by Becky McGraw
“What’s the damned difference between a fireman and a firefighter?” she fired back, with an eye roll to avert his attention from the form.
“Firemen used to shovel coal into steam locomotives. I provide medical assistance at the rodeo arena during the season, and work as a part-time firefighter back home—no coal involved at all except in my stocking at Christmas.”
“Seriously?!?” It was ridiculous, absurd, to press him, but continuing this stupid conversation was distracting him from the form. If she could just buy a few more minutes, they’d be at the hospital.
“Well, sort of, but not really,” he replied conversationally, and Heather breathed again when he laid the clipboard back on the seat. “The real reason is because there are females on fire crews now, and they take offense at being called a fireman.” He winked at her again, and Heather wondered if he always did that to emphasize his words, or just with her. It was a little condescending. “I learned that lesson the hard way.”
If he used that wink on those women when he said fireman, it was no wonder, and if he added the cocky dimpled grin he wore at the moment they probably wanted to kick his ass.
Austin looked back at the clipboard, picked it up and Heather couldn’t find a single thing to say to keep them on the topic. He clicked the pen, and looked at her, “Is Heather Morrison your real name or your stage name?”
“It’s my real name,” she replied tiredly. Or as real as she’d had since she left that dirty apartment in Tulsa, leaving the dewy-eyed teenager Haley Morgan behind. But this man did not need to know the sordid details of her life. Maybe being a little nicer to him would make him back off of the questioning. “Thanks for keeping Zack alive, Austin.”
“Just doing my job, ma’am.”
“Well, you did it well,” she replied, or she hoped he did, and that when she got to the hospital she’d find Zack alive and well. She needed to call Twyla, and that would be hard to do when she was strapped to this gurney. “Um, can you untie me here and let me use your cell phone? I need to call his sister.”
“You can call her at the hospital,” Austin said, shortly, but he set the clipboard down beside him again, and Heather relaxed, until he added, “Right now, I’m going to take a look at that knee.” He shoved the blanket back, and Heather bit back a yelp when he squeezed her kneecap and moved it around.
She lifted her hips up, tried to pull her leg from his grasp, but couldn’t move. Even her arms were tied down. “Leave my damned knee alone. I told you it’s fine!” She wanted to distract him, but not at the expense of enduring the stinging pain he was inflicting with his examination.
Austin didn’t look up, and he didn’t stop his examination. He gently poked, prodded and felt around, until he was finished. Looking up, he smiled. “I think it’s a sprain and a contusion, but the doctor will have to diagnose that at the hospital. He’ll probably want some x-rays. And there’s some pea gravel in the wound that will need to be cleaned out.”
“I’m not going to let them do a thing to it—it’s fine.”
Heather couldn’t afford hospital bills, or take the chance they’d ask for her social security number. She was an adult now, but she’d used the alias for so many years, Haley Morgan didn’t exist anymore, and that’s how she planned to keep it. Her stepfather was not only a cop, he was a mean bastard. If he was alive and found her, she’d either end up dead like he promised, or in jail.
“Well, they can at least check—” Austin started.
“No! I’m not hurt, and they aren’t touching me! I just needed a ride to the hospital to check on Zack.” This man knew exactly what her angle was when he called the ambulance, so she had no idea why he was acting surprised. But maybe she’d been wrong about him realizing what she was doing. He did wink at everything. But he’d laughed too.
“I could’ve taken you in my truck,” Austin said angrily. “This ride isn’t going to be cheap, and it’s tying up equipment we could use elsewhere.”
Heather knew that too, she’d just have to figure that out later when she got the bill. For now, she’d accomplished her immediate purpose. “This was faster, and it also let me avoid the inquisition those two cops were about to lay on me.”
Austin leaned over, flipped a latch on a hatch on the back wall and it dropped open. After digging around a second, he sat back up holding a bag of clear liquid in his hand, and a lot of plastic tubing. He ripped open a paper packet with his teeth, and pulled out a long needle.
