Lush Curves (Dangerous Curves Book 8)

by Marysol James

  Harry’s voice was low and soothing, and he had his hands extended in a friendly gesture. Clearly, this red-headed man was the source of the mayhem and destruction, but even if Harry hadn’t been trying to calm the situation, Sam would still have known. The man was pacing and prowling, grabbing his hair and shouting, then randomly lashing out and knocking things over. This was pretty classic behaviour for someone on drugs, and Sam didn’t blame everyone for backing the hell up. Sam had been attacked more than once by someone high beyond reaching with words and logic.

  “OK, calm down,” Harry said. “We want to help you, sir, so please just sit down.”

  “Don’t touch me!” the man shouted back, throwing a chart at the wall. “Don’t touch!”

  “Please,” Harry said. “You’ve been in an accident and you may have a head injury. We just want to look at you. That’s all.”

  “No!” The man spun, and now Sam saw his face. It was bloody and bruised, and it was clear that his head was cut pretty badly. “No! I want to go! It’s almost nine o’clock and I need to be at work at nine!”

  “Sir –” Harry began, but the man cut him off.

  “Work is at nine and I can’t be late! I have to go!”

  Sam stepped a bit closer, suddenly getting a niggling feeling in his guts.

  Do I know him? Has he been here before?

  “Hey –” Harry said, but again he was interrupted.

  “Nine o’clock!” The man was frantic and started yanking his hair again. “Work!”

  He turned a bit more, as if he was about to sprint out the door, and that’s when Sam recognized him.

  Oh, my God.

  “Noah?” Sam asked quietly, taking a step forward. Every person in the room looked at him, but he was totally focused on Annie’s son. “Noah Matthews?”

  Noah’s blue eyes snapped over to Sam’s face and he blinked.

  “Noah?” Sam took another small step forward, and Harry carefully moved back, letting Sam take it from here. “Do you remember me?”

  “Doctor Sam Innis, trauma surgeon,” Noah rattled off. “We met at two-nineteen a.m. on September fourth, three years ago. In this E.R.”

  “Right.” Despite the tension and gravity of the situation, Sam grinned. “That’s me.”

  “You helped Sarah when she had blood and wouldn’t wake up.”

  “I did.” Sam got closer now, but Noah stayed mercifully calm. “I helped your sister.”

  “Yes. You and Doctor Mac.”

  “That’s right.”

  Noah contemplated Sam for a moment, then said, “I have blood. Right now.”

  “Yes,” Sam agreed. “Where is it coming from?”

  “Here.” Noah touched a matted tangle of hair just above his forehead. “Hurts.”

  “Can I help you, Noah?” Sam asked him. “The way that I helped Sarah when she had blood?”

  Noah gazed at him, and though he was standing still now, his hands were opening and clenching at his sides, so he was still agitated. Sam stood his ground, just stood and waited, didn’t come any closer. Sam was going to wait for Noah to give him permission, or he was going to stand there all damn day waiting to get it. He wasn’t going to force anything on this man. Doing so would just result in Noah getting more hurt – and maybe not just Noah. Annie’s son was large and strong, and he could do some damage if he lost all control.

  “Yes,” Noah said at last. “But just you, Doctor Sam.”

  “That’s no problem, Noah.” Sam smiled and gestured at a free examination table in a far corner. “If you sit down, I’ll help you.”

  “Just you.”

  “Just me.”

  “Because I have blood,” Noah told him, wandering over to the table and sitting down. As soon as he did, a sense of relaxation settled over the E.R. Staff started picking up things from the floor, escorting patients back to gurneys and tables, and people exhaled in relief. “Lots of blood. Not a such as Sarah, but still lots.”

  “Yes,” Sam said. “It is a lot.” He put on some gloves, moved closer to Noah. “Can you tell me what happened, Noah? Why you’re bleeding?”

  “Oh!” Noah said suddenly, catching sight of the clock the wall. “Nine o’clock!”

  “Today is a special day, Noah,” Sam said firmly. “Today at nine o’clock, you’re at my work. OK?”

