The Man Behind the Badge

by Sharon Archer

  He gave her a quizzical look as she lifted the diaphragm and stepped beside him. The steady lub-dub of his heart was somewhat above normal rate—but, then, so was hers right now. After all he’d been through, it wasn’t unexpected.

  She closed her eyes and listened intently at each auscultation point for any abnormality in his lungs, any signs of fluid accumulation in the delicate respiratory tissues.

  She reached around to his back and pressed the diaphragm into place, ignoring the toned muscle and warm skin beneath her fingertips.

  ‘Okay, that sounds good.’ She straightened and removed the stethoscope. ‘Any tightness or pain when you breathe?’

  ‘No. Just my ribs when I cough.’

  ‘Let me take your shirt and I’ll have a look now.’ She held out her hands and he parted with it reluctantly. For the first time she noticed a long, narrow midline scar.

  ‘You’ve had abdominal surgery.’

  ‘Yes.’ He obviously wasn’t going to elaborate.

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘A couple of years.’

  ‘No ongoing issues?’

  ‘No.’

  She snapped on a pair of gloves and bent to peel back the dressing on his laceration. The wound was a shallow gouge, with bruising just starting to develop around the edges. But it was the small circular scar lower down, with its smooth centre and puckered edges, that held her rooted to the spot.

  ‘You’ve been shot.’

  ‘Oh, that.’ He shifted, almost a wriggle as though he was embarrassed. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘The usual way.’

  ‘You’ve got a smart mouth, you know that?’ She compressed her lips into a thin line, holding herself tightly in check. He could have been killed this morning. He could have been killed by this bullet. And all he could do was make light of it. His flippancy was the last straw. She wanted to smack him…she wanted wrap her arms around him, stop him from putting himself in harm’s way.

  But most of all…worst of all…she wanted to kiss him.

  She took a deep, steadying breath and checked his back. No blemish. Not a through and through, then. A catalogue of the underlying structures flowed through her mind. A little higher or lower or further to the right and the outcome might have been very different. ‘Is this related to your laparotomy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What damage did you sustain?’

  ‘I lost a bit of large intestine apparently. I don’t miss it.’

  ‘You were lucky.’

  ‘Yeah, I was,’ he said softly.

  She turned her attention to the recent damage.

  ‘Take a deep breath for me, please. Any pain?’

  ‘A bit.’

  She reached out to press lightly on the ribs around the area. ‘What about now?’

  ‘Yes,’ he hissed out through clenched teeth.

  ‘I’m sorry. You’ve got some nasty bruising, if not a fractured rib.’ She straightened. ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘Don fell on me when I was helping him out of the house. He was pretty groggy by the time I got to him. I landed on a lump on the floor with him on top of me. He’s a big bloke.’

  His laconic understatement told her more than anything else how fraught those moments in the burning building must have been.

  ‘Did you hit your head when you fell?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay. Lie down on the bed, I just want to check your abdomen and then we’ll send you for an X-ray.’

  As soon as she touched him, she felt his quick breath in. ‘Just breathe normally. Don’t hold.’

  ‘Right. Breathe normally,’ he muttered.

  ‘That’s better.’ She moved her hand along the soft tissue below his ribcage, palpating gently.

  He groaned.

  ‘That hurt?’ She froze, her fingers poised lightly on the upper abdominal quadrant. No guarding and it felt normal, but his response indicated otherwise.

  ‘No.’ He sounded strained, as though his teeth were clamped together. ‘Have you finished?’

  Lifting her hands and steepling her fingers, she said, ‘So, no tenderness at all?’

  ‘None.’

  She frowned at him, noting the slash of red across his cheekbones. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, his mouth set in a straight, hard line as though he was angry.

  As Kayla turned away, she suppressed a sigh. ‘I’ll organise a dressing for that and then we’ll get you down to Radiology.’

  She worked in silence, irrigating the wound then drying the surrounding skin.

  ‘After the X-ray, can I go?’

