"Now they own public land?" Memories of the fear written on Mariah's face made him slam his fist into the bag harder with each blow. That bag had become the face of any number of people over at that ranch.
"No telling how those guys think. All we know for certain is that Hank did bad things, then disappeared. And it's obvious that Wyatt's gotten weirder over the past several weeks. Best we can tell, the Brands are likely still cooking up some scheme to get our ranch. They're into mining or something. Maybe they want to strike it rich." Garrison scuffed his work boot on the dirt floor. "Oh, and they burned down the barn and probably stole a bunch of our cattle. You know, that, too."
"Yeah. Details." Vaughn wiped sweat. "So what the fuck was that black thing then?" He sniffed. "Hell, I'm just glad that Ruth and Odie bought the song and dance about a bear coming in the yard and how we needed to yell and shoot a gun to shoo it away. If Ruth leaves now, I'm not sure what will happen to Dad..." Not a thought he wanted to follow to a conclusion. "But about that black cloud thing. You really think the creature has something to do with the Brands?"
"Kind of feels that way, but I can't figure out how. I don't have your gift of detecting danger, but I sure as hell can see that we all need to be careful and stick together."
Vaughn pulled a punch and slowed the swing of the bag. "What are you saying?"
His brother shook his head. "Just saying it's good you're here right now. And I'm glad you're doing... better." Meaning not drinking and not "adultering." Reasonable enough.
Could he stay here? Another twinge nailed him in the chest. No way. Too much history, too many ghosts. Too much responsibility. Too many expectations. Garrison should have been the oldest. He had done a great job of keeping the family and the ranch going.
Except for Dad.
And the barn.
And Shelby and Eric.
But whose fault were those incidents, anyway?
Chapter 20
Despite being flattened by Hurricane Vaughn, Mariah felt super duper fabulous as she trudged through a never-ending day of work on Friday.
Truthfully, a lot of the collapse of the Very Good Night had to do with her hang-ups, where her past and her past relationships were concerned. Poor guy had no idea about the minefield he'd wandered into and pretty much got caught in the blast zone.
But his mixed messages didn't help, either. He was right: he needed to get a grip on his seesawing emotions. And he needed to get a grip on his past and stop it from affecting the future. Or the present.
They were a hot mess separately, but together?
She had an inkling about his past mistakes, so that was exhibit A. Then last night's sexy not-sex served as exhibit B. Guy went out of his way to help out, protected her from moron ranchers with guns, provided light counseling duties, and then spent the night letting her use him as a security blanket.
What woman wouldn't be all goo-goo eyed over that tender scenario?
A woman with massive abandonment and confinement issues, that's who.
Granted, she had good reason for her personal issues. But her history wasn't anything she'd project on her worst enemy, much less a warm, delicious-smelling, hard-muscled rancher. Who fit perfectly into worn jeans.
Mariah sighed as her ovaries squirmed. Down, girls. She had strict parameters for what she did and did not require from an acceptable partner, and not sticking around town removed Vaughn from the checklist early.
She turned back to the computer and clicked on her patient list. A few more people to see and then she could take her coworkers up on the offer to get drinks after office hours. Working tomorrow's local MMA bout would bring a nice change of pace to this bizarre week.
Pushing open the exam room door, she brightened at the sight of her next two patients.
"Hi, Shelby. Eric. How are you two doing?"
"Feeling great. When can I drive again?" The bruises on half of Eric's face moved as he talked, making an interesting light purple, green, and yellow rainbow.
Shelby elbowed him and squinted. "If you can drive, then I can drive."
"You have bolts of metal attached to your leg. Besides, you still can't see," he protested.
"Hey, I can see a lot better than a few days ago. Besides, you're not a doctor." She shot him an impish smile with a lift to her chin.
"You know, I can be. If you're lucky." He winked at her.
"Dude. Here? Seriously?" A corner of Shelby's mouth quirked as she raised a shoulder. "Sorry," she said to Mariah. "Head injury and all. He doesn't know what he's saying." She shifted in her seat, readjusting the leg with the external fixator, and groaned.
