a wide-eyed once-over, then blurted, “Dr. Holt, there’s a possible gastric ulcer in room four and an OB in five. Can you come?”
“Be right there, Sandy. Lila, go help.” The two nurses rushed to the next patient.
Feeling the surge of exhilarating pressure that made her both love and hate her work, Mercy swiftly completed the exam, asking questions, checking reflexes. Frowning, she stepped back and scribbled on Travis’s chart.
“What’s the verdict, Doc?” he asked.
“I want to see X rays before I say for sure. But no cracked ribs, although you’re going to have a dandy of a bruise.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“I can imagine. We probably need to get a plastic surgeon to stitch your head.”
“Oh, hell, no.” He waved the suggestion away. “Can’t you do it?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Then go ahead. I got no inclination to hang around this joint all night.” His mustache twitched. “I guess I trust you not to mess up my pretty face.”
Mercy gave him a sour look. “Thanks for that vote of confidence.”
“Hey, for a former Flat Fork High homecoming queen, you’ve come a long way. It’s the least I can do.”
His words touched a raw nerve of insecurity that she’d thought had healed. Apparently she’d been mistaken. She lifted her chin. “That’s quite a recommendation, coming from you.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the twice National Bull Riding Champion must be an expert on getting himself stitched up—since it happens so often to the damn fools who ride bulls for a living.”
He lifted his brows at both her indictment and the fact that she was aware of his accomplishments on the rodeo circuit.
“Well,” he drawled, “we all know the real question is not when a bull rider is going to get hurt, but how bad.”
Her lips clamped down in a thin line of disapproval. “Not funny, cowboy.”
“You weren’t always so lily-livered, darlin’.”
“Yeah, well, a lot of things have changed, haven’t they?” She was surprised at how hard her voice sounded, sharp with an unexpected surge of anger. “But maybe you’re right, Travis. Maybe it is your lucky day. This time.”
Pulling on gloves, she settled him into position, reached for instruments and a hypo of anesthetic and began repairing the damage.
Stoically he watched her face as she worked. “If that’s the way you feel, I’m surprised you still keep up with the circuit.”
“Who says I do? Mother keeps me informed about Flat Fork’s favorite son.”
Holding still under her ministrations, he nevertheless managed to look astonished that Joycelyn Holt, Flat Fork’s preeminent society matron and wife of the Honorable Judge Jonathan Holt, might deign to notice a lowly cowboy. “You don’t say?”
“Certainly. You’re a bona fide celebrity. By all accounts, you lead quite a life.”
“Yeah, I’ve got the world by the tail, all right.” Somehow his answer seemed too hearty. “The traveling is murder, though. You know what they say—if the rodeo doesn’t kill you, the commute will.”
Mercy frowned over the last series of knots. To a healer like her, Travis’s jocularity was disturbing. She had proof right before her eyes of the hazards he faced every time he entered a rodeo chute. Not to mention certain other questions that had her professional intuition raising red flags where Travis King was concerned.
“Travis, have you ever had problems with—?”
Sandy, even more breathless than before, burst into the cubicle, cutting off the question. “Dr. Holt, we need you now. This mother isn’t going to make it to Maternity!”
“Oh, Lord. Finish up for me, will you?” She passed needle and clamp to the nurse. Mercy was peeling off her gloves, already halfway to the door, throwing an apology over her shoulder. “Sorry, Travis. Sandy will take good care of you. And don’t you go anywhere until I see you again. You got that?”
“No, ma’am, I won’t.” Flat on his back, waiting for the nurse to finish, Travis’s voice was grim. “You can bet on it.”
Mercy hesitated at the door, already regretting her unaccustomed sharpness, regretting... everything. “For what it’s worth, Travis, it is good to see you again. I’ll be back.”
One ulcer, a broken arm, a set of twins and a case of pneumonia later, Mercy snatched up Travis’s X rays from the pile on the admitting desk and hurried toward his cubicle.
Weariness sat on her shoulders like a heavy overcoat. Thankfully it was nearing the end of her shift, but she doubted that she’d be allowed to get away on schedule. Not that she was in any rush to get home to an empty apartment. She felt restless, unsettled; and the thought of facing another frozen dinner and then falling into her unmade bed, as was her routine, held no appeal.
She stifled a tired sigh. Well, it was her life. She’d chosen it, worked damned hard to get it, and she wasn’t complaining. No, she loved the work, the challenges, the rush of adrenaline that dealing with a multitude of life-and-death decisions every night entailed. Only the rigors of it left precious little time for anything or anyone else.
She thought briefly about losing Kenny, her first love, and about her disastrous marriage a year later. Despite the society wedding of the season, Rick Hulen hadn’t wasted much time before he’d left for greener pastures in the arms of another woman. Just as well she’d concentrated on her profession since then. Relationships obviously weren’t her thing.
Mercy shook her head. She wasn’t usually so morose. It had to be seeing Travis again that had brought on this melancholy. But before she could go home and put this mood behind her, she had to deal with this visitor from her past. It wasn’t as though they had anything in common any longer. For all his success, Travis was still a Texas tumbleweed, risking his life blowing around the rodeo circuit. Considering everything, the sooner the devilish wind that had blown him into her E.R. tonight blew him back out again, the better.
Drawing the X rays from their manila folder, she bumped open the cubicle door with her hip. Travis had pulled on his shirt again and was sprawled in a chair, brawny arms across his chest, long legs outstretched in loose-limbed elegance, black hat tipped over his face.
Mercy couldn’t repress a smile. During their early rodeo days, she’d contended that he and Kenny could nap anywhere, even on a bale of barbed wire. Both sons of ranchers, it was a part of the rodeo life they loved, weekend to weekend, hitting every competition they could, earning points toward the big time. They’d put thousands of miles on Kenny’s old truck before that fateful night.... Her smile faded.
Travis stirred, tilting his hat back to reveal the neat white bandage gracing his temple, watching her as she shoved the films into the viewer. “Back so soon, blue eyes?”
“Sorry about the delay.” Chewing her