  ‘I want you to stay here for a few hours so we can keep an eye on you,’ she said as she squeezed some antiseptic ointment onto a non-stick dressing pad.

  ‘No chance,’ he said gruffly.

  She taped the dressing in place and stifled the urge to berate him. Stripping off her gloves, she said, ‘Let’s get you X-rayed and then we’ll see, depending on the results.’

  ‘Tony will see,’ he corrected.

  She tipped her head in acknowledgement. ‘Tony will see. If it’s clear, you should take it easy for the rest of the day. No exertion. But you must come back or call an ambulance if you start having difficulty breathing, any headaches or nausea. Or if the hoarseness in your voice gets worse.’

  ‘Got it.’

  She made notes on his record sheet. ‘Stay here. I’ll arrange the X-ray and then get Tony to come and have a word.’

  ‘Thanks, Kayla.’

  She nodded and stepped out of the curtained cubicle. She straightened her shapeless hospital-issue white coat and took a deep breath. He was fine.

  Fine. There was no need to have him admitted and put under twenty-four-hour observation. It would be a waste of resources.

  And he’d never agree.

  The hospital would never agree to having him forcibly detained for his own good, either.

  But it was what she wanted to do.

  Tom watched the curtain close behind Kayla, then tipped his head back onto the pillow and shut his eyes.

  The sounds of the emergency department filtered into his consciousness. The deep hacking cough of the man he’d rescued, the subdued murmur of staff. A beeper sounding.

  Today’s Kayla was all business in her white coat of armour with her stethoscope and clinical detachment. The silver-grey eyes had been steady and assessing. Her touch gentle but impersonal. Hard to take when he yearned for so much more.

  No sign of the woman whose lips had burned under his and shaken him to the core. No sign of the magical, fluid creature who’d been so sweetly responsive to his lead on the dance floor less than twenty-four hours ago.

  He’d looked for a glimpse of caring, for something personal over and above her professional manner. But apart from that fleeting moment of dismay when she’d identified his old bullet wound and a couple of small slips where her irritation had showed, she’d been cool and efficient.

  He’d been nothing more than a job to her.

  Last night, she’d told him in no uncertain terms that he was wasting his time. But he’d still come away with her kisses on his lips and felt hopeful.

  Now he just felt tired and battered. Dispirited. His ribs hurt, the skin over them stung—but worst of all was the ache in his heart.

  Later in the morning, Kayla saw Tony at the desk.

  ‘Have you heard how our house-fire victims are?’ She picked up the results of the biochemistry work-up she’d requested on a diabetic patient.

  ‘Father and son both on ventilators but they’re stable.’

  ‘And Tom?’ She’d already checked his X-ray but perhaps Tony had picked up something she’d missed.

  ‘Tom?’ Tony sounded vague, his mind obviously on the file he was reading. ‘He’s fine. I discharged him after checking his X-ray.’

  ‘No problems, then?’

  Her boss looked up from the folder in his hand, his shrewd eyes fixing on her. ‘Like what?’

>   ‘Nothing in particular,’ she said, wishing she hadn’t persisted. ‘His rib was very tender, I just wondered.’

  Tony shrugged and went back to his reading. ‘Heavy bruising. I went through his home care. Which I gather you’d already covered.’ He flipped the page. ‘And I told him to come back at the first sign of any problems—which you’d also covered.’

  ‘Good. Thanks.’

  His lack of concern should have been reassuring. She didn’t need to follow up further, didn’t need to go out to Tom’s place to check up on him.

  But she wanted to…

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  KAYLA slowed to a halt at the front of the burnt-out house, her stomach clenching. Tom had been in there while hungry flames wreaked their havoc. He’d gone in twice, twice, heedless of the risk to himself to pull out the occupants.

  A cold chill shivered down her spine as she stared at the charred roof struts poking out of gaping holes where the roof tiles had fallen in. The front entrance was an open, smoke-stained mouth with broken windows like sightless eye sockets on either side. She could see all the way through the blackened interior of the house to the rose glow of sunset-etched plants in the back yard.

