Chapter Six
Jory watched Dr. Lacy Cooper cheerfully wave and make a heart shape on her chest. “Have fun tonight. Welcome aboard.”
Jory had been a traveling hospitalist for almost four years now, and she was used to being thrown into new situations and mostly abandoned, but Dr. Cooper—the day shift hospitalist—had given her a quick, speed-walking tour around the surgical unit, recovery room, ICU and main floor.
Marietta General, like many rural hospitals Jory had worked at, was small, but fairly well equipped. Bozeman had a higher-level trauma facility, but since Marietta had a large ranching population and major highway running through the mountains, it had its fair share of traffic, farming, ranching and rodeo accidents. The staff was highly trained and could handle many cases locally, except—like many hospitals, nationally—they were chronically understaffed.
“I’m heading home.” Dr. Witt Telford, an orthopedic surgeon, stopped by the nursing station where Jory had headed before starting her rounds. She needed a coffee before her shift, and hoped the staff lounge had a Keurig or at least a coffeepot. Even better, one of those automatic espresso machines would be heaven right now.
He introduced himself.
“I’m on call tonight and have two patients on the floor. My patient Mr. Miller in room three-ten didn’t have the orthopedic injuries we anticipated with his accident, but he was pinned between two trucks, so compartment syndrome is a concern. So far he’s not presenting, but I want a lower extremity exam for mottling and pulse and reflexes and vitals on him every hour. He’s young. Fit. I think he’s clear. He’s also sustained cracked ribs, and a bruised and punctured lung. Dr. Samantha Gallagher ended up doing a splenectomy so check the patient’s incision site and possible fever.” Dr. Telford paused, and he replaced his last patient chart at the nursing station and turned to leave. Then he paused, drew a deep breath and turned around.
“Need anything?”
“Tell me there’s coffee.”
“Coffee and pretty decent snacks,” he said. “I’ll show you the doctor break room and the call rooms if you ever need one.”
Jory worked shifts, not call, so resting in a call room was not an option. Coffee couldn’t get in her fast enough. She nearly yipped with pleasure to see the automatic espresso machine.
“The high life,” she said, happily making herself a latte and adding sugar-free caramel flavoring.
“I hit this up at least a couple times when I’m here instead of my clinic,” Dr. Telford said. “The nursing staff is great. Probably could run the place and do most of our jobs, so you’re in good hands. Welcome back to Marietta.”
“Thank you.” She followed him out, not surprised that he knew she’d grown up local. He had too, although he hadn’t moved in with his birth father and family until he’d been in middle school from the rumors she’d heard as a kid. Witt, like his younger half-brother Rohan, had been an outstanding athlete.
He too had left Marietta after high school graduation, and she hadn’t seen him again, but he was back as well.
“Like a contagion,” she murmured, sipping her latte and then heading off to see her first patient.
She left her latte tucked in a safe place at the nursing station, introduced herself and then grabbed the first chart.
“Hottie alert,” one young nurse murmured.
Jory wished she hadn’t heard that. It wasn’t professional.
“Good luck keeping him in bed. He woke up in recovery, nearly tore the curtain off and reinjured his drain so the ER doctor had to restitch and resedate using different meds and call security.”
Jory’s expression automatically schooled to bland, professional interest. All the information would be in the chart, but she was a little daunted that security had been called.
“Has he been difficult since?” she asked, wondering if she should summon security.
“No. Some patients don’t handle anesthesia well. He’s one and built like a buckin’ bronc so things might get interesting tonight. He’s got a friend with him now, who looks like he can handle anything. I’m Davina. I’m lead nurse tonight and the next three nights so let me know if you need anything, Dr. Jory.”
“It’s Dr. Quinn,” she said.
“I know. That used to be my gran’s favorite show. Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. She just loved Jane Seymour. Just sounds weird to hear it in real life. Dr. Quinn,” she said.
Jory wished she had more time to take a few more sips of her latte and find something to eat. She’d spent most of the day at her old house, shocked by the number of things her mom and oma had left behind. She’d hired a moving company for them to help pack and reassemble in Lodi so she wasn’t sure why they’d left so much. Had they wanted to escape the same way she had?
She scanned the chart of Otis Calhoun Lael-Miller V. Wow, that was a mouthful.
