Sapphires And Sagebrush (Country Brides & Cowboy Boots)

by Danni Lee Nicholls

  Sapphires and Sagebrush

  Danni Lee Nicholls

  Copyright © 2019 by Danni Lee Nicholls

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Contents

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  Sapphires and Sagebrush

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Also by Danni Lee Nicholls

  About the Author

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  Sapphires and Sagebrush

  Country Brides & Cowboy Boots

  Two newcomers in a small town, trying to help the people they love. What will they risk to share their hearts with each other?

  When E.R. doctor Cressa Marshall moves to Sunrise Creek, she isn’t looking for love. Caring for her aging parents and overcoming a serious case of burnout are her only goals, nothing more.

  Spencer Stewart doesn’t move to Sunrise Creek by choice. But if in order to maintain a loving relationship with his four-year-old daughter, he followed his ex-wife to her small hometown.

  When Cressa hires Spenser to remodel her parents’ home to help with their aging needs, blossoming attraction turns to love. But, when Cressa sees Spencer with his daughter and ex, she recognizes something Spencer refuses to admit: He still yearns for the little family he used to have.

  Suddenly, Cressa is faced with a terrible decision. Does she sacrifice her love for Spencer to give his daughter another chance at a family? Or does she chase her heart into Spencer’s arms?

  One

  Cressa unfolded herself from the car and hurried through the wet parking lot toward the urgent care medical office. As the newest physician in Sunrise Creek, Montana, she would manage the staff and patients that walked through the door for the next ten hours.

  As she made her way to the employee entrance, scattering pebbles with her dragging feet, she worried about her parents. Two years ago, after she’d finished med school and begun working as an emergency room doctor at the University of Utah Medical Center, their aging had quickened. Their failing health had brought her to this particular dot on the map, keeping her busy since she’d arrived, leaving her little time to make friends.

  Sticking her key into the lock of the back door to the office, Cressa heard someone calling for a doctor. Her eyes were drawn away from the door. A young man hurried from a pickup that was parked behind a hedge, holding his left hand in a towel. Blood soaked the cloth and began dripping down his arm.

  Cressa’s mind cracked to attention as she hurriedly opened the door and pushed the foot down to keep it ajar. Running to the young man, she worked through her assessment during the closing distance. Was this a wrist cut? Had he tried to commit suicide? His face looked calm, considering the blood-soaked towel.

  Pulling a pair of latex gloves from her purse, she snapped them on as she shouldered her bag, meeting him in the middle of the parking lot. She studied his face for a brief second. Often, in the ER, a patient’s face would tell a great deal about the wound she was treating. He wasn’t in shock. Not yet, anyway.

  The man appeared to be her age, and he was graced with beautiful brown eyes framed in long black lashes. His calm demeanor remained. Her attention was drawn back to the wound, and she studied it. Already, the blood was starting to clot, but it still seeped from a gash that ran through the meaty part of the thumb.

  Relief surged through Cressa, and her stomach untied its knot. The wrist was intact. This was not a suicide attempt. Wrapping the thumb back in the towel, she hurried him inside the building. “Keep the pressure on the wound,” she said.

  “I didn’t have any bandages,” he said as she hustled him along. “I thought you might have one here.”

  Cressa was caught between wanting to laugh and her concern over the wound that was a clean slice through the muscle. “Oh, you’re going to need more than a bandage,” she said. “Come on, let’s get you stitched up.”

  Once inside the building, she pushed the light switch in the hall and ushered her patient into a room, where she continued to flip on all the lights. Setting down her purse on the counter, she motioned for him to sit on the edge of the exam table while she snapped off the gloves, washed and dried her hands, and put on another pair she pulled from the drawer by the sink before gowning up.

  Pulling a clean white towel from one of the drawers, she returned to the man and gently cradled his left hand. “Now, let me take a serious look.” She unwound the sopping bloody towel and threw it into the waiting receptacle to see the bleeding had slowed, but the wound was deep, cutting almost to the bone. “What happened?” Her question was unhurried and professional.

  “I cut it with a saw this morning.” His voice was calm, warm, and soothing. The kind of voice that wrapped around a soul and calmed trouble waters.

  Cressa winced. “This must hurt,” she murmured with gentle compassion, a feeling that surprised her. It had been a long time since Cressa had felt anything other than an anesthetized frustration around her work.

  “It didn’t at first,” the man said. “But it’s starting to hurt now. It’s throbbing.”

  Once again, Cressa looked into the man’s brown eyes. “I’m going to numb all of this, wash it really well, and then we’ll stitch you up.”

