Read Online Small-Town Redemption by Beth Andrews - Free Book Online
Authors: Beth Andrews
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in Jocelyn’s neat handwriting.
No. It couldn’t be.
“If it isn’t Little Red,” a husky, male voice said. Her head snapped up as Kane’s gaze drifted lazily over her, from the top of her hair to her sensible shoes. She had a feeling if he could have, he would have raised one eyebrow in scorn. As it was, both brows were lowered, probably due to pain. “Cute PJs.”
She strangled the doorknob. Pretended it was his neck. Kept her lips pressed tightly together. It was better than informing him of the difference between sleepwear and her favorite scrubs—purple pants, lighter purple long-sleeved tee under a floral top.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but when she opened them, Kane remained. No figment of her imagination, no hallucination brought on by a strong resemblance and bad lighting. He was here.
He was also her patient. Hers to take care of.
Fan-freaking-tastic.
Damn it. She should have known it was him from the way she’d reacted to the sight of his legs. It was as if every time she was around him, her body went haywire. Hot. Then cold. Then hot again.
And that was just from getting a glance at his legs and feet. His feet, for God’s sake.
He shifted. Winced and blew out a breath from between his teeth. “Speechless?”
Maybe it was the pain she saw in his eyes, the way he went white with it. Or maybe it was the decidedly missing mocking tone from his voice. Or, she thought as she took in his appearance, it could be his torn clothes and the many bloody gashes on his person. Whatever it was, she snapped out of her reverie. She had a job to do and she’d lick the bottom of his stupid, scarred boots before she’d let him get to her. Even for a moment.
Besides, it wasn’t as if she could load him off onto another nurse. Well, she could, but she never shirked her duty. And if she asked someone else to take him on, they’d want to know why. She wasn’t prepared to give that answer. Ever.
She crossed to stand next to his bed. “Actually, I was just lamenting about how, of all the ERs in all this great land of ours, you had to walk into mine.” She pursed her lips, somehow knowing he’d hate it if she showed him too much compassion. That he’d mistake any sympathy for pity. “Then again, you didn’t technically walk in.” Because she figured it would annoy him, she added air quotes to the last two words.
Opening her laptop, she cleared her throat. Set the computer on the stand and plugged it in.
“Let’s get some information,” she said, bringing up the file Jocelyn had started. “What happened?”
“Didn’t you talk with those EMT guys?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then you know what happened.”
Couldn’t he cooperate at all? She pushed aside her irritation and glanced up at him. His face was a sickly color now—the pain must be getting to him. She softened a bit. She hated seeing anyone suffer. She’d get him something as soon as possible.
The EMTs had taped a piece of gauze to a cut on the side of his right eye, the flesh around it already turning interesting shades of yellow and green. His hair was disheveled, his shirt wet and torn, his jeans ripped, his right arm bent at an interesting and far-from-natural angle.
“Motorcycle accident,” she said, typing the words into the computer.
He shut his eyes and gingerly laid his head back. “A deer ran out in front of me. It was either lay the bike down or fly over the handlebars.”
“Guess you made the right decision.”
The police department would do whatever it was they did to ascertain if he’d been speeding or driving recklessly.
“Right before the accident,” she said, “were you light-headed or dizzy?”
“No.”
“Sick to your stomach?”
He snorted and she had no idea whether that was an affirmation or not.
“Were you drinking tonight?”
“Just water.”
“What about recreational drugs?”
Now he opened his eyes, pinned her with an unreadable look. “What about them?”
Something told her to tread
No. It couldn’t be.
“If it isn’t Little Red,” a husky, male voice said. Her head snapped up as Kane’s gaze drifted lazily over her, from the top of her hair to her sensible shoes. She had a feeling if he could have, he would have raised one eyebrow in scorn. As it was, both brows were lowered, probably due to pain. “Cute PJs.”
She strangled the doorknob. Pretended it was his neck. Kept her lips pressed tightly together. It was better than informing him of the difference between sleepwear and her favorite scrubs—purple pants, lighter purple long-sleeved tee under a floral top.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but when she opened them, Kane remained. No figment of her imagination, no hallucination brought on by a strong resemblance and bad lighting. He was here.
He was also her patient. Hers to take care of.
Fan-freaking-tastic.
Damn it. She should have known it was him from the way she’d reacted to the sight of his legs. It was as if every time she was around him, her body went haywire. Hot. Then cold. Then hot again.
And that was just from getting a glance at his legs and feet. His feet, for God’s sake.
He shifted. Winced and blew out a breath from between his teeth. “Speechless?”
Maybe it was the pain she saw in his eyes, the way he went white with it. Or maybe it was the decidedly missing mocking tone from his voice. Or, she thought as she took in his appearance, it could be his torn clothes and the many bloody gashes on his person. Whatever it was, she snapped out of her reverie. She had a job to do and she’d lick the bottom of his stupid, scarred boots before she’d let him get to her. Even for a moment.
Besides, it wasn’t as if she could load him off onto another nurse. Well, she could, but she never shirked her duty. And if she asked someone else to take him on, they’d want to know why. She wasn’t prepared to give that answer. Ever.
She crossed to stand next to his bed. “Actually, I was just lamenting about how, of all the ERs in all this great land of ours, you had to walk into mine.” She pursed her lips, somehow knowing he’d hate it if she showed him too much compassion. That he’d mistake any sympathy for pity. “Then again, you didn’t technically walk in.” Because she figured it would annoy him, she added air quotes to the last two words.
Opening her laptop, she cleared her throat. Set the computer on the stand and plugged it in.
“Let’s get some information,” she said, bringing up the file Jocelyn had started. “What happened?”
“Didn’t you talk with those EMT guys?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then you know what happened.”
Couldn’t he cooperate at all? She pushed aside her irritation and glanced up at him. His face was a sickly color now—the pain must be getting to him. She softened a bit. She hated seeing anyone suffer. She’d get him something as soon as possible.
The EMTs had taped a piece of gauze to a cut on the side of his right eye, the flesh around it already turning interesting shades of yellow and green. His hair was disheveled, his shirt wet and torn, his jeans ripped, his right arm bent at an interesting and far-from-natural angle.
“Motorcycle accident,” she said, typing the words into the computer.
He shut his eyes and gingerly laid his head back. “A deer ran out in front of me. It was either lay the bike down or fly over the handlebars.”
“Guess you made the right decision.”
The police department would do whatever it was they did to ascertain if he’d been speeding or driving recklessly.
“Right before the accident,” she said, “were you light-headed or dizzy?”
“No.”
“Sick to your stomach?”
He snorted and she had no idea whether that was an affirmation or not.
“Were you drinking tonight?”
“Just water.”
“What about recreational drugs?”
Now he opened his eyes, pinned her with an unreadable look. “What about them?”
Something told her to tread
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