Jory pushed open the door and blinked a couple of times, not sure how to process what she was seeing. A giant dog—maybe a German shepherd that looked like it could bite off her head and still be hungry—sprawled next to the patient, blocking her view, but the dog alerted when she walked in and targeted her.
“Wha…?” Jory took a step back.
“Kai, down.”
Jory looked at the man who spoke. He was young, incredibly handsome with streaked chestnut hair that grew back from features that looked honed from Copper Mountain’s peak.
“Good evening, Doc,” he said, expression friendly, open and with a smile that could sell toothpaste and probably everything else. She noted he had a cowboy hat resting on the other chair for visitors. A second cowboy hat was on the small table in between.
Dear, God, save me from Montana cowboys.
There was another one of them roaming around the hospital.
“I’ll just pick up Kai so you can examine Calhoun. He finally stirred a while ago, sort of. I heard he caused a ruckus in recovery and had to be darted back to dreamland.” The man sounded proud and amused.
“Ahhh.” She wasn’t really sure how to respond to his apparent good cheer. She was used to family members of patients being somber, worried, sometimes angry, and always scared, but the dog was blocking any view she had of the patient, so if the cowboy was willing to take charge of the dog, hopefully for the duration of the patient’s stay, she would be grateful. “We don’t dart patients, exactly.”
But they did use needles and strong sedatives in the IV so technically it was a bit like darting.
The man rose. Dang he was tall and built like O.
Don’t think about him. Working.
“I’ll take Kai for a walk. Might need to wrestle him out of here. He’s not wanted to leave Calhoun’s side. He saw the accident and is feeling guilty.”
The man’s voice was pitched low, and he spoke softly.
“The dog really shouldn’t be here,” she said firmly.
“Kai’s a service dog, Doctor. He’s well trained and a former soldier.”
Kai was also staring at her with a focused look that chilled her blood. But hadn’t she just been thinking she’d like a dog, especially if she stayed out on her old homestead? Seeing this massive beast was making her rethink. She’d been picturing soft and cuddly, but maybe deadly was the way to go.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Doctor.” The man scooped the dog up in his arms like it couldn’t bite his face off, with a softly murmured command, and then he walked out, leaving Jory staring into the pale face of O. Make that Otis Calhoun Lael-Miller V.
*
He was flaton his back.
What the hell?
Had he taken fire?
Kai.
Calhoun jerked to consciousness and tried to sit up, but something pulled in his gut, and his ribs ached like the devil had stomped on him.
“Kai’s fine. He’s safe. He’s with your friend. You’re in the hospital, Mr. Miller.”
When was the last time he was called Mr. Miller? Where the hell was he? Why was a woman here?
Even more disoriented, Calhoun struggled out of the wet, clinging gray of his half-consciousness, and reached out for Kai, but instead encountered two, soft, warm hands on his chest. He gripped one, hoping it was a lifeline he could use to pull himself into full consciousness. But the woman firmly pressed down on his shoulder, with more strength than seemed possible. Or was he weak?
“You’re in the hospital, Mr. Miller,” she said. She’d already said that, right?
“You’ve been injured, but you will make a full recovery.”
Hospital.
Injured.
How?
With an embarrassingly large amount of effort, he opened his eyes and saw her. The woman he’d dreamed about. So, he was still asleep. Large black eyes full of sympathy and stars. Long lashes that curled, and dark hair that waved and curled in a sassy bob. Olive skin that looked like sun-kissed silk.
“I dreamed about you.”
“Mr. Miller.” She moistened her sexily plump top lip, and he had a sudden vision of that mouth going down on him. His dick stirred so at least he hadn’t been injured too badly.
Another dream. Or had it been real?
“Do I…? Are we…?” He felt a wave of nausea that he battled back, and cold sweat rushed over his body, and the horrible itching was back.
“I want to sit up.”
“You just had surgery.”
Nothing was making sense. “My teammates? Did we take fire? Was anyone else hit?” He grabbed her hand again, willing her to give him the right answer this time.
“No one else was injured.”
Relief rushed through him, making him feel even woozier. “I need to sit up.” With all his will, he strained, but she held him down with just one hand.
“Let me.”
Hell no, a woman wasn’t going to help him to sit, but then the bed began to move, and his stomach lurched.
A plastic bowl was there, and Calhoun miserably choked, and spit and heaved, even though there was so little in his stomach to evacuate. Just looking at it and smelling it made him go through the whole process again.