  “I’m Spencer, by the way. Spencer Stewart.”

  “Good morning, Spencer. I’m Dr. Cressa Marshall.”

  “Cressa. Such a pretty name,” he murmured.

  A small ray of warmth reached into Cressa’s chilled heart like the sweet breaking of dawn over a frozen landscape. She offered Spencer a small smile as she rubbed his hand with a topical lidocaine before drawing a syringe. “This is going to sting a little.” She offered him a sympathetic look. “After that, you won’t feel a thing.”

  Spencer nodded and watched as Cressa set to work. He winced as she began probing with the needle.

  Cressa hated hurting her patients, but if emergency medicine taught her anything it was that treatment often caused more pain in the process of healing.

  “You don’t have to watch, if you’d rather not.”

  “No. I don’t mind.”

  With the wound sufficiently numb, Cressa began palpating the laceration and surrounding area with gentle pressure to make sure there weren’t any foreign obje
cts stuck in the cut. Satisfied that nothing lurked within the layers of muscle and skin, she began, with focused precision, stitching the muscles back together before closing the skin. The wound was red and angry, but in much better shape than it had been just thirty minutes prior.

  After tying the last stitch, she sat up, letting out a long, pent-up breath, releasing the tension that had built in her shoulders and neck from her careful work. “Okay, Spencer. We’re all finished.”

  Spencer brought his hand up closer to his face and studied it. “Wow. You’re some seamstress.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have much of a scar when everything is healed,” Cressa said.

  “What’s next?” Spencer asked.

  Cressa smiled in surprise at his easy manner. Most people would be more interested in complaining before anything else. “Well, you’re going to have to take a few days off from that saw.”

  Spencer frowned. “I can’t really afford that.”

  “I’m guessing your work is construction?”

  “In the winter months I do indoor finishing work and remodeling in homes. In the summer, I’m a ranch hand.”

  That explained Spencer’s strong hands and arms. Cressa considered her patient: lean but rugged with a firm jaw, an honest smile, black curly hair that played with his ears and collar, and those arresting brown eyes. “Well, we’re going to bandage you, so the wound will be protected. But I’m afraid if you try to work with that hand, you’ll tear at the stitches and do some muscle damage.”

  “How much time are we talking?”

  “Ten days at least.”

  Spencer’s frown deepened as he rubbed his chin with his right hand. “Will these just dissolve?”

  “The sutures I put in your muscles will go away on their own, but I’ll have to remove the surface stitches in about ten days.”

  Spencer nodded as he hopped off the table.

  Concern threaded through Cressa. Another newly resurrected emotion. She had tried to quit worrying about her patients almost as soon as she’d started working in the level one ER trauma center at the University of Utah in Salt Lake. So many patients ended up right back in her care, often with the same symptoms because they didn’t follow the doctor’s orders. “I’m serious about resting that hand,” she said. “I’d hate for you to lose the use of your thumb because you went back to work too soon.”

  A defeated look came into his face. “I’ll do what you say,” he said. “I’ve just got some responsibilities that can’t be overlooked, and now I’ve got one more from this visit.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cressa said with honest sincerity. “We offer financial aid to those patients who qualify or may need to set up payments. You can talk with the folks at the front desk for the application. They’ll be happy to help you.”

  Spencer waved her off. “I shouldn’t have told you any of that anyway. It’s none of your concern. Thanks for stitching me up.”

  Cressa tried to release her anxiety for Spencer as she went over the instructions for wound care before bandaging the cut and putting together a kit of supplies, but a drop of her worry hung on.

  “I guess I needed more than a bandage, eh, doc?” he teased.

  Cressa gave Spencer a genuine smile. She liked this man who bounced back from trouble with cheer. “You definitely needed more than a bandage. I’m glad you came in.”

  Spencer lingered by the door of the exam room. “So, when I get my stitches out, will it be you who does it?”

  “Most likely,” Cressa replied. “We’re not called urgent care for nothing.” She handed him a couple of prescriptions for pain medication and antibiotics.

  Spencer laughed. “I’ve only been in here with my daughter when she’s been sick, and that never required a follow-up visit.”

  Cressa’s heart took a dip into her stomach. Spencer was married with a child. She hadn’t noticed a ring.

  He continued, “Now my ex takes care of most of those things. I’ve been lucky. So far, Kimber hasn’t been sick much on my watch.”

  Cressa’s heart moved back up to her chest before skipping a beat. She wanted to keep him talking, just to stay in his warm and open company. A deepening desire to learn more about him and his family created more questions. “Kimber is a beautiful name. How old is she?”

