Submitting to the Doctor (Cowboy Doms Book 7)

by BJ Wane

  Turning away from the view of her swollen black eye, cut puffy lip and bruised cheek, she retrieved the first aid supplies and did her best to doctor her injuries. It was too late for an icepack on her face to do much good, but the medicated salve eased the sting in her lip and from the small nick near her eye. Lifting her sweatshirt, she winced at the purple splotches forming under her breasts. The smart thing would be to find an emergency room and get x-rays, but her breathing wasn’t compromised, indicating no punctured lung, and she figured she could wrap her ribs as well as a professional.

  The urge to get going, to put as much distance between her and the place she could never call home again, pounded at her temples. Lillian wrapped bandages around her ribcage and used medical tape to hold them snug, surprised by the relief the slight pressure gave her. It wasn’t much, but along with downing three extra-strength aspirin, the pain was now manageable. She ran a brush through her tangled, auburn hair and brushed her teeth before stepping out into the frigid early morning air. After checking out of the motel carrying a to-go cup of steaming coffee offered by the worried looking receptionist, she got on the road again, figuring she would stop when her body insisted, or she needed gas.

  The desolate winter prairieland matched her bleak mood as she traveled north through Wyoming while replaying happy memories of her and Liana’s childhood; their first day of school when Lillian had shoved the boy who’d pulled Liana’s braid and made her cry; the time they’d gone bike riding and ventured too far from home, getting themselves lost until well after dark and the police found them; their double date to their Junior prom where they’d indulged in alcohol for the first time and ended up grounded for a month; the fun they’d had on their college spring break trip to Padre Island.

  Heavy, grief-laden despair pressed down on her chest as she passed a herd of snow-encrusted, slow-lumbering bison traversing across a snow packed plateau. She shivered and nudged the heat up a notch as the thick gray clouds spit small flakes on her windshield. Liana used to love snow and catching Lillian unaware with a snowball to the back of the head. God, she would get pissed whenever her sister’s aim was spot on. As she reached the Montana border, her low gas gauge pinged, forcing her to find a gas station and take a break.

  Despite her aches and pains making themselves known with throbbing intensity and the dark clouds swirling ahead, threatening more snow, Lillian got back in her car after filling up and drove on. Not yet, she thought, the memories are still too close. Her trek made no sense, but neither did her sister’s death at the age of thirty-four. Weren’t they just laughing about growing old together as two, eccentric spinsters a few weeks ago? With Liana’s nose always buried in a book she was editing and Lillian’s focus glued to her current painting, it was a wonder either of them had ever set aside their absorption with their work long enough to accept a date.

  Lillian’s mouth curled in a derisive sneer as she recalled what the last date she’d accepted had led to. No fancy dinner or the mediocre pleasure of an orgasm was worth wasting her time. Give her a glass of wine and her pretty pink vibrator and she was content. There was no way she would relinquish control over her life again, especially not now, when there was no one left she cared enough about to sacrifice for. A pang gripped her abdomen at the reminder of how alone she was now, her gaze turning watery again.

  Eight hours, two pit stops, three cups of coffee, one candy bar and a steady amount of snowfall later, Lillian passed a sign showing ten miles to the Billings, Montana exit. Figuring that was as good a place as any to spend the night, she slowed to a crawl, the winter storm that was closer than she’d guessed turning into a white sheet of windblown swirls. She was no novice to traveling alone having flown around the country and elsewhere for art shows by herself for the last eight years, nor was this the first time she’d driven with snow falling hard enough to warrant caution.

  But it didn’t take long for Lillian’s first experience in leaving behind everything that was familiar to her, along with driving through a slow-building snowstorm sweeping across a wide-open, barren expanse of nothingness to turn treacherous. Controlling the car against the buffeting wind and slick roads zapped what little strength she had left after traveling all day and shunning food due to lingering nausea. The ten miles to the turnoff she kept an eye out for seemed to go on forever, the traffic on the now snow-hidden highway dwindling from sparse to almost nonexistent over the next thirty minutes. With no sign of another advertised turnoff, she took a wild guess born of worry and fatigue and opted for the next exit.

