Chapter Two
Grayson
Ipace back and forth in the small room, two steps in one direction, then a spin of the heel and two more the other way. Spin again, and repeat. “Any day now, Doc,” I mutter under my breath.
Today has been nothing short of a mess. This entire week, if I’m being honest. The spring rains finally quit and the hay dried out enough that I could’ve gotten some decent work done today if I didn’t go and fuck it all up.
I look down at my forearm and the cut looks a hell of a lot more gruesome than I thought. The sting from my mower blade that sliced right through me wore off hours ago, but this sucker bled long after the burning pain was gone.
All part of the job, I guess. A rancher’s day is often determined by the weather, which is why I need to get my arm put back together and race back home so I can hopefully finish mowing tonight.
I spin again and put my back facing the entrance to the room. As soon as I’m turned, I hear the handle wiggle, and the wooden door swings open. I turn around, expecting to see one of the doctors I’ve met at this clinic a time or two in the past.
Instead, my steps falter, and I nearly buckle at the knees because in walks the prettiest woman I have ever seen.
The way she’s dressed screams city, from her pink top and skintight skirt, down to her sexy as hell high heels.
The whole outfit is proper, polished, and it's a stark contrast to my faded Hawkeyes tee that has a hole worn in the side. Where I’m stained with grease and sweat, with a big waist and barrel chest, she’s trim.
Fit with gentle curves. Without a sheen of sweat or oil across her brow.
Her soft blonde hair is illuminated by the fluorescent lights that glow in the hall behind her, and I swear she looks like a goddamn angel.
My brain short circuits, and I know I’m staring at her longer than is appropriate, but there’s no way that what I’m seeing is real.
The slight curl in her shy smile and those round chocolate eyes. It’s been three months since I’ve seen them, but they haven’t faded from my memory for a day. They were haunted the last time I laid eyes on them, right before she turned and ran out of Madame Muffin's, leaving me speechless.
She stalls when she sees me, and her eyes immediately fixate on the center of my chest. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she nearly flushes.
Her gaze slowly moves from my chest upward, pausing at my neck and scruffy beard that’s days overdue for a shave.
She’s taller than I remember. It might be the heels, or it might be the fact that today, she’s not cowering in on herself.
My eyes stay on her, desperate for the moment recognition crosses her face, but it doesn’t happen.
“Hi,” she stammers, moving in another step so she can shut the door behind her. I stand still, dumbfounded, unable to say hello back.
“Let me just…” She turns toward the sink, moving her hands underneath the water and gracefully rubbing the soap between her palms. I take a seat on the exam table, watching the bob of her silky blonde ponytail swish across her shoulders as she moves.
I categorize each movement. The drying of her hands, the crumple of the towel as she tosses it in the garbage can.
The way she pulls on her blue disposable gloves.
When she turns toward me, there’s a professional expression plastered on her face.
“Hi, Mr. Hart. I’m Doctor Carrington.” Her lips part in a smile, a full smile, and my breath catches in my chest. I knew it that night, but seeing her again confirms every thought I’ve had.
Everything about this woman screams pretty. She’s not overly done, not showing off her beauty, and there’s almost something about her that appears shy, even though I can’t imagine what she’d be shy about.
It’s then that my manners finally kick in, and I reach up to swipe the cowboy hat from my head. I set it on the table behind me and run my hand through my mop of hair. Her eyes flick to the wound on my arm, and she takes a step forward.
“Piper said you cut yourself.” Her slender hand curls around my wrist, and that familiar warmth comes back in waves. “Is it tender?
“Naw,” I rasp.
She holds my wrist in her hand, raising my arm and turning it toward the light to assess the damage. “What happened?”
“Sliced it while changing mower blades, that’s all.”
Her eyes are glued to my arm while mine are glued to her face, watching each expression flick in and out as she assesses the wound.
What it would be like to be smart like this, to be in such a well-respected and honorable career.
She was wearing scrubs when I saw her last. I wonder if her bad day was because of a different job.
I wonder if she works here all the time.
Hell, I wonder if she lives around here.
So many questions ping through my mind, and I open my mouth, ready to fire them off when she speaks.
“Are you in a lot of pain?”
I quickly shake my head no without even fully soaking in her question. In pain? Not really; I’ve done a lot worse in my life. But it sure stings. It’s been aching, throbbing, and feeling like it’s had its own heartbeat all day.
I look down at my arm, surprised to see how large the cut looks now that it’s stopped bleeding. When I look back up, her gaze is on me, and I’d give a million dollars to know what she’s thinking right now.
“Can you wiggle your fingers for me?”
I do as she asks, slowly moving my fingers back and forth.
She pauses and her brow furrows slightly as her gaze lingers on my face. “Any new numbness or tingling when you do that? Shooting pain?”
I shake my head no again, thankful it likely means that I didn’t do permanent damage.
“This is fairly deep. You’ll need stitches for this to heal properly, quite a few actually.
Once we get this cleaned up, I’ll place them, but you’ll have to take care of this arm.
Keep it clean and dry, replace the bandage as needed, and you’ll have to limit activity for at least a week.
” She lets go of me, gently placing my arm on my lap, and I immediately miss her touch.
She flips on another light switch near the sink, shining the beam over my exposed skin.
“Maybe ten days. No rigorous activity or straining and try to limit use of this arm. I’d like to prescribe an antibiotic as well, something prophylactic since this has been open to infection for a few hours.