  Noah stared at him. “Your work?”

  “Yes.” Sam smiled at him. “Can you help me with my work, Noah?”

  “Yes!” Noah said excitedly. “Can I be a doctor?”

  “Sure.” Sam rolled his stool a bit closer, watched to see if Noah flinched or moved away. He clearly remembered that three years earlier, only Annie and Jax had been able to touch Noah, and he knew that for people with autism, touch was a potentially huge trigger. But Noah was fine, thank Christ. “You ready?”

  “Yes!”

  “OK.” Sam took a deep breath, caught the eye of a hovering nurse. “Now, Mr. Noah Matthews who I met here three years ago with your sister Sarah Matthews, trauma patient, the first thing that doctors do is look at injuries.”

  The nurse nodded, rushed off to the computer.

  “I have one,” Noah said, pointing at his head. “So you can look at mine. But what am I going to look at?”

  “My elbow,” Sam said.

  “It hurts?”

  “Yep.”

  “Is there blood?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Oh.” Noah was clearly disappointed. “I want to look at blood.”

  “That can maybe be arranged. First though, let me show you how to examine a patient. Watch close now.”

  “OK.” Noah stared at Sam, almost unblinking. “I’m watching.”

  “So…” This was the tricky part, and Sam knew it. “It means touching a person. Can I touch you, Noah?”

  “Yes, Doctor Sam.”

  “OK, good. Slow and easy.”

  Sam was as good as his word: he was nothing but gentle with Noah as he parted his thick red hair carefully and found the gaping wound. There were shards of glass embedded in the blood, and Sam winced, knowing that he’d have to tweeze them out before stitching that cut up. He also knew that he’d be sending Noah for some scans to check for any internal damage, and he wondered how the other man was going to handle that.

  “Can you tell me what happened now, Noah?” Sam asked as he prepared the injection to numb the area around the cut. “How you got hurt?”

  “On the bus,” Noah answered promptly. “A car hit the bus.”

  “You were in an accident?”

  “Yes.” Noah stared at the needle. “Is that for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I give you one too?”

  “No. Tell me about the car.”

  “The one that hit the bus?”

  “Yes.” Sam held the syringe up to the light. “This might hurt a bit. You ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you on the bus alone?” Sam said, suddenly wondering if maybe Annie or Sarah had been hurt too. He shot a look around the E.R. “All alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where were you going?”

  “To work.”

  Sam paused. “Work?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, right.” Sam deftly injected the novocaine and Noah stiffened a bit, so he hurried to distract him. “Whet’s your work, Noah?”

  “Painting,” Noah mumbled. “I don’t like needles, Doctor Sam.”

  “Me neither. What do you mean, ‘painting’? What do you paint?”

  “Paintings.”

  “You’re an artist?”

  “Yes.” Noah nodded earnestly. “I’m quite famous.”

  Sam choked back a laugh. “Are you really?”

  “Yes.”

  “So… you sell your paint
ings?”

  “Yes.” Noah furrowed his brow. “Why does my head feel funny, Doctor Sam?”

  “Because I had to numb it so I can stitch up your cut.”

  “Oh.” Noah stared at the suture kit. “Can I stitch up your elbow?”

  “No.”

  Noah huffed. “So what do I get to do?”

  “Here.” Sam handed him a piece of gauze. “Hold that.”

  Noah clutched it in a death grip. “Doctor Sam?”

  “Yes?” Sam focused on the tiny pieces of glass as he carefully picked them out. “What’s up?”

  “Has someone called my Mom?”

  “A nurse has. Don’t worry, OK? She’ll be here soon.”

  “Sarah too?”

  “I don’t know. I imagine that your Mom will call her, right?”

  “Do you know that Sarah is going to marry Jax?”

  “Yes?” Sam paused, delighted at that news. “Really?”

  “Yes. Do you know that I have a girlfriend?”

  “You do?” This truly was one hell of a bombshell, so Sam gave Noah his full attention. “What’s her name?”