  Jack had told Liz the smoke detectors hadn’t had batteries. The family was lucky to be alive.

  And so was Tom.

  She swallowed the nausea that threatened to rise up her throat.

  Her pulse thumped in a quick rhythm. Each beat mocked her interest in the house as the procrastination it really was.

  She was afraid.

  Tom seemed so sure of what he wanted. Her stomach swooped sickeningly. He pushed her out of her comfort zone just by being himself. What if he expected more than she had to give, more than she was capable of?

  She swallowed. She couldn’t let herself think about that now. Tonight she was here to check on his recovery, cook him dinner, make a gesture. Not seduce him.

  He was right. She was in Dustin, she was involved with the town. With him. But she could choose the level of the involvement.

  With one final look, she put the car in gear. Tom’s place was further along on the outer fringes of the township. She’d only been there the once, on Friday night…only a couple of days ago. But the way she felt, it could have been a lifetime ago with all that had happened since.

  She parked on the gravel in front of Tom’s house and gathered the handles of the shopping bags with trembling fingers.

  He’d said he liked steak so she’d bought eye fillet and vegetables. And sticky date pudding. She chewed her lip. Had she brought too much? Overdone it? She blew out an impatient breath and scrambled out of the car. The bags weren’t heavy but with each step closer to the house they seemed to gain unbelievable weight. If she kept this up, she was going to paralyse herself with doubt.

  She marched up the steps to knock on the front door before she could change her mind.

  Keep it light. Keep it light. Keep it—

  The door opened and suddenly Tom was there.

  Her heart ricocheted around her ribcage before lodging in her throat as she stared at him. Powerful shoulders and arms were left bare by the navy singlet that moulded to his torso. She could see the outline of the dressing she’d applied to his ribs earlier. Faded blue jeans rode low on his hips.

  ‘Kayla.’ His voice, still slightly hoarse from the smoke he’d inhaled, was flat.

  She jerked her eyes back up to meet his narrow-eyed stare. He looked moody and his mouth had firmed to a thin uncompromising line.

  She swallowed. He was fine, more than fine.

  But he was far from pleased to see her. She hadn’t really expected that. An unpleasant band tightened around her heart. Perhaps she should have called first.

  ‘I came to see how you were.’ If anything, he looked even grimmer. Keep it light. She held up her shopping bags as though they were offerings to appease. ‘And I brought dinner. You cooked for me the other night—I thought I’d return the favour tonight.’

  He moved aside silently.

  She walked into the foyer and waited while he closed the door. His face was unreadable as he held out his hands for the bags.

  ‘Oh, no. They’re not heavy,’ she said, clutching the handles. Her smile felt uncomfortable; a desperate, flimsy disguise for her fear of rejection. ‘I’ll…take them through to the kitchen if that’s okay?’

  ‘Sure. Why not?’

  Her smile faltered. So far from the welcome she’d hoped for but at least he’d let her in. The temptation to turn tail in the face of his gruffness was nearly overwhelming. He didn’t want her there—he couldn’t be any clearer. She would make him dinner and leave as quickly as possible.

  ‘Right.’ She turned and began to walk.

  Although he moved silently, she was aware of him every step of her journey along the wide hall. She knew the moment he stopped at the kitchen doorway while she continued across the room.

  She moved behind the island bench. Having Tom nearby seemed more manageable now that she had the barrier between them. She lifted the bags on the bench and pulled out the carrots, greens and onions. ‘You said you preferred steak so that’s what I’ve brought. Do you have a barbecue?’ She glanced over to where he stood with his thumbs hooked into the belt band of his jeans. ‘Or should I do it under the griller?’

  ‘I’ve got a barbecue.’

  ‘Well, don’t light it yet.’ Not that he’d offered. Unhappiness knotted her stomach as she looked down at the vegetables on the bench. The sooner she got on with this the sooner she could go. She squared her shoulders and, with determined brightness she said, ‘I’ve gone for comfort food.’ She looked around while she spoke then glanced at him. ‘Is it okay if I raid your drawers for a peeler?’