  Gripping the wheel with sweaty palms, Lillian turned onto a much narrower road, hoping it would take her into Billings, figuring it couldn’t be that far. Right now, she would welcome the sight of any building, or heck, even another vehicle. At least her snow tires were holding out, helping her through the slow build-up. Her heater worked well and she was sure the spare blanket was still stowed in the trunk, if she needed it. That didn’t keep the tremors of unease from invading her sore, depleted body as her head grew fuzzy with disorientation from the blinding white terrain filling her vision no matter which direction she looked.

  Staying along the wooded tree line helped guide her, but with darkness fast approaching and the constant struggle to stay focused, Lillian had just decided to stop and hope for a signal on her phone when a large, leggy elk darted out from the trees. Talk about startled like a deer caught in the headlights. She didn’t have time to giggle about that thought as her attempted swerve to miss the animal sent the car into a spin as slow and sluggish as her brain, the uncontrollable, rotating glide ending with the front end buried up to the windshield in a ten-foot snow bank.

  With a frustrated swing and exasperated huff, Mitchell buried his ax in the wood stump and shook his head in disbelief. What the hell was someone doing driving a sporty Mazda Miata on a Montana back road during a raging snowstorm? They were lucky their inevitable stranded predicament occurred near his cabin, that he happened to be here and outside getting wood to witness their loss of control through the trees separating his place from the road. Yanking his sheepskin lined coat closed and his Stetson down to shield his eyes from the blowing snow, it was too bad he didn’t get to share in the occupant’s luck.

  Mitchell trudged through the piling snow, bemoaning the loss of his solitude for the next few days. Given the weather and the distance between his cabin and the nearest towns of Billings and Willow Springs, it looked like he would have a guest for the next few days. He wasn’t happy about that; the month of February was still difficult for him two years following his wife, Abbie’s lost battle with cancer. This was his first winter in Montana, and he’d been looking forward to these few days away from his new practice as the encroaching memories pushed the heartache he kept tucked away to the surface.

  Tabling his irritation, he breathed a sigh of relief for the break in heavy snowfall as he emerged from the woods and sloughed through the already several feet of cold accumulation toward the stranded car still puffing out exhaust from the running engine. The lull wouldn’t last, so it was imperative he get the occupants back to his place as quickly as possible.

  The driver’s side door creaked open as he reached the back end, his annoyance with the woman struggling to release her seatbelt dropping away when he eyed her pale, bruised face. The car hadn’t landed buried in the snow wall with enough impact to open the airbag, and the snug fit of the seatbelt would have prevented those injuries from happening just now.

  Mitchell got to the open door as she emerged, her gasp of pain as she bent over with an arm wrapped around her upper waist prompting him to reach for her sweater-covered arm. “Sit down. You are not going to get sick or pass out.” He pressed on her shoulder until her butt returned to the seat, her booted feet buried up to her calves in the snow. She was alone in the car, which made it easier on him to have to deal with only one unwelcome guest.

  To his surprise, she glared up at him out of dark purple eyes, shaking her cloud of deep auburn hair out of h
er face as she snapped, “Says who?”

  I’m not only stuck with a houseguest, but one with attitude, yet another pesky irritation. “Me.” Squatting in front of her to block the wind, he cupped her chin with a gloved hand and held her still as he examined her black eye, swollen face and cut mouth, his hand tightening at the obvious signs of abuse. “Let me guess. You walked into a door,” he drawled, figuring she would skirt the truth like most abused women.

  She jerked her head and he released her to keep from causing her more stress. Her lips curled in derision as she replied, “Yeah, a door with fists.”

  Her honesty surprised Mitchell and earned her brownie points despite the sarcasm. He nodded, the hot ball of anger coiling in his gut the same response he’d experienced with every case of abuse admitted into the trauma center in Denver he had headed for five years. Pushing to his feet, he curtailed the desire to question her and searched for a coat among the belongings piled on the back seat. “I can check you over at my cabin, just through the woods. Can you make it that far?”