And then the bowl was gone and a cool, damp cloth was on his face, wiping away his sweat and mess around his mouth, and he leaned back.
“I’m going to start you on Zofran in your IV.”
“No drugs.” He could barely open his eyes. “Pain meds all make me sick.”
“Zofran is anti-nausea.” She left the side of his bed, and he heard her typing something. “Your body is reacting to the anesthesia. It’s not uncommon, but I don’t want you to reopen your wound again.”
Wound. He’d been wounded. He plucked at the stiff cotton covering him. What the hell was he wearing? He tugged harder, heard a small pop and the scratchy material was gone, only now his ribs screamed in protest, and he could hardly catch his breath.
“Mr. Miller.” She was back in his face again. “You cannot be naked in the hospital.” She marched to a tall cabinet, opened it and pulled out another torture garment.
His life was coming back to him now. He did know her. Her scent was familiar—lemon and something, and he knew that small, firm touch of her hand.
“Let’s put this on.”
“Fine you put it on.”
Her expression was so shocked and outraged, and everything slowly clicked into place.
“You weren’t so determined to clothe me last night.”
“Oh.” She sat down on the chair beside his bed looking quickly at the partially closed door.
“I’m sorry about that.” Her skin had a dusky rose undertone.
“I’m not.” He poked at the small incision. His ribs were black and blue. “But what happened? Why am I here? Why are you here?” She was wearing a white coat or blazer like an office drone.
“I’m sorry,” she said stiffly, again looking at the door like somebody was going to bust it open and arrest them.
“Stop saying that. Tell me what happened. Where the hell is Kai?”
“Ah…Mr. Miller.”
“Calhoun,” he snapped.
She was looking more distressed, and the accident was coming back in pieces, but he remembered Kai was in his arms.
He tried to swing his legs off the bed, but everything hurt.
“Stop, you’ll reinjure yourself. Stay.”
Jory covered him quickly with the blankets and tried to work his arms through the holes in the hospital gown, but he was having none of that.
“Don’t give me one-word commands. I’m not a dog. I want out of here.”
“You were hit by a truck and pinned between two trucks. Luckily, the trucks weren’t speeding, but you are not being released tonight, and you are getting dressed because there’s no one else here to help you.”
“I don’t need help. Who made you boss?” He was shocked at this side of her. “You playing nurse, J?”
“Doctor.”
That was his J. Quick comeback.
Not yours.
“Even better,” he murmured. “But the game’s gone on too long. I hate hospitals. I want out.”
“You’re injured, O…I mean Calhoun.” She flushed a prettier pink under her olive skin that distracted him enough that she got the hated gown tied in the back. “And I’m going to get a nurse so that everything is done with proper procedure because I am your doctor, which is inappropriate considering but there is not another hospitalist on shift, but I assure you I will not take advantage of you.”
He stopped trying to get out of bed and pulling off the blankets, even though he still itched like fire ants were crawling all over him.
Was she for real?
“Now you’re worried about my virtue, J?” He stared at her. “Bit late.”
She puffed her cheeks out. “I’m sorry.” She squirmed a little on the chair. “I had no idea that you would become a patient.”
What a crime. She wasn’t psychic.
“That makes two of us. It’s not a big deal. Doctor, huh?” He looked at her. He’d known she was smart last night. Definitely upping his game. “That’s a first.”
And hopefully a last.
“I feel in very good hands with you, J—examine away.”
“This is not funny,” she hissed. “It’s unethical. I’m your doctor.”
“You weren’t last night,” he reasoned, surprised he could find humor when he felt like crap and was totally humiliated that the woman from the hot-sex one-night stand was now witnessing him after he’d been knocked on his ass by a truck on cutesy Main Street, Montana.
His father would snort with contempt.
How had he been so stupid? His Coyote Cowboys were never going to let him live this down.
“You’ve seen it all,” he said. “Though in a bit better condition last night.”
“I could be brought up before the medical board for this.” She stood up and started to pace. “I should call Dr. Gallagher, your surgeon. Maybe she can…”
“You’re overreacting,” he said. “It’s not like I’m going to announce that we bounced last night.”
“It’s the principle,” she hissed.
Now that his brain was functioning, even though his body still felt battered and humiliatingly nauseous, he could track the conversation.
