She really did have a temper to match that glorious hair. He saw her fighting it, saw her struggling to hold her tongue. When he took a step closer to her, it finally broke free.
"Fine. You go right ahead and leave. I hope you fall flat on your face in the middle of Main Street
. I hope you rip out every stitch in your leg. I don't care if your head feels like it got hit with a bowling ball. If you want to leave, you go right ahead."
"As soon as you give me my clothes, I will."
She whirled and stomped into the small cubbyhole that must be her office. Picking up two brown paper bags and a leather backpack, she marched past him and dumped them on the bed. "You're all set. Don't let the door hit you in the rear end on your way out."
Without another word she flashed past him and into one of the exam rooms, slamming the door. The noise reverberated around his head, making him close his eyes with the pain. Slowly he turned and made his way to the bedroom.
Fifteen minutes later, he'd spread all his belongings on the hastily made bed and taken a quick inventory. Everything seemed to be there. He looked at the T-shirt and jeans he'd tried to pull on and grimaced. Without help, he'd never get dressed. His ribs were still too sore to raise his hands over his head or bend down to pull on the jeans.
Just as he was struggling to step into the jeans without bending over, the door opened and Sarah came in.
"I'm sorry, Mr. MacCormac," she said steadily. "I shouldn't have lost my temper." Taking a deep breath, she continued, "I guess I'm just used to getting my own way when it comes to medical decisions. I shouldn't have said those things to you."
"You're forgiven if you'll help me get these on."
He saw a flicker of compassion in her eyes before the familiar exasperation filled them.
"Doesn't that prove to you that you shouldn't be leaving? You can't even get yourself dressed yet."
"If I just lay here, it'll take me twice as long to heal. I need to move around."
"Where are you going to stay?" She gave in and knelt down, holding his jeans so he could step into them. "There isn't a hotel in town."
"My mother's house."
Rocking back on her heels, she looked up in astonishment. "Nobody's lived there in ten years! You can't stay there. The dirt alone would probably kill you."
"That would make the citizens of Pine Butte happy, I'll bet."
She stood up slowly. "Nobody wants you dead, Mr. MacCormac." The ghost of a smile flashed in her eyes.
"Then we wouldn't have anything to talk about." The smile faded as she looked at him, concern on her face. "Would you please reconsider? You're welcome to stay here for a few days, at least until you can get around on your own."
He found himself studying her eyes. She was sincere, he realized. It may have been only her normal concern for a patient but she was really distressed about the idea of his leaving the clinic.
Something began to shift inside him. He'd come back to Pine Butte determined to hate everyone and everything about the town. She was the last person he could trust, but he found to his surprise that he couldn't hate Sarah Wesley.
"All right, I'll stay," he heard himself say.
* * *
Chapter 3
«^»
"At night," Connor added, standing and pulling his jeans up over his hips. "I'm not going to lie in this bed all day and rot. I have things to do."
The denim was tight around the bandage on his thigh and the cut began throbbing again. Ignoring it, he reached for the shirt. Sarah grabbed it off the bed and eased it over his head.
"That's fine with me," she said calmly. "You can do whatever you want."
A real smile curved his lips, and he looked over at where she stood stiffly facing him. "That's not what you said a few minutes ago. As I recall, you were pretty vehement about what I was supposed to be doing."
Delicate red color crept up her neck and cheeks. "I have a bad temper, Mr. MacCormac. I'm sorry I lost it."
"And that's another thing. Call me Connor." He watched her for a moment and felt his blood begin to heat. "Especially if we're going to be sharing living quarters for a while."
"The only thing we'll be sharing is this building." Her voice was even, although her cheeks were still red. "My apartment is upstairs. I'll leave the door open at night so I can hear the buzzer if you need help."
"Help isn't what I usually need at night," he said softly, still watching her. She looked so serious he couldn't resist needling her. Those luminous blue-green eyes darkened, then she blinked and looked away.