  “Callie Winter. She’s also an artist, but not a painter. She does pottery.”

  “Is that how you two met?” Sam resumed his painstaking work. “Because of your art?”

  “Yes. At the Art With Heart Centre.” Noah grimaced as Sam dug out a particularly deep piece of glass, but he didn’t react beyond that. “We both work there.”

  “Oh, now I understand.”

  Of course Sam had heard about Naomi Abbott’s Art With Heart program, aimed at autistic kids and adults. From what Sam knew, Naomi provided a huge space for free, for people to come and express themselves creatively. If someone showed artistic promise and marketability, she sold their work to art galleries all over the country and paid the artist a fair commission. If Noah was truly and genuinely talented, and if Naomi had spotted that, then it explained how he was earning a living off his work. If he was in demand, he might even be painting on order, which meant that he was getting personal advances on top of any commission and earnings.

  “You know Naomi?” Noah asked him.

  “No, I’ve never met her.”

  “Do you know that she’s going to marry King?”

  Sam stared at him. “King? You mean Matt Kingston? The man who was here with you and Jax and Annie three years ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good Lord. It’s a small world.”

  “Not really,” Noah told him. “It’s actually quite large. Its circumference is 21,639 nautical miles, and its total surface area is about 197 million square miles. Quite large, you see.”

  Sam laughed. “My mistake, Noah.”

  “It’s OK.” Noah shrugged. “Mistakes happen, Doctor Sam.”

  Silence descended as Sam concentrated on what he was doing. Glass shards were nasty things, and if he missed one and then stitched Noah up, he ran the risk of a serious infection. But the silence didn’t seem to bother Noah at all, and Sam recalled how quiet he had been all those years ago, sitting next to Sarah’s bed for hours on end, doing his puzzles, looking at his cards, watching TV. Back then, Noah had had the amazing ability to retreat into his own head, and he seemed happy enough to do that now.

  The silence also allowed Sam some time to think about what was surely going to happen, and happen soon: Annie was going to come to the hospital, frantic about her son and looking for him. She was going to be here.

  I’m going to see her again. Soon.

  I’m going to see her today.

  **

  Annie burst into the E.R., feeling all kinds of horrific déjà-vu, all over the damn place. She exploded around the corner, and skidded to a halt. She stared wildly around the room, her eyes darting from patient to doctor to paramedic, and when she saw the massive man with the dark hair sitting there wearing his usual scowl, she shot over to him.

  “Jax!” she cried, in an eerie echo of three years earlier. “Jax!”

  Jax got to his feet easily, held out his hands; he knew exactly where her mind had gone, because it was the same place that his had. “Hey, Annie… hey, it’s OK. I promise. It’s not like… like last time. Not even close.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He and Sarah went with the nurse to choose a bandage.”

  “Bandage?” Annie was terrified, then she reasoned that clearly, Noah was walking unassisted, and she calmed down a fraction. “Why? For what?”

  “Noah’s cheek.”

  “How bad is he, Jax?”

  “Why don’t I let the doctor tell you?”

  “Fine.” Annie glared around the bustling room. “Where the hell is the doctor?”

  “Hello, Annie.”

  She whipped around at the familiar voice, and – oh, dear God above – there he stood. The man that Annie had thought about every day for three years, despite the fact that she felt like a cradle-robber every time that she did so.

  But come on… she was human, just flesh and blood, and he was… well. He was delicious.

  Tall. Broad. Arms to die for. Dark hair that she longed to run her fingers through. The warmest, kindest dark eyes behind those glasses. A genuine good heart. A great sense of humor. A sharp, smart brain. A fierce loyalty to his patients and his work.

  Hot. Kind. Funny. Brilliant. Dedicated.

  The perfect man. The perfect fantasy.

  And there he stood, a living, moving dream, looking his usual lethal combination of brainy and gorgeous.

  Doctor Sam Frickin’ Innis, as I live and breathe. Why didn’t I pull my hair up today? And the betting’s good that my makeup is gone, except for the shit smudged all around my eyes, of course. Goddammit.