“We were strangers. We were consenting. It was fun. It’s over.” He hoped he sounded firmer than he felt, and with how much he was scratching, he probably looked like a monkey.
“But now you’re here in my hospital.” She sounded horrified and was wringing her hands. “Stop itching. You’ll hurt yourself.”
She might as well ask him to stop breathing. His skin screamed fire, but her hands gripped his. “Bring me my clothes. I need my phone to call Ryder for a pickup. You’re sure Kai is okay?” He couldn’t focus his train of thought.
“He’s fine. Huge and protective and going for a walk with your bodyguard.” She seemed to relax. “That will help—if your friend stays in the room with you.”
“The day I need protection from a hookup who could practically fit in my palm is the day I’m calling it over.” Irritated, embarrassed, and feeling like he’d been put in a garbage compressor, he tossed off the covers, threw the hospital gown across the room—though it only landed on his feet—and pulled himself to standing.
“Eeek.” Jory’s squeak of alarm would have been funny if it hadn’t been directed at him, and if the world hadn’t spun. His knees buckled.
She rounded the bed like she could catch him.
“Hey.” The door opened. “Done with the exam, Doc? Whoa.”
Then Ry was at his side along with J, and they helped him back in the bed. Stupid anesthesia.
“The patient is noncompliant,” J said, her voice stiff with annoyance.
“Part of him is very compliant,” Ry joked.
“Shut up,” he said, but Kai was there, pushing his nose in his hand and Calhoun closed his eyes so the world would stop spinning.
“I have the Zofran from the pharmacy,” he heard a new voice say and then a ‘wow’ was tagged on.
“The nurse is impressed, but the doctor’s pissed,” Ry whispered in his ear, his voice heavily laced with amusement. “I’d say behave, but that’s not how you roll, and who knows, being flat on your back for a few days could be a prime hunting opportunity. You do need to play catch-up on the family man score, bro.”
“I assure you we are very professional here.” J sounded like her voice had been iced, and he wanted to smile, but the room was still spinning even though his eyes were closed.
“That’s too bad,” Ryder said.
“He needs to wear the hospital gown,” J said. “Perhaps you can help the patient, Nurse?”
“No thank you.” Calhoun was riled. This was his childhood all over again—pain, discomfort, powerlessness, his wants ignored.
“His skin’s very delicate, ma’am. Doctor,” Ryder said, and Calhoun opened his eyes to try to glare at him, but there were three Rys—two too many.
J was up by his head now. He could smell her subtle lemon, herb scent. She fiddled with his IV. Kai moaned low in his throat, and Calhoun reached out for the dog to comfort him, but instead got Jory’s leg.
She squeaked and jumped away from him, and something clattered.
“Dude, you need to work on your game,” Ryder said, lifting Kai to the bed where the dog stretched out beside him.
“Apologies,” Calhoun said, watching J. Despite her discomfort, her moves were smooth, graceful, sure.
She changed out the empty saline bag, replaced it and then injected something into one of the ports. The change was almost instantaneous. The world stopped spinning and his stomach stopped heaving like he was on the high seas.
“God, that drug is magic.” And one of the few his body seemed to tolerate.
“I’m adding in a fast-working antihistamine. It will make you thirsty.”
“He’s definitely thirsty,” Ry joked, and Calhoun contemplated if it would be worth it to punch Ry in the face.
“If you feel better, perhaps your mood will improve, inspiring you to be more compliant so you can get out of the hospital faster,” J said, ignoring Ry’s sexual inuendo.
“My mood?”
“Calhoun recently exited army Special Forces, Doctor,” Ry said helpfully. “He’s accustomed to the finer things in life—silk dressing gowns, caviar and room service.”
Calhoun snorted his disagreement. It hit too close to home. That crap was more his dad’s taste than it had ever been his.
“Marriage hasn’t improved your humor,” Calhoun said, running his hands through Kai’s fur to comfort and check for injury.
It seemed he’d been quick enough to get his bestie out of harm’s way. How the hell had he been so stupid? He’d still been on a sexual high from J, and then he’d seen Kai and Ry, and he’d hurried out into Main Street, Montana, like it was a one-horse town and bam, flat on his ass.
“J, what’s your name?”
“Dr. Quinn,” she said in an affronted teacher style that was cute as hell.
“There’s my boy.” Ryder fist-bumped him, and J all but rolled her eyes. If Ryder only knew, but Calhoun didn’t want his brother to know.