  She frowned, her eyes turning wary as she cast a look around at their desolate surroundings. “I can if I have to, but it would be foolish to follow a stranger to a secluded cabin in the woods.”

  “And it wasn’t foolish to drive in this weather in a vehicle ill-equipped to handle it without ending up like this?” he returned dryly. “I’m cold and the heavy shit will start up again any moment. I’ll give you two minutes to talk to the sheriff in Willow Springs and then I’m hauling ass back to my place, with or without you.” Digging his satellite phone out of the heavy coat pocket, he punched in Grayson Monroe’s direct number, praying he caught him in. When he answered, he gave his friend a quick rundown and then thrust the phone toward her, swearing as he noticed the blue tinge to her lips despite the heat blowing inside the still idling car and his position blocking the wind. “Make it fast.”

  Chapter 2

  Lillian worked at concentrating on the deep voice resonating through the satellite phone her reluctant rescuer handed her, but it continued to be his gruff but concerned tone bouncing around in her head. His stern, quiet insistence she would not get sick had irritated her since he couldn’t possibly expect the nauseous bile in her throat to subside simply because he insisted. Only it had, and that was just as annoying.

  “You’ll be fine with Dr. Hoffstetter, a lot better off than where you’re at now. Go with him and I’ll get a tow truck out there as soon as possible.”

  Great, I have no choice but to trust a cop and doctor. What were the freaking odds of that irony? Closing her eyes, Lillian fought to get herself under control. The sheriff clicked off, leaving her no doubt he expected her to believe him and that he was about as happy with her circumstances as the tall, rugged cowboy doctor staring down at her with impatience stamped on his face. She couldn’t see his eyes shielded by the lowered brim of his hat, but there was no mistaking his taut jaw. The salt and pepper goatee framing his mouth drew her eyes to the tight press of his lips.

  Left with no choice, she handed him the phone and nodded. “I can make it to your cabin. Thank you.”

  “I’ll grab your coat,” he replied, working the back door open. “Anything else will have to wait a few hours, or maybe until morning.”

  Lillian picked up the bank bag, sucked in a deep breath and pushed to her feet, the throbbing tenderness of her ribs making itself known again. Holding out her hip-length, all-weather coat, the astute doctor asked, “He got you in the ribs also, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, but I’m okay.” Shrugging on the coat, she zipped it up, feeling warmer already.

  “Let’s hope so.” Closing the car door, he took her arm and steered her toward the trees. “Walk in my path. It’ll be easier for you.”

  She did, keeping her eyes down and placing her feet in the deep prints left from his trek to the car. The woods offered a small break from the cold wind and they emerged a few minutes later into a clearing. She was so cold and miserable, not to mention aching from head to toe that not even a five-star hotel could look as inviting as the rustic cabin with smoke billowing from the chimney. The doctor’s calm silence, towering height and large frame offered a comfort she didn’t think she’d needed.

  Ushering her inside, he shut the door just as the heavy snowfall returned with near whiteout intensity. “Sit down and let me look at your ribs.”

  So much for the comfort she’d been experiencing. His brusque, no-nonsense manner rubbed her wrong – she’d had enough of bossy men in the past month to last her a lifetime. “I appreciate your rescue,” she forced herself to say in a neutral tone, “but as I’ve said, I’m fine.”

  Turning from her, he hung his coat and hat on hooks by the door, peeled off his gloves and tossed them on the table and then faced her again with his fists going to his lean hips. At five-eight, Lillian had never considered herself short, but she’d never had to crane her head back to look so far up at someone before. His thick hair matched his goatee in color, mostly silver with hints of black interspersed, and was worn long enough to curl around the collar of his dark green flannel shirt. She’d assumed his bulky coat accounted for the breadth of his shoulders, but she was wrong. His height made him appear on the lean side, but there was no mistaking the ripped, bulging muscles in his thighs as he stepped in front of her or along his hair-sprinkled forearms as he shoved up his sleeves to just below his elbows.