“What are you doing?” Heather asked, her heart stutter-stepping in her chest.
“My job,” he replied with a smirk. “If you’re sick enough to require an ambulance transport, I need to make sure you’re well-hydrated when you get to the hospital.”
“No! I don’t want that!” she screeched as he leaned over her forearm pressing on it, before he swabbed it with an alcohol pad.
He looked back up at her and anger sparked in his blue eyes. “Well that’s too damned bad, because you’re getting it.”
Heather jerked her arm, but he held it tight. Tied down like she was, there wasn’t much she could do but grit her teeth against the burn as he found a vein and slid the needle into her arm then taped it off. He patted the side of her forearm then met her eyes. “I wouldn’t jerk around or wiggle too much, because we’ll have to do it again if it comes out,” he said with another wink.
Heather growled, straining against the straps to look down at her arm. “I’m going to report you! I didn’t need this, and you know it,” she hissed.
“Good, I won’t feel guilty about reporting your false call then. You know I’ve heard that they double the bill for transport on false calls these days. I don’t get the bills, so I don’t know for sure, but you’ll have to let me know.”
That wink and smug grin made her wish she could get loose and choke him until it disappeared. “You’re an asshole,” she said, slamming her eyes shut.
“Yeah, I know it, but I don’t like people wasting my time or resources when other people need them. One of the riders could be getting hurt right now at the arena and I’m here playing nursemaid to you when you don’t need it. Remember that next time, beautiful.”
He was right, and she probably did deserve to have a bamboo shoot stuck in her arm, which is what the IV felt like. But she was going to be at the hospital soon to check on Zack. And call Twyla—it was worth it. Heather heard him rustling again and opened her eyes.
Austin was digging in the hatch again, this time he came out with a huge syringe and a vial of something. He drew a little of the medication and leaned in closer. Panic shot through her, and she fought against the restraints. “Nooo!” She squealed wriggling for all she was worth.
He laughed, putting his hand on her middle to hold her still. “Relax—this goes into the tubing, not you.” Exhausted, Heather finally stopped struggling, because it was doing nothing to help the situation. Austin moved his hand to grab the tubing and insert the needle into a joint.
“What are you giving me?” she demanded, craning her neck to see if she could read the bottle he’d sat on the gurney by her shoulder.
“It’s just a sedative,” he replied, pressing the plunger on the syringe, forcing the medication into the tube.
“I can’t go to sleep!” she wailed, but knew it was useless, when a warm lethargic feeling came over her. “I have to check on Zack!”
“I’ll check on him, I promise—but you need to get that knee checked out, and this is the only way it will happen,” Austin said calmly.
“But I need to call Twa—wyl—lala,” Heather whined, totally screwing up her friend’s name. Within a minute or two every muscle in her body turned to Jello, and she couldn’t fight the weights on her eyelids.
Chapter Three
Zack woke up disoriented and his arm hurt like a bitch. His eyes fell on the thick bandage on his right upper arm and he wondered if Grave Digger had done this to him? That was the last thing he remembered. Pulling the absolute worst bull he could have pull
ed in the draw, but the best if he could get a good ride out of him. Why the hell couldn’t he remember the ride?
Did he have a concussion too? A flash of bright pink on the floor caught his attention and he realized it was on the tips of tiny toes, attached to petite little feet. His gaze slid up toned, tan calves to a white bandage which ended at the hem of a green scrub top.
A barefooted nurse? His eyes flew upward to meet the cat-like green gaze of Heather Morrison. A flash of light blinded him and he remembered; the attack, the to-the-death fight with the stagehand and the burning pain when the man’s knife sliced through Zack’s upper arm. His vision cleared and he noticed a pair of crutches on the chair beside Heather.
“How bad is it?” he croaked, his eyes darting to the bandage on her knee again. Had she gotten cut too?
She frowned, those beautiful green eyes glistened and her lower lip wobbled. “The doctor wouldn’t talk to me because I’m not kin. I had to fight to even get them to let me sit in here, but Twyla is on the way.”