  Spencer grinned with unabashed pride. “She’s four, and she’s quite the daddy’s girl. I try—”

  The clicking of heels against the tiled floor distracted their conversation, and Cressa was sorry for the interruption. Even before she looked up, she knew Lindsey, the receptionist, was arriving for work.

  “Dr. Marshall. I just got here and wanted to check on you,” Lindsey said. “I saw your car and the pickup in the parking lot with some blood and wondered if there was anything you needed.”

  Cressa retreated back into her professional shell as the familiar cold numbness took over. “No. We’re fine. I came early and ran into Mr. Stewart in the parking lot.” She handed Lindsey the clipboard. “We just finished stitching him up. I didn’t get any personal information from him, though.”

  “No worries.” Lindsey smiled. “That’s my job. Besides, Spencer and I go way back.” She gave Spencer a little wink. “If you follow me, we’ll need to get you checked in, even though you’ve already been treated.” She faced Cressa. “You’ve got a new patient in exam room three.”

  Cressa nodded at Lindsey even though her attention was focused on the conversation between her and Spencer. How far back did the two of them go?

  Spencer’s voice turned cool, and the warmth that had thrilled Cressa only moments ago evaporated. “I didn’t know you worked here.” He faced the receptionist.

  “What? Lyla didn’t tell you? I started a couple of months ago.” Lindsey gave him a sugary smile.

  Spencer looked to Cressa, “Well, thanks again, doc. I’ll see you in a little over a week, I guess.”

  “Call if you have any questions,” Cressa offered.

  “Will do.” He followed Lindsey down the hallway. Cressa noticed his easy stride for a moment before turning back to the exam room. Normally, the nurse would clean up, but Cressa wanted the diversion, and she hadn’t seen Bernadette, the RN scheduled for the day.

  As she cleaned, her thoughts of Spencer and their warm interaction faded from her mind, leaving behind a kernel of curiosity. How did Lindsey know him, and why had he become so reserved when she’d arrived?

  Cressa busied her hands, making sure all of the soiled towels went into the correct bin before discarding the used needles, syringes, and gauze in the proper containers. In spite of the curiosity that bubbled up around Spencer, Cressa released the warmth of their shared moment like a whispered breath. The less she knew about her patients, the better. Her job was to stitch them up and send them on their way. Or, if their needed care was beyond her scope in this small office, she was to do her best to stabilize them and send them to St. Pat’s Hospital in Missoula via car, ambulance, or life flight, if necessary. None of those measures were needed this morning, so there was no reason to fill her head with thoughts of Spencer and Lindsey.

  Checking the exam room one last time, the familiar and numbing detachment trickled into her heart like an old friend. She welcomed it. It was a cultivated practice of distance that allowed her to see terrible human suffering and still treat patients instead of tearing her heart into a thousand raw pieces. It allowed her to compartmentalize her own life without falling apart, so she could face her parents’ fading health.

  The ability to keep everything in a box was something she had learned from Owen. He was a master at it, but then he’d been working at the ER at the U of U for ten years. The same ER that had left her barely breathing after only two years and a broken relationship that was way past resuscitation even if she did keep it on life support.

  Owen.

  Cressa closed her eyes and leaned against the doorframe as she took in a deep breath and held it; the familiar ache of his absence permeated every cell in her body. Even now,
she had to will herself not to run to her phone and check for a text. Swallowing hard, she reminded herself that it was better for them to be apart.

  Opening her eyes, she pursed her lips together while tightening her jaw before tucking her compassion and her pain away. She removed the gloves, washed her hands one more time, and hurried to the hall to find the green flag marking exam room three, where her next patient was waiting.

  Two

  Spencer sat in the truck, grateful for the lidocaine that kept his hand numb and the bandage that protected it, even it was hard to drive. He had filled the prescriptions at the pharmacy that was next door to the urgent care center and had already popped an antibiotic. The pharmacist had warned him against taking the pain pills until he made it home.

  He parked in front of his house. It didn’t amount to much—one side of a small duplex that was off a long dirt drive off Sunrise Creek Road. Still, he loved his place, tucked in the woods with a peek-a-boo view of the lake and the whispering pines that told their secrets to the snow.

  The landlord had been reluctant to rent to Spencer, a single man who wanted a year-round lease. He could pull in more money renting to tourists from May to October, but Spencer promised to look after both places during the cold winter months, meaning the landlord didn’t have to make frequent trips from Missoula to look after his empty property. He could still have summer visitors on one half of his rental.