doesn’t pull away, not physically, but I still sense his retreat. “Not anymore,” he says, his voice thin.
“I don’t understand,” I say for the second time.
He shrugs. “It’s not that complicated.”
It’s obviously complicated, but it’s hardly my place to push him.
“What was your specialty?” I ask, hoping my use of the past tense was will give him enough room to answer.
His jaw tightens. “Emergency medicine.”
“Intense.”
“Yep,” he says curtly, and I feel a sudden need to chase away the distance that’s growing between us. To make him look me in the eye and tell me what’s hurting. Because there’s definitely something. A wound just under the surface that’s making his expression hollow.
He finally tugs his hand away and pushes himself to his feet. “I’ll be right back,” he says.
Noah returns after just a few moments, but he isn’t really present. He’s kind, courteous, solicitous, concerned for my comfort. But he’s treating me like a patient. Not a friend.
He warms up the leftover soup and bread I planned to eat for dinner but doesn’t accept my invitation to eat with me. He tends the fire, adding wood whenever it’s needed, but he doesn’t sit down. He doesn’t relax. And he doesn’t make eye contact even once.
The longer it goes on, the more my heart aches. I already like him enough that I want to know more of his story. But mostly I just want to make him feel better.
It’s not like nursing school gave me a ton of experience, but I’ve been in hospitals enough to understand how taxing it can be. How much it can drain you. And to be in the ER—that’s a level of intense all its own.
I’m finished with my soup and gazing into the fire when Noah appears one more time.
I thought he might have already gone to bed, so it’s a surprise to see him.
Wordlessly, he crouches in front of the hearth and adds another log to the fire, then sits back on his heels and looks at me.
“Do you need anything else? Or can I help you upstairs?”
“I’m not ready for bed yet, but when I am, I think I can make it on my own. My legs still seem to work okay.” I offer him a teasing smile, but his face doesn’t crack at all.
Apparently, the Doctor Hawthorne version of Noah is all business, all the time.
“You’ll probably have some bruising tomorrow,” he says. “Just take it easy.”
I nod. “Yes, Doctor.”
He flinches, and I immediately wish I could call back the words. “Noah, wait,” I say as he turns away. “I didn’t mean…” My words trail off, and he pauses and turns back, looking at me over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean that to be mocking.”
He pushes his hands into his pockets, eyes on the floor. “I know you didn’t.”
“I’m not going to push you to talk about it,” I say gently, crossing my fingers that I’m not about to make things worse. “But if you wanted to talk about it, I’ve been told I’m a very good listener.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says a little too quickly. “I was a doctor, now I’m not anymore. It isn’t a big deal.”
I study him. The set of his shoulders. The visible tension in his jaw. “Respectfully, your body language is telling a different story.”
Something flashes behind his eyes. “Respectfully, it still isn’t any of your business.”
I can’t keep myself from wincing at his words, and something like remorse passes over his expression. But he doesn’t take them back.
“Got it,” I say softly. “Understood.”
Noah doesn’t say anything else. He just breathes out a sigh and turns and walks from the room.
When I came to Stonebrook Farm, I expected to spend Christmas alone, and I was okay with that. But after spending a few days in Noah’s company, his absence doesn’t feel like solitude; it feels like loneliness.
Like my heart is missing something it just figured out it wants.