“I meant your knee—did you get cut? Is it broken?” Heather was small and a helluva lot more fragile than he was. Yeah, he was in pain, but that was not an unfamiliar state for him. Bullriders got hurt, and he was no exception. But that worry fled when the other part of her statement cut through the pain medicine making his brain fuzzy. “Call Twyla back and tell her not to come. I’m fine.”
“She called your parents, and I think they’re trying to get flights too.”
“Fuck me,” Zack groaned, as he sat up and pain sliced through his arm.
“No! Lay back down!” Heather shot up from the chair to hobble over to the bed.
“Call off the dogs, and I will!” he grated. “I don’t need them all here—I’m fine!”
“They are your family and they care about you, butthead.” She pushed on his chest, and he pushed back. “Just lay down and stop being difficult,” she growled.
Tiredness washed through him, so Zack gave in and laid back on the bed. “Call them back, Heather. I don’t want them here—Twyla is pregnant and mom and dad don’t need to be worried!” Zack had dealt with being hurt and trying to comfort his family before. It was not on his list of favorite things to do, and he certainly didn’t want to deal with it now.
“I’ll call Twyla, but you can’t sugar coat it. I already told her that bastard sliced you to the bone and they had to do surgery to reattach the muscle.”
Panic shot through him, and Zack tried to sit up again, but couldn’t. He didn’t remember any damned surgery. Why the hell couldn’t he remember?
“What kind of surgery?” he asked, looking down at the thick bandage on his arm, trying to squeeze a fist, but unable to make his hand close. Maybe this was more serious than he thought. Thank God he’d had on his vest when he ran outside because he saw that bastard who’d been staring at her all night follow her out there. Otherwise he’d probably look like Swiss cheese right now, or he’d be dead because the jabs and slices to his chest would’ve done some serious damage.
“How long have I been out?” he asked, his heart in his throat.
“About four hours,” she replied, with a tremble in her voice. “If Austin hadn’t controlled the bleeding you would have died. I heard him and the doctor talking about it when they thought I was still out from the sedative he gave me. They had to give you blood before they operated, because you’d lost so much, and it took two hours to repair your muscle.”
“Austin?”
“The cowboy-firem—firefighter from the arena who helped you then rode with me in the ambulance to the hospital,” she explained.
“Oh—” Zack wheezed, flinching as pain radiated up to his shoulder, over his collarbone then zipped up his neck to his ear. Nerves must’ve been affected too, he thought, fighting through the pain until it eased.
“I’m getting the nurse.” Heather hopped back to the chair to grab her crutches. “She said to get her when you woke up so she could give you more pain meds.”
“I pressed the button,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Just sit down, because it looks like you’re not any better off than I am.” Heather sat and balanced the crutches on the second chair, and Zack made himself meet her eyes, because he needed her to do this. “I want you to go call Twy and my folks and tell them not to come. I don’t want them here.” Dealing with them while he dealt with this pain was not going to work. Both his mother and sister would baby him, smother him, and drive him crazy. Not to mention worry themselves sick. This wasn’t his first injury, or his first rodeo with them. When Heather didn’t move he resorted to begging. “Please—just tell them I’m fine, and should be up and around in a few days.”
“I’m not lying to them.” The stubborn set of her chin told him she wasn’t calling at all.
“Give me the damned phone then,” he said, reaching his left hand across his body. Her jaw worked a couple of times.
“I don’t have a phone, I used Austin’s to call Twyla. Where’s your phone?” she asked, standing to hop over to the bed.
Zack laid back and closed his eyes. “In my locker at the arena. I didn’t have it when I ran outside, because I was getting ready to ride.” The door flew open, a middle-aged nurse came inside, and Zack opened his eyes. “I need to call my family, pretty lady,” he drawled, trying to turn on the charm. If only his damned eyes would focus in tandem, maybe he could wink. “Could you please loan me your phone for a second?”