The sound flipped Eric's flirty grin into a tight grimace, and he wrapped a hand around her shoulder.
Mariah's chest twisted in on itself. She cleared her throat. "So, tell me how things have been going since you both left the hospital."
Shelby's vision had improved to the point where she could see blurry faces. Mariah unwound the bandage from the metal and pins around Shelby's lower leg, checking the wound edges and the stability of the external fixator frame. The ex-fix would stay on for another week or so until orthopedics removed it and readjusted the internal hardware. For now, there was no evidence of infection, thank goodness.
Eric passed his neurologic tests with flying colors. Per the specialist's recommendations, he had to stay on light duty, with no driving for another week until Mariah could retest him. One look at Shelby's fierce scowl, and he closed his mouth on whatever he was about to say.
"Need help getting out to the car?" Mariah asked.
"No, my brother's in the waiting room."
"Vaughn?" Heat climbed her neck as the word escaped before she could stop it.
Shelby smiled like a Cheshire cat. Mariah groaned to herself.
"No. Kerr's doing the driving today." An eyebrow rose. "Vaughn's at the fight weigh-in tonight."
"Weigh-in?" A weird prickle walked down her spine. No.
"The MMA bout in Lander tomorrow. Poor guy turned himself inside out this morning trying to make the last bit of weight."
One: How did Mariah not pick up the clues that he was an MMA fighter going to that fight?
Because he had focused on Mariah during their conversations.
Two: Why did he have to make weight at the last minute?
Because he had been helping Mariah with the house call and ministering to her neuroses. Great. The guy had spent time he didn't have helping her out.
Tucking her tail between her legs and slinking into the corner sounded really good right about now.
Oh no. She would have to see him tomorrow night. It had to be the same event. Her pulse skipped a beat. Hey, it wasn't her fault that she didn't know he was a local fighter. She had only been working the Wyoming fights for the past few months. Still learning the various local characters. Like Linc McDowell.
Who she would also have to see. She shuddered.
Time to don the professional armor.
The beats in her chest finally slowed down. She pasted a bland smile on her face. "That sounds interesting." Interesting? Who the hell said interesting? Like a bug collection interesting? Or maybe a car accident on the side of the road where the EMS crew had to use the freakin' Jaws of Life interesting?
Shelby flicked her gaze toward Mariah as a ghost of a smirk lit her face. "So are we okay to get on out of here?" She balanced on one leg and fitted the crutches under her arms.
Eric hovered until Shelby glared at him and he backed off. Then she flashed a big grin at Mariah. "Have to keep the men off-balance." She tilted her head toward him. "Don't let them know you're into them or they'll want to get all squishy and caveman on you."
Mariah's mouth gaped. "What?"
"Squishy?" Eric crossed his arms. "I'm head injured. I have zero memory of anything I might or might not have said to you in the past."
"Don't worry. I'll remind you of all the sappy stuff you said, dude." She shook her head, moving the wild orange curls. "See you later, Dr. West."
She slowly made her way out of the exam room.
Behind her back, Eric circled his temple with a finger and mouthed sorry. Then he shrugged and followed her out the room.
Mariah might as well have given Shelby her journal. Was nothing private in this town?
Had Shelby been talking to Vaughn? Unlikely. That guy didn't strike her as the sharing type, even with his family.
She shook her head as she went into the next exam room.
Tomorrow night she'd see Vaughn again. Chances were, he wouldn't be thrilled by her presence.
Yay. Something to look forward to.
The drinks after work tonight with friends had ceased to be optional. Mariah was going to need them.
Chapter 21
The faint scent of sweat, male body spray, and a sharp undertone of adrenaline mixed with testosterone assailed Mariah as she entered the back door of Owl Creek Casino on Saturday afternoon.
"Hi, Doc," Angelo, the bear of a fight promoter for Out West MMA, glanced up from his desk as she passed it. "Thanks for helping us out again."