"Head injuries are funny things … Connor. You never know when you're going to have a relapse." The door closed quietly behind her.
For just a moment, before she turned away, he could have sworn it was longing and not impatience that flashed into her eyes. His body was taut with desire, and his mouth curved down bitterly.
Caught in his own trap, and it was no less than he deserved. He shouldn't have agreed to stay, not after he'd realized who she was.
Imagine him and Barb Wesley's sister. Had Sarah had a good laugh with Barb and her mother after he'd left? Did Sarah think it would be amusing to pickup where Barb had left off, to string the MacCormac kid along one more time? If anyone did any stringing along this time it would be him, he thought savagely, moving into the hall and slamming the bedroom door behind him. He ignored the pain in his head. Sure, Sarah Wesley was gorgeous. She'd done things to his blood pressure from the moment he woke up and found her standing next to him. But if she thought he'd be putty in her hands the way he'd been for Barb, she was in for a big shock.
He'd stay in Pine Butte as long as it took him to take care of business and not a moment longer. Once he finished here, he'd kick the dirt of this stinking town off his boots forever. He wouldn't have one regret the next time he walked away. He didn't intend to have any reasons to look backward this time.
Moving slowly into the empty waiting room of the small building, he spotted her down the hall, sitting at a desk. Her head was bent over and it was obvious she was writing. He paused at the sight of her coppery hair curling above her slender neck, his body tightening in response.
She was a beautiful woman and he wanted her. Hell, he'd have to be a lot more than half dead if he didn't. But wanting her and needing her were two different things. Now that he was back in Pine Butte, he'd have a hard time forgetting what could happen when you needed someone.
Hobbling over to the door, he eased it open and stepped into the harsh sunlight. He had business. It was time to get it started.
* * *
Sarah heard the tiny click of the front door closing and took a deep breath. She'd been frozen in place, feeling his gaze burn into her back – knowing she should have turned around, warned him to be careful, told him where she hid her spare key. But she couldn't have moved if her life depended on it.
And maybe it had. She hadn't mistaken the look in those bright blue eyes or misunderstood his words. He was attracted to her. She had seen the awareness in his eyes, felt it in the tensing of his muscles. Only his injuries, and a thin veneer of civilization, stopped him from acting on it.
Dropping the pen she'd been clutching like a lifeline, she walked into the waiting room and locked the door. Then, knowing she should go back and finish working on her charts, she moved to the window and looked for Connor.
He hadn't gotten far. He'd managed to cross the street and stood, swaying, on the sidewalk opposite the clinic. Her hand tightened on the curtain and she had to stop herself from running out the door after him. He wouldn't thank her for her help, she knew, and would be less than thrilled to admit his weakness.
If she hadn't been so sure that he was basically fine, she wouldn't have let him walk out the door in the first place, she assured herself. Right now he was sore, but his injuries hadn't turned out to be serious.
She watched until he'd turned the corner and disappeared from view, then went back to the pile of records she had to finish before she could get
lunch. With any luck at all, she'd have to endure only a few days of his presence. When his motorcycle was repaired and his body recuperated, he'd ride out of town and she wouldn't see him again.
She managed to put him out of her mind and concentrate on her records, refusing to stop until the entire pile was finished. Finally stretching in her chair, she stood up and grabbed her purse. She'd have time for lunch today, after all.
She'd gotten as far as the front door when the frantic screech of brakes outside told her she'd go hungry again today. Tossing her purse onto one of the chairs, she hastily unlocked the door and rushed outside.
The door of a battered pickup truck flew open and her cousin Richard leapt out. "Thank God you're here, Sarah. We had an accident up at the mine." Without waiting for her to respond, he ran around to the back of the truck and threw open the hatch.
Sarah rushed to join him, peering into the dimness of the truck and seeing the motionless figure of a man lying on a makeshift bed of blankets and coats. His left leg was covered with blood, and his face was paper-white against the dark jacket that was balled up under his head.