“Dr. Quinn,” Ryder said like a star pupil. “I have Calhoun’s duffel. I can get him in some sweats if you’d like, Doctor.”
“The gown works better for our needs,” J said. “I am going to need to monitor his legs closely this evening for potential compartment syndrome.”
She sounded calm as if whatever that was, was no big deal. He needed his phone to google.
“Is that what they call it?” Ryder murmured, and Calhoun’s weakness was starting to freak him out. He needed to get out of here. Hole up for a couple of days. He didn’t want Ryder or his buddies to know how badly he’d been injured.
“The nurse will put your gown on now, Mr. Miller. You will not fight us on this.” J’s voice was steel and the expression on her delicate features were still determined. He had an immature impulse to kiss that professional mask off her face forever.
Kai alerted as J and the blonde nurse approached. Both he and Ry had their hands on Kai and spoke in unison. “At ease,” they both said.
Ryder lifted Kai off the bed, and took him across the room and sat in a chair, his hand fully on the harness.
J examined Calhoun, her expression relaxed, professional, and her hands had a deft, impersonal touch that irritated him. She was nothing like the wild woman from last night. Nothing—because he was the patient. Not a man.
Demoralized Calhoun stared at the ceiling, and for the first time, he began to worry that he’d been badly hurt.
“I can stitch this closed for you tonight on my next round,” J said. “Or I can put a call into Dr. Gallagher, and she can do it tomorrow morning. She left the drain in out of an abundance of caution.”
J peeled off her gloves, and Calhoun wished he didn’t find that hot. What was wrong with him? She was worried about crossing the line and being unprofessional, but he was the one behaving like a creeper.
“I saw no sign of compartment syndrome,” she said, meeting his eyes, and her remote expression was that of a stranger and he felt dismissed, old, irritated.
“Dr. Telford wants you assessed every hour, and the nurse and I will follow his instructions. How is your pain level?”
“No pain meds.”
“Pain level?”
He liked this J who took none of his crap and insisted on having her professional way. She was two sides of the same coin. Two sides, he mused, watching her and speculating what it would take to get her to see him as a man again.
He’d always had a bit too much ego.
But thinking of coins made him remember the medallion that he’d given to Ryder for safekeeping.
How was he going to honor Jace if he was injured?
I’m not that injured.
“If you had pain meds on board, it would help me to monitor for signs of compartment syndrome.”
There was that ominous word again.
“Compartment syndrome?” Calhoun didn’t like the sound of that, and his pain level sucked—everything hurt, legs, ribs torso—but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “What’s that?”
“I’ll get you some literature,” J said. “And keep your clothes on.”
“Said no woman ever, bro,” Ryder said.
The light in J’s eyes shut off, and her professional mask tightened. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to visit.”
She made the word ‘gentlemen’ sound like a curse.
“Ouch.” Ryder grinned as the door closed.
“She does need to work on her bedside manner,” Calhoun observed trying not to take J’s coolness personally, though he was, and it kicked up his competitive edge.
She’d rocked his world last night. Tonight, he was her patient.
Ryder pulled out his phone. He texted someone and then was scrolling.
“What are you doing?” Calhoun’s skin was still crawling from whatever pain meds they’d last tried. Apparently the antihistamine didn’t kick in as fast as the anti-nausea drug.
He reached for the cup of water with a straw, but it was too far, and his core screamed when he tried to move, like he was an out-of-shape ninety. Great. Ryder handed him the cup.
“Researching compartment syndrome. Not good. But since you’re not showing signs of trauma twelve hours after impact, that’s good. Usually shows up soon after the trauma.”
Ryder sounded perky, the bastard. “Trauma,” Calhoun muttered. “All over the world in dozens of hot spots, and I get frickin’ felled on Main Street, Montana.”
“Cross is on his way. We’ll take shifts just in case the doctors and nurses are too busy to check on you tonight.”
“I’m fine. I’ll be better when you get me out of here.” He tried again to sit up but winced and Rydwe’s glare had him settling back down again.
“At least get the tube out of your chest first before you go Supermanning out any windows. Geeze, I practically vouched for you. Oh. Here.” Ryder handed him the charm he’d been keeping safe. “This can keep your mind occupied while you’re waiting for Dr. Not Amused or Impressed to return and stick you with more needles.”