"For you? Anytime." She laughed as his half hug enveloped her. Once Angelo learned she was Kevin West's big sister, she had become Angelo's family by default. Didn't hurt that her brother had headlined an outstanding bantamweight fight for Out West last summer.
He tugged his suit back into place and handed her a paper. "Here's the final list. Fights start in two hours, if you can get the fighters ready."
"Of course. Hey, who's working with me today?"
"Dr. John Brandeis. He's running late and asked for you to do the pre-fight physicals; he'll stay late to finish the post-fights."
She gulped. "Sounds fair. Everything in the locker rooms?"
"As always, it's all ready." His smile pushed his cheeks up until his eyes disappeared.
"Anything else for me?"
With a wink, he reached around to a short file cabinet behind him and produced a disposable cup of steaming, aromatic coffee. She sipped and sighed.
Then, glancing down the list, she felt her heart sank when she reached the second-to-last fight. As she had feared, Vaughn was fighting in the light heavyweight division against Linc.
A shiver worked its way up her back to settle on her neck. Linc. She had worked a fight where he had competed before. Everyone knew Linc's reputation. That jerk had been around for years, sprinkling bad attitude and dirty tricks around many regional matches.
As for women being anywhere near the octagon? His opinions were clear: ring girls were the only females allowed near the ring. Not as fighters or officials and certainly not as a ringside doctor. The last time Mariah had done his pre-fight, he figured out who her brother was, and from there she rode a downhill spiral of his veiled, disrespectful comments. God help her if she ever disqualified him from a fight.
With a deep breath, she pushed her shoulders back. Passing the arena, busy with workers setting up chairs and testing the light and PA systems, she entered the backstage area where makeshift locker rooms had been set up.
Nodding to the suit-clad inspector as she entered the makeshift exam room, she checked her equipment. Blood pressure cuff, pulse ox, a box of vinyl gloves, a penlight, and fight forms on a clipboard, all ready. She shrugged off her blazer, draped her stethoscope over her neck, and indicated to the inspector to send in the first fighter.
Twelve fighters later, the door opened and Linc stalked in, took one look at her, and snorted. Good lord, he was a big guy when she'd seen him at the ranch. But up close and this pumped up, the man was more than a little scary. If he wasn't on steroids, then he had the best training regimen she'd ever seen. Sure enough, she turned the key on the urine cup he presented for his drug screen and it came up as clean. The guy radiated strength and killer instinct, and judging by his snarl, knew it all too well. He stopped bare inches from her, invading her personal space and hovering over her, like he'd done at the Brand ranch.
Trapped.
Didn't matter that the nice fight inspector stood ten feet away from her. Stomach acid bubbled up. She shoved it back down and faced Linc as she disposed of her gloves. No way would she let him get the satisfaction of scaring her. Again.
"Have a seat." She motioned to the chair as she fought an urge to cover her chest.
The inspector wouldn't notice Linc's tiny delay, but Mariah read the disrespect, loud and clear. Her skin twitched. It wasn't that the guy towered over her and could tear her arm off without breaking a sweat. Lots of fighters—men and women—were strong. This guy was different. Personally intimidating.
Threatening.
She needed to get through the exam and move on.
"Arm, please."
Another pause and he lifted his arm for the blood pressure cuff. Only he didn't bring it all the way up, so she had to bend down.
While the cuff inflated, he sneered at her. "Nice seeing you again, Doc. Your brother still training at that loser gym in Salt Lake?"
Ripping the Velcro cuff off, she then punched a button on the pulse ox machine. "Finger, please."
Damn him if he didn't give his middle one.
Again, nothing overt, but his leer made her want to hide. She recorded results and removed the devices. Ignoring the sweat irritating her upper lip, she settled the stethoscope earpieces in place. "Deep breath."
He complied, staring at her chest the entire time.
"Any head injuries lately?"
"For me or the guys I've fought?" He grinned. "Naw. I'm solid."
"Any skin infections?"
"Nope."
"Been ill recently?"