I’d recommend a tetanus shot if you aren’t up to date. ”
I grunt at her instructions. I’ll take the meds and shot, but she doesn’t know what it’s like to work on a ranch if she thinks I can take it easy for the next ten days. Her head whips up at my grunt, and when I only smile back at her, her head tilts to the side playfully.
“I’ll take care of it the best I can, ma’am, but it’s nearly time for first harvest. I can’t promise anything more than that.”
Ma’am. Shit. She’s a woman, yes, but she’s also a physician.
I should refer to her by her title, just like I would a man in her position.
“I’m sorry about that, Doctor …” My eyes scan the badge clipped to her chest pocket.
“Doctor Carrington.” I run my hand through my hair again, feeling the nervous sweat bead at the crown.
“It was disrespectful to call you ma’am, and I apologize for it. ”
She cocks her head again, and this time a small smile crosses her face like she isn’t sure what to think about me.
“Either is fine,” she says quietly. “Ma’am or Doctor.” She props her hands on her hips, looking back at my arm. “I think ten days of rest is more important, can the … plants that you planted wait?”
I snicker a little at that. “Seeds.”
“Seeds?”
“We plant seeds,” I say again, clearing my throat a little. “Seeds that’ll turn into corn, wheat, and hay. We’re coming up on first crop, which means the hay we planted earlier this year will be ready to be baled soon. Some we’ll cut and sell, some we’ll save for the animals.”
She had been turning toward the sink with her hand reaching out to turn on the faucet when she freezes, and her head perks up at the mention of animals. She spins around with a smile ready on her face. “You raise animals?”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there was a faint pink blush on the apples of her cheeks.
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply. “We raise cattle. Beef cows. We have horses, pigs, and chickens, too. When my sister was younger, she wanted to have goats. Swore she was going to raise them to show ‘em. I made sure we bought her a handful of baby goats. She named them after Santa’s reindeer, and then she grew attached to them and cried when it came time to sell. Now I have nearly a dozen spoiled old goats that block traffic on our road and who like to dig in the garbage like feral raccoons.” My little sister Harper comes to the farm once or twice a week to hang out with them and feed them treats.
When it's cold outside, she insists on dressing the smaller ones in pajamas, and since they’ve become pets now instead of useful livestock, I can’t ever get rid of them.
Dr. Carrington giggles at that with her head tilting back, leaving her slender neck on display. “Oh my gosh, I’d love to see Dasher and Prancer follow you around the fields.”
“You’re welcome to come any time,” I tell her, and I damn sure mean it. I’d die a happy man if this woman would come to my farm, or to even be interested in spending a day with me in the place I love the most. Either way, I’ve got to see her again.
“You in the business of inviting strangers to your farm, Mr. Hart?”
“Only when they’re as nice as you.” And as pretty.
The teasing banter between us comes out easily, too easily, and God, what I wouldn’t give for her to have some sort of flicker of recollection, to at least ask me why I look so familiar.
She spins back to the sink, one thumb reaching to pull off her first disposable glove, when she freezes.
She looks forward for a moment, and then her head twists to look at me. I hold her gaze as she works through her thoughts. Eyes flickering, and I can see the moment when her brows lift. Her eyes widen, and her perfect mouth pops open. “It’s you.”
My heart flutters deep within my chest, and I crack a smile. “It’s me.”
“From that night…”
“When I nearly knocked you into a snowbank,” I finish, and she giggles.
“When I…”
“When you were having the worst day of your life. I remember.” I remember every damn moment of that night.
I drove myself crazy for weeks after that, even drove back to Madame Muffin once to get a cup of coffee.
I sat in that vacant window seat, watching people walk by, wondering if I'd ever catch a glimpse of her.
“Oh my gosh.” She whips off her gloves, flips the sink handle on, and starts soaping her hands.
“You don’t know how happy I am to see you,” she says, still facing the sink.
“That day was just…” she trails off, reaching for a paper towel sheet and hastily dries her hands before tossing it away.
She turns back to me as her left hand flies to her chest. “You have no idea what that night meant to me.”
I suck in a breath, sending up a thank you that she might have thought about me as much as I’ve thought about her, but something shiny catches off the overhead light.
When I finally break my attention from her smile and look at the hand that’s still resting on her chest, I notice the giant rock sitting atop her ring finger.
I had been so focused on her smile, on those dark chocolate eyes that locked on me, and distracted by the thought that my dream girl was plunked right in front of me for the second time that I didn’t even check to see if she was wearing a ring.
Of course she’s married. Engaged. Whatever it is.
A woman like her doesn’t stay single for long.
And a woman like her doesn’t flirt with dirty ranchers hoping to get invited out on a date.
I rack my brain for that night, wondering if I saw a ring on her hand. I remember she had mittens on, but wouldn’t she have taken them off in the coffee shop? Did I ever squeeze her hand?
She must notice the abrupt change in mood and the furrow in my brow because as my expression plummets, she looks at me, following my gaze to the ring on her hand.
She drops it from her chest, holding it out in front of her, fingers splayed, and with her free hand, she twists the gigantic rock around. “I…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, and this time, I don’t prompt her to.
She takes a step back and a mask of professionalism slams down on her face. “Piper will come in and get you cleaned up and prepped. I’ll be back soon to place those stitches.”