  Cupping her chin in his warm palm, she wasn’t prepared for the jolt his tightened hold gave her. “Have you been checked out by a medical professional?”

  No, I just ran from the painful heartbreak. Lillian realized the physical distance she had put between her and Salt Lake City did nothing to help her escape from the agonizing sorrow of Liana’s passing followed by the harrowing distress of Brad’s possessive temper. His point-blank question left her no room for evasion, and she wouldn’t lie. All she wanted from him right now was a few moments to lie down and gather her thoughts.

  “No, I haven’t had time, but…”

  “Then sit down and lift your sweater so I can check you over. Sheriff Monroe told you I’m a doctor.” Before she could blink, he divested her of her coat and pressed her shoulders until she landed on the edge of the double bed, the only piece of furniture in the miniscule cabin other than the small table, two chairs and a recliner facing the fireplace. “I’m Mitchell Hoffstetter. What’s your name?”

  “Lillian, and this isn’t necessary. I’m breathing fine.” Maybe a little heavier than usual, she puzzled over as he reached for the hem of her sweater and her breathing sped up. She must be more tired than she thought if she could get flustered by this polite, but not so welcoming stranger.

  Ignoring her, he remained every inch the professional as he pushed her sweater above her chest and picked up her right hand to place on the bunched-up top. “Hold it up while I unwrap you. Did you do this, or did someone help you?”

  I don’t have anyone anymore. She bit her lip to stop tears from forming in her eyes and gave up the ridiculous battle of trying to keep his hands off her that was costing her too much energy. “I did, yesterday.”

  Mitchell tossed aside the tape and swore as he saw the purple bruising that hurt her so much. His touch was gentle as he palpated her ribs but the discomfort was enough to elicit a gasp of pain. “Sorry, pet,” he murmured, the low-voiced, distracted comment grating on her nerves.

  “I’m not a damn dog,” Lillian returned, shifting away from his probing fingers.

  Looking down at her, he cocked his head and stepped back, his intent gaze drawing a shiver that had nothing to do with being chilled. “Do you have a dislike of nicknames?”

  “No, just of the men who use them,” she retorted.

  “So you prefer women, but it wasn’t a woman who knocked you around.”

  Exasperated, she blew out a breath and yanked her sweater down. “I didn’t before, but I just might learn to swing that way. Are you done poking at me?”

  Mitchell’s amused grin
reached his eyes. “Yes, and I didn’t feel a fracture. You’ll heal better without wrapping but you can ice them while I heat up something for dinner. When was the last time you ate?”

  “Earlier today.” Lillian didn’t mention she’d only eaten a candy bar.

  He turned to rummage through a cupboard above the sink. The apartment sized refrigerator with an upper freezer and stove along the wall was the extent of the kitchen. “I see I’m going to have to make sure my questions are specific. What have you eaten since this incident occurred?” He extracted a tube of antibiotic ointment and padded back over to the bed, his probing gaze once again on her face.

  “Are you this bossy with all your patients? If so, I can’t imagine too many of them come back for a second appointment.” His interrogation might stem from professional concern but coming on the heels of getting free of Brad’s abusive hold on her, the constant questions grated on her already strung tight nerves.

  “I don’t care about signing you on as a new patient, only about not being forced to get an air ambulance out here in the next twenty-four hours. Hold still while I apply this ointment to your cuts.”

  Well, that certainly put me in my place. Guilt slid through her; she’d never thought of that. She held her breath as he rubbed the medicine onto the cut by her eye and then on her lip, his touch light but enough to warm her, or maybe she was just feverish from her injuries and exhaustion. Yes, that must be it because there was no way she was attracted to him, despite his rugged good looks and a body any red-blooded woman would drool over.

  He stepped back and she stood, a sudden, room-spinning swirl of dizziness assailing her, forcing her to grab Mitchell’s shoulders. She closed her eyes against the sharp concern in his gaze as he gripped her hips and eased her back down onto the bed.

  “Again, what have you eaten today?” he demanded. “Or, do you have other injuries I can’t see?”