"Touch of the clap, but penicillin took care of that."
She tapped the clipboard with a pen. "You want me to write that down?"
"Hey, take a joke, babe."
She met his glare with one of her own. "Push me and I'll document everything you say. Communicable diseases, real or suspected, are cause to pull fighters from the bout."
"You pull me and that would be the last thing on Earth that you ever did, babe."
A weird sensation, like a flutter of a gauze curtain, formed between her and Linc. Then, with a stab of a headache into her temple, the feeling was gone. Stress reaction, maybe?
"Everything okay?" the inspector spoke up. He looked at Mariah.
"Hey, just two old friends joking, man." Linc snorted. "Carry on, Doc."
She held out her hands. Damned things were trembling. "Show me your hands."
He offered his giant paws and she flipped them over, checking each side for tender spots or broken bones.
Extending two fingers from both her hands, she said, "Squeeze." Most normal fighters gave a gentle pressure. Not this jerk. Damned if he didn't crank down on her like a sadistic vice grip. She bit back a cry. "Okay."
After signing the bottom of the page, she set down the clipboard. "You're cleared."
"Good." He turned back. "Hey, what's the deal with you and that pansy-ass, Vaughn Taggart?"
Stifling the urge to roll her eyes, she said, "There's no deal."
"Good, because you should know that Wyatt is here tonight."
"The same jerk who pointed a gun at me when I tried to care for his sick mother?"
"He was only showing affection and concern for your safety. He really has the hots for you." Linc grinned. "It's mutual, right?"
"In what alternate universe is that affection?"
"Oh." Linc's thinking face almost made her laugh. "He said you two have a thing going."
"Uh, no. Maybe in his dreams." The thought of being in the same space as Wyatt turned her stomach almost as much as hanging around Linc. Worse yet, the thought of Wyatt coming here as a ploy to see her again made her grind molars.
He rubbed his thick jaw. "Funny, when he found out you were working this event, he begged to be my corner guy." Dusting off his hands, he smirked. "Well, this evening is going to be awkward for everyone, isn't it?" Linc grinned, and a weird red flare in his irises came and went. Then another flash of a headache shot across her
forehead. Before she could examine a connection between the two things, he snipped, "See you in the ring, babe."
Hopefully not. Thank goodness there was another doctor working with her tonight.
"Next," she managed to say, rubbing her temples.
The air shifted as the door opened and closed, and the spicy scent of shaving cream wafted past her. She suppressed the flutter beneath her ribs. No way could she show Vaughn how much his presence affected her.
But for the love of God, could he put a shirt on already? One glance at his smooth, tattooed chest made her face tingle. Not to mention how she quivered as the ridges of muscle rippled when he walked toward her. His right bicep had spirals of tattooed thorns done so well, it looked like the barbs pierced his skin.
"Have a seat, please."
He froze a few feet into the room. "What are you doing here?"
With a grin, she said, "I sometimes work as a fight physician for local events. Surprised?"
A corner of his serious mouth rose. "Not surprised that you can do the job. More surprised that you're here in this, uh, rough environment. It's just... out of context."
As in, his last memory of her involved a freak-out, fully clothed therapy session where she was a delicate flower? Understandable.
"I got into ringside doctor gigs in Salt Lake City when Kevin started fighting. It was a nice way to pick up a few extra bucks in residency. Now? It's something he and I have in common: love of MMA. Maybe I don't fight, but we're both participating."
"We're lucky to have you." Why did that sound like a promise? Wishful thinking, probably.
He eased into the chair, knees apart, and the band of his blue fight shorts peeked out from beneath the baggier shorts he wore over them. The cords in his thick legs tightened under the hair-dusted skin, and her mouth went dry.
A brain short circuit ruined her for a solid five seconds as she imagined him wrapping those legs around her while he held her tight to that chest and rolled her under him with a sexy judo move.
No. Don't go there.
She rubbed her neck. Why hadn't she pulled the blazer on over her gray button-down shirt?
Legacy of Danger Page 15