  “Sam,” she managed, her voice sounding very far away. She cleared her throat. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” he said in that deep, smooth voice, the one that just washed on over her like a wave, leaving her wrecked and broken in its wake, and always had done. “You OK, Annie?”

  God, the way that he said her name. It was one of the most boring woman’s names ever, she thought, and she’d always insisted on ‘Annie’ as opposed to ‘Anne’, just because she’d wanted a tiny slice of glamor in her life, and that had been it. Her glamor. Sad but true, and the reality was that ‘Annie’ wasn’t much better than ‘Anne’, in the end.

  Before she’d met Sam, she’d long forgotten that she’d chosen her new name at the age of seventeen, the night after she’d walked away from her abusive stepfather, the night that she’d met and introduced herself to the man who had become Sarah and Noah’s father… and how daring and carefree she’d felt calling herself that for the first time, right there in that crowded, hot, heaving roadhouse bar. And the way that he’d grinned at her, all flashing blue eyes and curly blond hair… she’d fallen for him there and then, and married him four months later, the day after her eighteenth birthday. She’d gone into marriage with Billy Matthews two months pregnant with the twins, and her stupid red head full of dreams of glory.

  The pretty shine had faded almost immediately, of course, even before the babies had come. But she’d clung to her life, held on to her fragile dreams in an iron grip, kept the faith even after Noah’s diagnosis. She’d found work, and she’d brought home more than her share, and she’d spent every spare moment with her beautiful, amazing children.

  And that name, the name that she’d chosen to mark her hard-won triumphant independence and courageous escape from abuse, the name that she’d thought meant something, represented something, had lost its shine, too. Billy had shouted her name in a harsh voice, cursed it in guttural, disgusted tones; the diner customers still bawled it and called it, followed it up with, ‘Where’s my fries?’ and ‘Bring me more coffee’. All these things cheapened it, took away its innocent, fragile magic. Stole its minuscule glamor. Took the one small, p
ure thing that she’d chosen for herself.

  Until the first time that Sam had said it.

  Two syllables. Two syllables that, when said one after the other, resulted in her stupid, cheap, dull name. But in Sam’s mouth, those two separate sounds came together like music, like poetry, like a promise or a vow. The way that he said her simple, boring name was how she’d wanted it to be said every single day of her life.

  Sam had made her feel that bit of glamor. He’d given her that gift, given her her heart’s desire – and he’d never known it.

  And now here he stood, saying her name in that way, that way that only he could say it, and her heart jumped, stopped, sped up, almost simultaneously.

  But he’d asked her a question, and she scrambled to pull herself together enough to form words and an answer.

  “Are you taking care of Noah?” she asked, praying to every god in the heavens that he was. “You’re his doctor?”

  “I am.” Sam smiled at her and her treacherous body started to heat up, a slow, languid heat that moved like lava and burned just as scorching hot. “He’s OK, Annie. He’s with Sarah.”

  Argh. Stop saying my name. Also, never stop saying my name.

  “It was an accident?” she asked, determined to keep this goddamn conversation on track, come hell or high water. “The bus hit something, the nurse said?”

  “A car ran a red light in the fog, and hit the bus that Noah was on. A bad gash on his head that I stitched up, and a cut on his face that didn’t need any stitches. No internal damage at all. He’s going to be sore for a few days, but I’ll prescribe a painkiller and mild sedative, if you all decide that’s what’s best.”

  “What does Noah want?” Jax asked, and Sam and Annie both jumped a bit, remembering that someone else was, actually, there. “Did he say?”

  “He says that he doesn’t want any drugs,” Sam said. “But Sarah convinced him to at least let her fill the prescriptions, just in case he needs them. She said that it’s better to have them and not use them, than need them and not have them on hand. He agreed, so they’ll go fill the prescription on their way back here.”

  “Shit,” Jax said. “That’s going to be expensive. I don’t want Sarah paying for that… where’s the drug store? I’ll go there now and hopefully catch them before Sarah coughs up all that cash.”