2. Olive
Olive
The phone had been ringing non-stop for twenty minutes.
Our receptionist was out sick, so I was pulling double duty at the clinic today. I pinned the receiver between my ear and my shoulder while I simultaneously updated Mrs. Gable’s chart and waved Courtney out the front door.
Doc Hansen was out on a house call past the county line, which left me to hold down the fort.
I was used to it.
I thrived on it, actually. Being capable and needed was my sweet spot, and I was perfectly content managing the chaotic flow of our small-town clinic all by myself.
“Yes, Mary, I can have Doc call in that refill as soon as he’s back,” I said into the phone, my eyes scanning the next line on the schedule. “Mm-hmm. Drink plenty of fluids.”
I hung up the phone and let out a long breath. I had twenty minutes until the next appointment, so I might have time to sneak in a quick snack before lunch.
But the peace and quiet lasted for exactly one second before the front door swung open.
The man who walked in was practically wearing half the forest.
Oh. Hot. Damn. Look what the cat dragged in.
My eyes snagged on his broad chest, perfectly highlighted by a tight, sawdust-covered t-shirt that clung to his arms in all the right places.
Then my eyes shot up to his face.
He was half-feral and dirty, completely out of place in this clean doctor’s office.
The man was a lumberjack.
There was no mistaking that rugged build, the heavy work boots, or the sweat lines streaked across his chest.
My sister Claire had recently fallen head over heels for a lumberjack named Brent from the Harrison Logging Camp.
For months, I hadn’t quite understood what had possessed my smart, independent sister to go so starry-eyed over a man who spent his days wrestling trees, even if Brent had switched it up to a safer job at the sawmill now.
But looking at the specimen currently striding into my waiting room?
Yeah. I suddenly understood the appeal.
He was gorgeous.
He had thick hair, a strong jaw, and a cocky smile that was certain to follow me into my dreams tonight.
But, more importantly… he was bleeding profusely onto the clean floor.
He casually tucked his injured hand behind his back, leaning his good arm over the counter like he was about to ask me out for coffee instead of requesting the emergency medical attention he obviously needed.
“Well, hey there,” he rumbled, his voice deep and smooth. “Looks like it’s my lucky day to get injured.”
I blinked at him.
Did he really think a charming smile was going to distract me from the puddle of blood forming at his feet?
I was a nurse. Stubborn men who were too-tough-for-their-own-good were my bread and butter. Mechanics, farmers, guys who waited three days to admit they’d broken a toe—I’d seen them all.
“You’re bleeding,” I stated, keeping my voice perfectly level. “Sit down before you pass out.”
His grin only grew wider, completely unfazed by my bossy tone.
“I’m not going to pass out, sweetheart. But I’ll sit if it makes you happy.”
“In there.” I pointed toward the exam room just off the reception area. “Hop up on the table and let me see what you did to yourself.”
He chuckled and strolled into the exam room, a trail of blood dripping behind him.
I followed him in, grabbed a sterile tray, and pulled the rolling stool over to the exam table.
Then I sat down in front of him, trying not to inhale the scent of fresh pine mixed with sweat. I swear they could bottle that scent up and make a fortune. Lumberjack Stank. That would be the name of the cologne. I inhaled a little deeper, shocked at how good he smelled.
“Let’s see it,” I commanded, holding my hand out.
He unwrapped the blood-stained rag from his hand and offered me his palm.
I took his hand in mine.
A spark flew between us. Or maybe it was just me.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look at the wound and not at the feral man attached to it.
“I’m Holden, by the way,” he said softly.
“Olive,” I replied automatically, turning his hand slightly to get a better angle under the exam light.
“Olive,” he repeated, testing the name out on his lips. “You’re Claire’s sister. She mentioned you before. You have really pretty eyes, Olive. Anyone ever tell you that?”
Lord, give me strength.
“And you have a very deep laceration, Holden,” I retorted, though I couldn’t stop the small smirk from tugging at the corner of my mouth.
“Just a scratch,” he insisted smoothly. “Got in an argument with some logging equipment. You should see the other guy.”
I glanced up from his hand.
Holden was smiling, but I could see the tight pinch at the corners of his eyes.
His charm was just one big macho act. I knew his hand must hurt like hell, but he was doing everything he could to pretend he was fine.
Poor guy. I’d never understood why men had to act like that. Everything they did was to protect their pride.
I reached for the box of medical gloves on the counter, the sharp snap of the latex grounding me back into my clinical routine.
I needed to be Nurse Olive right now, not Mopey Olive who hadn’t been on a date in six months.
