Dr. Pierce left, Chloe continued to stare down the corridor toward the double doors that led to surgery. She’d spent mere minutes with Wyatt, but she didn’t like the image that formed in her mind of the light going out of his beautiful eyes as his future was ripped away. Why she cared so much, she had no idea. But she did.
Wyatt started to wake when he heard voices. He couldn’t distinguish actual words through the fog in his head, but the conversation nearby was enough to pull him toward the surface. As he listened, he could gradually make out words from the murmuring voices. Surgery. Out. Night. It was like listening to a radio station that was mostly static with only the occasional intelligible word.
He knew there was something he could do to help make sense of what was going on, but damned if he could remember what it was. So he lay still and listened to the voices—two women—and searched his brain for the answer. Then it hit him. He could open his eyes. But when he tried, that simple act proved to be easier thought than done.
What in the world had happened to him to make his body refuse to cooperate with his brain’s commands?
“Dr. Pierce said the surgery went well last night,” one of the voices said. There was something familiar about it, something that made him desperate to open his eyes. “I’m working at the clinic this afternoon, but let me know if anything changes.”
She was leaving. No, she couldn’t leave, not without him seeing the face that went with that voice. He concentrated on that one thought, the absolute necessity of opening his eyes before it was too late. At first, his eyelids did no more than flutter, but he concentrated harder and they finally lifted. The world around him came into focus bit by bit until his gaze fixed on her, the owner of the voice, the doctor who had joked with him in the ER.
“Will do,” the nurse said.
Another nurse stuck her head in through the doorway. “I need help with Mrs. Walker in 221.”
He watched as both nurses left the room without noticing he was awake. The doctor scanned what must be his medical chart. More of the fuzzy feeling in his head receded as he watched her make a notation on the chart then push her chin-length, reddish-brown hair behind her ear. He’d been in a lot of pain when he’d awakened in the ER, but he hadn’t been so far gone that he didn’t notice she was pretty. And now, as he fought his way out of what had to be a medicine-induced haze, he thought her even more so.
The doctor—what was her name? She’d told him, but he couldn’t pull that information from his memory. Maybe he’d sustained another concussion in addition to the nasty lacerations. As she placed the chart at the end of his bed and turned to head for the door, he tried to say something but found his throat was as dry as cardboard. Instead of words, what came out was a strangled squawk. Yeah, that would get the ladies every time.
But it was enough to cause the doctor to lift her eyes to his.
“Well, hello there, sleepyhead,” she said. She smiled as she moved to his side. “Sounds like you could use a drink.” She poured him a cup of water from the pitcher on the bedside table then handed it to him.
When he reached for the cup, a sharp pain in his side caused him to suck in a breath then grit his teeth.
The doctor guided his hand to the cup and continued to steady it until she was sure he could hold it on his own.
“You’ll want to not make any sudden moves for a while,” she said. “No stretching, no lifting. If you need something, use the call button and a nurse will come help you.”
He nodded though he hated the idea of being dependent. Maybe she was just being overly cautious. After all, this wasn’t his first trip to the hospital, not even his first surgery. Chances were he’d be up and about in a few days. He might have to skip two or three rodeos, a hit on his finances he sure didn’t need, but some things couldn’t be helped. But if taking it easy in the hospital for a day or two helped him heal faster, then that’s what he’d do. After all, he had a pretty doctor to tend his wounds.
The doctor reached to push the button to raise the head of the bed. That’s when he noticed the name tag attached to her white lab coat. Dr. C. Brody. When the bed came to a stop, he brought the cup to his dry lips and took a drink. The water wasn’t exactly cold as he liked it, but nothing had ever tasted so good. He started to down the rest of it when Dr. Brody stayed his hand.
“Go slowly.”
Against his instinct, he did as she said and took another sip, letting it trickle down his throat as he met her eyes, pretty green ones with what looked like flecks of brown. When she broke eye contact and removed her hand from his, his gaze drifted to her lips. She wore a hint of pale pink lipstick, and something about the sight of it made his throat go dry again.
Dr. Brody crossed her arms. “So how are you feeling this morning?”
He glanced toward the window and saw that it was indeed daylight. “How long was I out?”
“Overnight and most of the morning. And you’re feeling?” she asked again.
“Better than when I got here, but I bet that has a lot to do with whatever is in that.” He pointed toward the IV pole that held two bags of liquids that were attached to his arm via tubes.
“Yeah, we kind of have to drug you up when you battle a bull and the bull wins.”
He grinned at her. She was so unlike any doctor he’d ever met, funny and friendly. He pointed toward her name tag. “So what’s the C for?”
“My first name.”
He lifted a brow. “And that would be?”
“You know, I think I’ll let you guess. That’ll give you something to do while you recuperate.”
“Caroline.”
“Nope.” With a self-satisfied smile, she turned to head toward the door again.
“Charlotte.”
“No more guesses today,” she called out as she slipped into the hallway and out of sight.
He might be less than twenty-four hours away from nearly getting his guts ripped out, but he found himself smiling. He liked a good challenge, and it seemed the lovely Dr. Brody was giving him exactly that.
* * *
CHLOE FINISHED HER hospital rounds several minutes later after listening to Henry Stillwater complain about everything from how the IV was hurting his hand to the inedible quality of the hospital food. She had to admit, the barely touched lunch on his table didn’t look particularly appetizing. She wasn’t even sure what the glob of yellowish orange goo was supposed to be.
As soon as she made her escape from Henry’s room, her gaze shifted across the nurses’ station to the first room she’d visited on her rounds. Wyatt’s room. She tried telling herself that she was simply glad to see him awake and on the mend, but she could still feel the buzz in her middle that had started the moment she’d looked at him to find him watching her. The buzz that had only increased when she’d helped him grip the cup of water. A strange giddiness had blossomed to life within her when he’d tried to guess her name and she’d decided to keep him guessing.
