said grudgingly.
He grinned, pleased with himself. “Could Ingrid the Harridan actually be stepping down and taking another person’s advice?”
“You’re skating on thin ice, my friend.” She chuckled and moved past him. “Watch your back, Dr. Allen.”
His eyes were glittering in the dim light of the scrub room as she walked back into the hallway. Her back gave another twinge, and even though her feet were hidden in her shoes, she could feel them swelling.
The last thing she wanted to appear was weak, but going home a couple of hours early wasn’t going to ruin her reputation. She pulled off her scrub cap and tossed it in a nearby laundry bag. As much as it pained her to think it, she was going to have to take it easier.
Whether she liked it or not.
Clint had made sure that Ingrid had left that evening. If she’d stayed, he would’ve picked her up and carried her out of the hospital, but he knew that would’ve just angered her even more.
Not that he cared in the slightest.
Being in the army and serving overseas in a war zone, Clint was used to doing as he pleased. Of course, then everyone would know he was the father and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to take on that responsibility. He also knew she didn’t want people to know. He respected and understood her reasons for keeping it quiet.
He’d spent the night in an on-call room, because he didn’t fancy driving all the way back out to his ranch. Tonight, for some reason, he didn’t want to be alone.
With a heavy sigh he sank down on a cot in the dark on-call room. He scrubbed his hand over his face and then lay down. Light from the streetlamps outside filtered through the half-open slats of the blind, casting long shadows across the ceiling. His eyes grew heavy and it was hard to stay awake.
Though he tried.
He tried desperately.
Sleep was when the nightmares returned. Though his body slept physically, he never felt rested when he woke up.
The room was silent for the most part. All he could hear was the hum of traffic from the I-90. It was summer and he tried to picture the cars, RVs and campers rolling across the black tarmac toward the west into Wyoming, or north toward Montana.
Then his pulse thundered in his ears as the steady ebb and flow of traffic and city noises turned to the roar of choppers and explosions.
Sweat broke across his brow. The panic was beginning to set in. There was no way he could stop it or control it. He was drowning and couldn’t surface to breathe.
Then the screaming started and he could feel the muzzle of an automatic weapon at his temple.
A flash of light made him jump from the bed, ready to fight.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize there was anyone in here.”
Out of the foggy recesses of his brain, he remembered where he was. He wasn’t back on the front, trying to put together pieces of soldiers like he was doing some kind of horrific and demented jigsaw puzzle. He was still a surgeon, but he was at Rapid City Health Sciences Center.
“Clint, is that you? Are you okay?”
Clint snapped his head up and saw Ingrid standing in the doorway. She was still in her scrubs. There was concern etched across her face.
“What’re you doing here? You’re supposed to be at home, resting. I walked you out.” He’d seen her leave. He’d made sure she’d left.
“Just because you walked me out, it doesn’t mean anything. You’re not my boss.”
Clint tsked under his breath and closed the gap between then and scooped her up in his arms.
Ingrid screeched. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Clint didn’t answer her. He knew exactly what he was doing as he left the on-call room and began to march down the hall toward the exit.
“Clint, are you crazy? You’re half-naked,” she whispered.
Damn.
Clint stopped for a moment and glanced around. A few nurses and orderlies had stopped what they were doing to stare openmouthed. Ingrid moaned and buried her face in his neck. He could see the bloom of color in her cheeks.
Well, the cat was out of the bag and word would spread through the hospital like wildfire about who the father of Dr. Walton’s baby was.
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