“Well, the other guy definitely won this round,” I murmured, examining the jagged edges of the cut.
It was a nasty slice right across the meaty part of his palm, and it was still oozing dark blood.
But as I gently palpated the edges, I could tell that it wasn’t as bad as it looked.
“Lucky for you, it’s mostly a surface wound,” I told him, meeting his eyes. “It bled a lot because hands are highly vascular, but I don’t think you hit anything vital. No tendons, no major arteries.”
“See? Told you it was just a scratch,” he teased, leaning forward slightly.
I rolled my eyes, grabbing a bottle of saline and some gauze. “It’s a little more than a scratch, tough guy. You got lucky this time.”
I began flushing the wound. “This is going to sting.”
Holden didn’t flinch even though I knew it had to hurt like hell.
Once that was done, I used antiseptic wipes to ensure no debris was left behind, my gloved thumbs pressing carefully around the edges of the cut.
Even through the latex, I could feel the rough, calloused texture of his skin. His hands worked hard for a living.
“You have a gentle touch,” he said quietly, his voice losing some of that playful banter.
“I’m a professional,” I reminded him, keeping my eyes firmly on my work.
Why was my heart beating so fast? I was just cleaning a cut. I’d done this a thousand times. But I hadn’t done it with a man staring at me like I was the embodiment of Aphrodite.
He wasn’t looking at the ceiling, or wincing at the blood, or staring at the wall.
He was just looking at me.
“Shut your eyes, Lumberjack.”
“Do I have to?” he drawled. “I kind of like the view.”
“You do have to,” I told him, trying not to let him see me smile.
He groaned as if I was hurting him, the first sign of pain he’d shown today. But he shut his eyes, keeping that cocky grin on his face.
“You’re in charge, hon. Looks like you’ve got me in a vulnerable position,” he joked as I examined the wound. He’d cut it down to the fatty layer, but there were no bones or tendons visible. That was good news for him.
“Can you feel this?” I asked as I pressed along one side of the gash.
“Yeah,” he grunted. “Feels good.”
That time I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. “You must be trouble down at that lumberjack camp.”
“Me? No way. I’m one of the good guys. I’ve got a halo. No devil horns for me.”
“Mmm. Is that so?”
Holden was too smooth. Too cocky. And too dang cute for his own good. I bet he left a wake of broken hearts scattered behind him everywhere he went.
Lucky for me, my heart was on ice.
Fuck men. All of them.
One thing my ex had done for me was shown me the truth about what hid behind an affable smile and an easy-going nature.
Now I pressed along the other side of the gash, paying no mind to the feel of his rough hand in mine. “And do you feel this?”
“Yup.”
Sometimes people lied. So now I had to give him the real test.
“Good. Now tell me every time you feel me press on your hand.” I proceeded to press in a slow tempo around the wound. He gave me a flirty little yup every time I touched him.
How could a yup be flirty? I don’t know, but he managed it somehow. The word groaned out of his sexy lips every time I pressed down.
It made me wonder what kind of sounds he’d make in bed.
I sucked in a breath as my cheeks flushed pink. I needed to get it together here.
“Good news, Holden. You don’t need stitches,” I announced as I grabbed a thick stack of gauze. “The bad news is you’re stuck with me until your hand stops bleeding.”
“Does that mean I can open my eyes again?” he asked as he fluttered them open.
Oh, lordy.
I was in trouble when his deep brown eyes landed on me. It was like he could see straight into my soul.
After I got the gauze in place I pressed down hard, eliciting a yelp from the man.
“What’s that for, hon?”
“For flirting with a complete stranger. Now hold still. I have to keep the pressure in place until you stop gushing blood all over my exam room.”
He groaned and asked, “Are you this violent in bed?”
“Yep. Claire’s the sweetheart. I’m the battleaxe.”
Holden chuckled and curled his fingers lightly around mine. “I bet you’re a sweetheart, too. I can see it in your eyes.”
My lips pursed, trying to fight the smile off my face. “You don’t even know if I have a boyfriend. Or a husband. Or maybe I’m not even into men.”
He relaxed on the exam table, shifting to get comfortable. Which is when I noticed that his jeans looked awfully tight right there below his belt.
Is he going hard on me?
That would be a first in all my days of being a nurse practitioner.
“So what’s your story, Olive? Are you married with kids?”
I laughed, my lips tugging up at the corners. “No.”
“A lucky boyfriend?”
“No.”
He quirked up an eyebrow. “A lucky girlfriend?”
“No.”
“So I guess we’re just two single people living here on Red Oak Mountain. What are the chances of that?”