"What happened?" she asked tightly, picking up his wrist and feeling for a pulse.
"His leg got smashed between two of the rail cars."
Sarah looked up sharply at the voice. Harley Harrison stood on the other side of the truck, looking, for Harley, remarkably subdued. The truculence she associated with him had vanished, replaced by fear.
"Those little cars that carry the rock out of the mine?" she asked.
"Yeah. One had derailed. Chet here—" he nodded at the injured man "—was tryin' to fix it and another one smashed into him."
"That was pretty careless," she commented, laying the injured man's hand down and looking at the mine foreman.
His face darkened. She wasn't sure if it was anger or fear. "It was an accident."
"I'm sure it was. That doesn't help Chet, though, does it?" she tossed over her shoulder. "I'll be right back."
She ran into the clinic and got the stretcher, then hurried to the truck. Her cousin and Harley stood in back of it, looking helplessly at the injured man.
"Richard, you get into the truck. We're going to have to get him onto this stretcher." She watched as her cousin scooted awkwardly to the front of the truck bed, carefully avoiding the bloody spots on the blankets. Good old Richard. He never changed. He might be truly concerned about his employee, but that wasn't about to make him get blood on his expensive suit.
She shoved the stretcher in behind him. "Okay, ease his head and chest over."
Her cousin gently lifted the semiconscious man onto the narrow width of canvas. Sarah's heart twisted as she heard the injured man groan. Lifting up one of the blankets that lay under his injured leg, she eased the lower half of his body onto the stretcher, then grabbed the wooden handles.
"You take the front end, Richard. Harley, you get the door." Her hands tightened and she slowly slid the heavy stretcher out of the truck.
Two minutes later Chet lay on the table in her largest exam room, the same table Connor was on just yesterday. Sarah felt the same overwhelming anxiety, the same fear that she wouldn't know enough to help her patient. At least with Chet the injuries were probably limited to his leg.
"It was only his leg that got caught?" she asked as she started an IV drip.
"Yeah. At least that's what the guys working with him said." The foreman stared at her until she looked away. She was more used to this surliness from Harley.
Sarah adjusted the flow of the IV solution, then reached for a pair of scissors. Lifting up the blood-soaked material of Chet's jeans, she cut through it and pushed it away from his leg.
Her stomach contracted sharply when she saw the white shards of bone stabbing out of his skin. Trying to touch the wound as little as possible, she looked for any areas that were still heavily bleeding. Finding none, she washed her hands and went to the telephone.
She came back a few minutes later to find her patient restless, turning his head from side to side. Taking his hand, she bent down next to his ear.
"Chet, try not to move. Your leg is broken and moving will only make it hurt more. I'm going to give you something for the pain. The evacuation helicopter is on its way, and before you know it you'll be in Glenwood Springs. Shall I call your wife so she can go with you?"
Chet nodded and clung to her hand. "Is my leg going to be okay, Sarah?"
"I don't know, Chet. I'm not a doctor." She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "The doctors in Glenwood are very good. They'll take care of you."
She straightened, looking at the awful wounds on his lower leg. She hoped to God that they could save his leg, and that the delay wasn't going to make it worse. The helicopter was available and would leave immediately. It should be here in a half hour or so.
She squeezed his hand gently, then laid it down and went to get some morphine. Pulling the keys to her safe from her pocket, she turned to her cousin. "Richard, have you called Chet's wife yet?"
Her cousin looked uncomfortable. "Ah, no. We were in too much of a hurry to get him here."
"Do it now, will you?" Her voice was sharper than it should have been, and she turned to get the narcotic out of her safe. "You should have thought of that."
"I'll do it." The foreman moved away from the table and looked around. "Where's the telephone?"
"In the office, Harley." She didn't even look at him as she drew up an injection of morphine. Pushing it slowly into Chet's IV line, she watched with relief as he relaxed, his hands releasing the clenched blanket. Even if all she could do was give him relief from his pain, it was better than nothing.
