ever known. And he didn’t feel like any normal patient would feel whenever she touched him. But that was something he was going to have to get over. And fast.
With that resolution in his head, he eased down on the long bench and rested his bandaged arms and hands on the table. Like a colorful bird flitting happily from one limb to the next, she moved around the kitchen gathering scissors, towels, tape and a bowl of yellow goop that looked like the sulfur poultices he sometimes used on his horses’ cuts and wounds.
“Before I headed out here today,” she said as she sat down next to him, “I went by Dr. Olstead’s office to pick up my orders for you. He says it’s time for you to see that you still have fingers.”
Linc’s expression was a bit confused. “I’ve seen my fingers since they were burned. I know that they’re still there.”
“Yes. But this is going to last for more than just a few minutes,” she said, then smiled broadly at his perplexed expression. “Just wait and see.”
She picked up a pair of the small scissors that she’d pulled from the medical bag and began to cut through the bandage on his right arm. The white gauze was thickly wrapped and the instrument chewed slowly as Nevada guided it through the material.
While she carefully worked over his arm, Linc studied the shiny crown of her black hair and the dark crescent of long lashes shadowing her cheeks. There wasn’t anything about the woman that wasn’t fresh and young and lovely. Everything about her glowed like a star plucked from a night sky.
“You like being a nurse?” he asked in hopes that a little conversation would take his mind to more normal things.
“Very much,” she answered. “I like helping people.”
“Is your mother a nurse?”
His question must have surprised her because she looked up from her task and frowned.
“Heavens no. Mom would run off screaming if she had to change a bandage or a bedpan.”
“What does she do?”
Nevada’s gaze slipped back to the job of cutting through the bandage and then she shrugged. “She works as a barmaid. In a tavern over in Bloomfield.”
“Oh.”
He didn’t think there had been any note of disgust in his one word, but she must have thought so. She looked up again and this time her lips were set in a grim line.
“Yeah. Oh. Her job is not something I approve of. But she seems to like it. She says the tips are good.” With a heavy sigh, she went back to cutting the last of the gauze away from his arm. “Believe me, Linc, my mother wasn’t always—well, let’s just say in the past years she’s allowed her standards to fall.”
Linc didn’t know why he’d even questioned her about her mother. He’d thought that maybe she’d gotten her personality from the woman. But apparently mother and daughter weren’t on the same wavelength.
“Why is that?”
She kept her gaze focused on her job. “She became—well, I guess you could call it disillusioned with a lot of things. She just gave up on ever having any sort of decent life. You know, a husband, a home, a good job.”
“Your parents are divorced?”
She nodded. “For a long time now. Dad liked women. I couldn’t count all the affairs he had before the two of them finally ended their marriage.”
Linc started to ask her if that was why she hadn’t yet married. But he stopped himself. He didn’t talk about marriage with any woman. Even in a passing way. And he certainly didn’t want this glamour girl to think he had any sort of matrimonial thoughts in his mind.
“That’s too bad,” was all he could say.
“Yes. Very bad,” she said in a resigned voice. “Because of my dad, my mother stopped taking care of herself. She began having affairs just to spite him. And after that everything went downhill.”
She looked up at him and he could see shame and sadness in her brown eyes. “I don’t really know why I told you all that. It’s not something I go around discussing with anyone.”
“I never repeat things told to me in confidence,” he said, just in case she was worrying he would tell others about her family.
Shaking her head, she said, “I wasn’t worried that you would. It’s just not something I talk about.”
Linc understood what she meant. Darla, his own mother, was never discussed by him or his cousins. Years ago, her name was brought up from time to time, but now there didn’t seem any point to it. None of them really knew if the woman was still alive. And apparently she didn’t care enough to let them know.
He noticed Nevada was beginning to peel away the layers of gauze away from his arm and he was relieved by the distraction. He didn’t want to think about mothers or parents or ruined marriages. All of which were very unpleasant subjects to Linc.
“Good lord, that arm looks like the skin of a baby mouse,” Linc exclaimed as she pulled the gauze completely away from his arm and then carefully rested his elbow on a clean towel.
“That’s good. It’s pink. It means it’s alive and getting good blood flow.”
It should be getting plenty of blood flow, Linc thought grimly. Each time the woman got near him he could feel his heart thump into overdrive. A silly reaction and one he’d certainly never experienced before.
He glanced down at his arm and tried not to feel deflated. The new skin was so thin it was practically transparent. All the hair was gone and in places he could see blue blood veins running just below the surface.
“I guess it is healing,” he had to concede.
“It is and very nicely, too. That’s the way we want to keep things going.” With her hand on his upper arm, she carefully twisted his arm back and forth so that she could inspect the top and underneath. “Boy, you really did a number on this one. Is the other arm like this one?” she asked.
“Pretty much.”
She glanced up at him and he could feel the touch of her brown eyes as it slipped all over his face.
“Victoria tells me that you were a hero. She said if it hadn’t been for you several of the horses would have burned to death.”
He grimaced. “Victoria is biased. She thinks of herself as my sister. She’d never say anything bad about me.”
Nevada shot him a faint smile. “Do you think of yourself as her brother?”
Linc had never had such a question put to him and for a moment it took him aback. All these years he’d thought of himself as the cousin, the one standing just on the outside. And it wasn’t because Ross or Seth or Victoria had tried to make him feel that way. In reality it had been quite the opposite. Tucker’s children had treated him as though he’d been one of Tucker’s offspring, too. But there was no escaping facts. He wasn’t one of them. And yet he loved them just as much or more than if they had truly been his siblings.
“Yeah.
