“It’s the only safe place to feel anything.”
The words stunned Megan, but before she could respond, the doctor shoved aside the privacy curtain. The tall, balding, bespectacled physician had X-ray films in his hand.
“I see you’re wide-awake now, Mr. Reynolds.” He stood on the other side of the gurney.
“Thanks to Megan. She’s keeping me on my toes—so to speak.”
Dr. Sullivan nodded knowingly. “Megan’s one of the good guys. I just wish she was full-time staff.” He flipped through the pages of the chart in his hands, then looked at the man in the bed. “Good news. Nothing’s broken. But the paramedics who brought you in said witnesses told them you tried to get up after the accident and had trouble walking.”
“Yeah.” His brow furrowed as he thought. “I stood up and felt pain rip through my leg.”
“Where specifically?”
“Calf and thigh.”
“Since there are no broken bones, that would indicate soft tissue damage.”
“You want to give it to me in English?”
“Sounds like muscles, ligaments or tendons. You’ll wish it was a broken bone.”
“What do you mean?”
“Bones knit fast. For everything else, recovery is painful and slow.”
The patient nodded his head and started to sit up. “Okay. Thanks, Doc. Now I’ll get the heck out of here so someone who really needs this bed can have it.”
“Whoa.” The doctor put a hand on Simon’s chest and applied gentle but firm pressure, urging him back onto the bed.
Dr. Sullivan moved from the side to the foot of the gurney. “You’re not seriously planning to walk out of here? And I use the term walk loosely, because if you’ve got the kind of damage I think you do, you’re not going anywhere without crutches for a while. And the CT scan shows a possible concussion.”
“Two-dimensional pictures of the goose egg,” Megan translated, in case he didn’t know the term from his other visits.
“You said possible concussion.” He ignored her and directed the question to the ER doc.
“Yes. We need to watch you for signs of deterioration.” The doctor looked at Megan. “Has he complained of nausea?”
“He hasn’t complained about anything,” she admitted.
Simon glanced back and forth between the two of them. “So we all agree I’m fine. It’s been fun. I appreciate everything.”
Megan slipped into a state of readiness when he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the gurney. He’d regained consciousness quickly, and his snappy verbal responses told her he was firing on all cylinders mentally. But the rest of him had taken a beating. At the very least, he had to be wobbly. If he started to go down, she wanted to be close enough to catch him.
She almost laughed out loud. At five feet two inches, a hundred and five pounds, her catching a big man like him was ridiculous. But at least she could break his fall, slow his descent so he wouldn’t do more damage. She noticed the bright array of bruises, scrapes and one nasty-looking wound on his shoulder.
“You’re in no condition to leave the hospital,” she said.
“If one of you could call me a cab, I’ll just be on my way.” He looked from the doctor back to her.
“You’ve still got abrasions that need cleaning up and the laceration on your shoulder needs a couple of stitches,” the doctor said. “If you’ll just lie back down—”
“Thanks but no thanks.”
Simon tore the leads off either side of his chest and the one in the center. Then he did the same thing to the ones on his legs. The sound of Velcro ripping followed as he forcefully removed the blood pressure cuff from his arm. Megan remembered that she’d had to find an adult large to accommodate his impressive biceps.
Inane thought. And one she didn’t have time to analyze, because the idiot was going to leave without treatment. Before she could decide how to stop him or if she should even try, he removed the medical tape and IV from his arm. Blood dripping down the inside of his forearm mobilized her in a hurry.
She grabbed some gauze squares and pressed them against his skin to stanch the flow. Simon Reynolds must really hate hospitals. But in his condition it was the best place for him. She had a feeling rational arguments wouldn’t get through to him.
“I say we let him go.” She directed her comment to the doctor.
“I knew I liked you,” Simon said with an approving smile.
Dr. Sullivan pushed his glasses farther up on his nose. “Megan, I don’t think—”
“How far can he get? Between the leg and head injuries, it’s just a matter of what takes him down first. The leg will probably buckle—if he can stand at all. He’s pretty alert, but that bump on the head is bound to make him dizzy. Then there’s the blood loss—” She shrugged and bent his arm up toward his chest to maintain pressure that would help stop the bleeding. “I have a dollar that says he bites the dust as soon as he puts weight on the leg.”
“A whole buck?” Amusement chased the traces of pain from Simon’s face. “You’re not very sure of your diagnosis.”
“If I had more money and a sucker around here who’d take the bet, I could clean up,” she retorted. She glanced at the doctor. “We can just stand here and watch him pass out. Or on the off chance he makes it out of here, we can follow the blood trail.”
“I thought nurses were supposed to be angels of mercy.”
She looked back at him. “I told you I’m no angel.”
“What about the mercy part?”
“Any moron who rides a motorcycle without a helmet, then tries to leave the hospital before he’s physically ready doesn’t deserve mercy.”
Simon lifted one dark eyebrow. “She’s tough as nails, Doc,” he said.
“I’m glad she got through to you. Now then, we’ll clean you up and admit you—”
“I didn’t say I’d changed my mind.”
Dr. Sullivan stared in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. A man in your condition—”
“I’m dead serious.” He started to slide off the gurney.
“No,” Megan cried. She hadn’t expected him to call her bluff.
She instantly moved forward, insinuating herself between his legs to keep him on the gurney. For all her bravado, she was afraid he would hurt himself, do more damage than he’d already done.
When he slid