The door of the clinic opened and she turned, expecting to see Chet's wife. Instead Connor came limping slowly into sight. Seeing the scene in front of him, he stopped dead in his tracks.
Her cousin was the first to speak. "MacCormac. I'd heard you were back."
"You heard right, Wesley." His eyes measured, challenged the other man. "I guess I'm just like a bad penny." Connor stared at her cousin, his eyes unreadable. Both Richard and Harley stood, looking oddly defensive, and stared back. The atmosphere in the tiny exam room was suddenly crackling with tension, as if an electrical storm on the horizon had every particle of air standing on edge.
Connor's eyes flickered to the man lying on the table and his expression altered. Ignoring Richard and Harley, he walked into the room and looked down at Chet. "What happened to him?"
"His leg was smashed between two ore cars up at the mine." Sarah stepped between her patient and Connor. "Please don't come any closer. He has a serious fracture and needs to have as few people around as possible. The more people that hover over him, breathing on him, the more likely he'll get an infection in his bone."
"You're right." Taking one last look, Connor stepped abruptly backward and out of the room. Pausing to look at Harley and Richard, he said, "The fewer people in the room with him, the better off he'll be."
Flushing, she turned to the other men. "Please go wait in the other room. Nobody should be in here."
Sarah watched the three men retreat to the waiting room. In spite of his injuries, Connor looked lethal, standing staring at her cousin and Harley. Neither of them spoke a word. They just stood, watching.
The door opened again and Chet's wife came running in. When she reached the exam room, she stopped and looked at her husband, color draining from her face.
"Oh, my God, he's dead, isn't he?"
"No, Jilly, he's not dead," Sarah said soothingly. "I gave him a painkiller and he's just sleeping."
Moving over to where the woman stood rooted to the ground, staring in horror at the bloody leg, Sarah gently but firmly led her to the head of the table. "You can stay in here with him, but you can't go near his leg. Just hold his hand and talk to him. The helicopter should be here any minute."
As she finished speaking she heard the faint sound of the helicopter's rotor in the distance. Saying a prayer of thanksgiving
that they were able to be so prompt, she went to her cabinet and pulled out a variety of sterile bandage materials. The evacuation crew would want to protect the wound before they transferred Chet to the helicopter, and she wanted to have everything they could ask for ready. Chet needed to be in a hospital as soon as possible.
Twenty minutes later she stood on the street and watched as the helicopter rose into the sky. As close to the ski resorts as they were, some of the best orthopedic surgeons in the country practiced within one hundred miles of Pine Butte. Chet would be in fine hands.
Just as she turned to go into her clinic, a large black car glided to a stop behind Harley's truck. Her uncle stepped out, walking quickly toward the knot of people in the street.
"How is he, Sarah?"
"He's on his way to Glenwood Springs," she replied. "If anyone can save his leg, the doctors there can." She looked from her cousin to her uncle. "How did you know about it, anyway, Uncle Ralph?"
He nodded in his son's direction. "Richard called me, of course. How else would I have known?"
"I thought you were in such a hurry to get him here that you didn't have time to make any phone calls, Richard?"
Her cousin flushed. "I thought my father should know. It is his mine, after all."
"And it was Jilly's husband." She looked at her cousin with disgust. "You did a good job getting him here right away, Richard, but you never change, do you? The bottom line is always the bottom line."
Ralph Wesley's cane thumped twice on the hard-packed dirt of the street. "That's quite enough. I didn't come here to listen to you two squabble like kindergarten children. I simply want to know what happened and how my employee got hurt."
Richard recited the whole story again while the burly foreman shifted from one foot to the other. Connor stood at the door to the clinic, watching them with hooded eyes. When Richard had finished, Sarah's uncle turned to Harley.
"What's your explanation?"
"He didn't let anyone know the car got derailed," Harley muttered. "That's why the next one was sent along. I guess he thought he could push it right back and nothing would happen."
AN INNOCENT MAN Page 4