She reached into her pocket and Zack thought he hadn’t lost his touch, until she smiled and held up a syringe. “The only thing I have in my pocket for you big boy is this. We don’t allow cell phones in the ICU, so you’re wasting your cowboy charm on me or any of the other nurses,” she said with a laugh, as she inserted the needle into his IV tubing. Liquid relief trickled through his body, and his damned lips felt twice their normal size.
“Just a little cut. I’m good…Heat-tler call and tell Twy-la-lill-a not to co—” Zack’s eyes felt like they were glued shut when he tried to open them, and his left hand fell beside his ear. It stayed there as he rode a wave of relief to oblivion.
“He’s out like a light, and you need to go somewhere to get some rest too,” the nurse said as she leaned over Zack to turn off the call button.
“I don’t have any way home, and I don’t want to leave until his sister gets here.” Heather pointed at the narrow, mustard yellow sofa along the far wall. “Can’t I just lay on that sofa over there?”
The nurse looked at the sofa then back to her with disapproval on her lightly wrinkled face. “You are injured too, missy. Lying on that hard sofa all night is not going to do the swelling in your knee any good.” Her eyes dropped to Heather’s knee. “Any more than the two hours you’ve been sitting in that chair have done.”
Heather’s knee was throbbing now, but she wasn’t about to let this woman know it. Nurse Ratchet would make her leave. If she left and something happened to him, Heather would never forgive herself. Twyla would never forgive her. Besides she didn’t have any money for a taxi to go home, her knapsack was back at the arena, and so was her truck.
“It’s just a sprain, and I can lay down and put an ice pack on it,” she said sweetly.
The nurse huffed a breath and shook her head, as she walked to the door. “I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket then.” At the door she turned back to look at Heather pointedly. “But I’m on all night. If I come back in here and you don’t have that ice pack on your knee, I’m sending you home. Got it?”
Fuck you lady, I’m not your patient sprang to her lips, but Heather pinched them. “Yes, ma’am,” she forced out, folding her hands primly in her lap to control her middle finger’s penchant for popping up when she had those thoughts.
“Just so we understand each other, I’ll let you stay until his sister gets here,” the woman said as she opened the door and walked out.
“Oh we understand each other, lady. But you might end up calling security if you try to make me leave,” Heather grumbled, as she
stood and jerked the crutches up from the chair to shove them under her arms. Getting her swing on, she made her way to the sofa and sat down to lean the crutches against the wall.
She was bone tired, and as frustrated as she’d been in a long time. The doctor said she wasn’t going to be able to dance at the Crazy Cowgirl for at least a week, but he’d given her pain meds. That would get her through it. She had to make money. At his income level, Heather was sure the doctor didn’t understand that. It would probably be a few weeks, maybe a month, before she got her money for singing at the rodeo last night. Her rent was due, so Heather didn’t have the luxury of not working, or losing her job.
Even though she was his best, most reliable dancer and he knew it, Leon would replace her if she was out a whole week. It was all about money to him. There were younger, prettier women out there who were good dancers. New faces applied daily to become dancers at the Cowgirl because the tips there were something they couldn’t find elsewhere without taking their clothes off and dancing on a pole, or spreading their legs for a stranger. Heather knew that was a fact, so she was not jeopardizing her job until something better came along.
That’s why she would keep the ice pack on her knee. Not because Broomhilda commanded her to do it, she thought, as she lifted the scrub top to loosen her skirt. Her costume top was ruined, tucked in a plastic bag beside the chair where she’d been sitting. Her boots were a lost cause, laying on the ground somewhere outside of the arena where she’d left them. Something else she needed money to replace. No, even though she hated working at the Cowgirl, she wasn’t going to be able to leave anytime soon.
The nurse brought the covers and ice pack back then quickly left again. Zack was snoring softly in the bed, and Heather settled on the hard sofa. After plopping the ice pack on her knee, she laid back on the small, paper-covered pillow she’d been given, and the last thoughts Heather had before she closed her eyes was how peaceful and young Zack Taylor looked when he was sleeping. And how nice he actually was in comparison to how hard she’d always thought he was.