  He shrugged, looking cool and disinterested. ‘Raid them for whatever you like.’

  She found a small peeler then set to work on a carrot. The silence was unbearable. She had to fill it—even if it was with ramblings. ‘I’m going to make a stir-fry. I hope you like asparagus. I couldn’t resist it. The supermarket had a fresh batch.’

  The flow of words took on a life of their own now that she’d started. She shrugged mentally as she heard herself start about the sticky date pudding for desert. If he wasn’t going to contribute or deflect her ramblings then he’d just have to make of it whatever he liked.

  She paused for a breath, searching for another topic.

  ‘Why are you here, Kayla?’ He sounded tired.

  Her heart lurched. She should have known once he did break his silence, he’d cut straight to the chase. He was going to make her work for this. She could feel her courage slipping away.

  ‘I told you, I came to see how you are.’ She flashed him a quick smile. Desperate to keep working with her hands, she twisted around to rummage in the drawer for a knife. ‘So how are you?’

  She straightened and turned. A small gasp locked in her throat. Tom stood a scant foot from her. Her fingers clenched around the handle of the utensil she held.

  His darkly lashed eyes moved over her face then slipped downwards. She followed his line of vision to the paring knife she held in front of her as though she was preparing to defend her honour. He reached out to unfurl her fingers.

  With the blade safely on the bench, he folded his arms. ‘Are you asking me as a doctor? Or a friend? Or something else?’

  ‘A f-friend.’

  Tom clenched his jaw to stop the pithy word that sprang to his tongue.

  She was here as a friend with her food and succour and medical expertise.

  All he wanted was her.

  Just her. Plain and simple.

  And so bloody complex.

  He curled his fingers into fists. ‘Well, friend, you didn’t pick a great time. I’m not feeling all that…friendly at the moment.’

  She winced and looked away. A flash of vulnerability in her eyes cut straight to his heart and he regretted his sharp tone.

  ‘Then…how about as a woman who h-has changed her mind?�
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  His unruly heart skipped a beat before common sense insisted he was probably misunderstanding her. ‘Changed her mind about what?’ he asked evenly.

  ‘Getting involved.’ Her words came out haltingly as though she was forcing each one off her tongue. ‘With. You.’

  His whole body shook with the need to reach out to grab her. Jerking away, he stalked across the room. Hell. The woman he craved was standing here in his kitchen, apparently offering herself to him on a platter. But why now? He didn’t like the answer that presented itself.

  He turned back to face her. ‘Is this some sort of warped hero-worship thing?’

  Her mouth dropped open. ‘No! Of course not.’ She made a small negative movement with her hands then clasped them in front of her. ‘I mean you are a hero but that’s not why I’m here.’

  He watched her, not trusting himself to get closer. ‘Then why now?’

  ‘You’re not going to make this easy, are you?’ She put her hands on the bench behind her as though to steady herself. He could see her tension in the way each finger gripped, her skin stretched white across each knuckle. She stared at the floor, gnawing at her bottom lip as though to gather courage.

  He ran a hand over his face—he wanted her but he didn’t want her coming to him as some sort of misguided self-sacrifice. It wouldn’t be right. Besides, he wanted her to want him. Just him, not some heroic version she thought he was.

  ‘All right.’ As though she’d made a decision, she looked up. Grey eyes burned into his with a dark intensity that took his breath away. ‘Right from the first time I laid eyes on you, you scared me to death. I’m afraid of the way you make me feel.’

  He could feel the heat burning in his face. This was the third time she’d made him blush. ‘How do I make you feel?’

  ‘As though I’m out of control.’ The tip of her tongue made a quick, nervous sweep of her lips and he felt his system jolt. ‘You’re larger than life and I…don’t know if I can handle you.’

  ‘Handle me?’

  Her eyes clung to his. ‘I’ve never felt anything like this and it terrifies me. Y-you terrify me.’

  ‘God, Kayla,’ he groaned. He was torn. Half of him wanted to take her in his arms, reassure her, seduce her until she accepted the magic of the chemistry between them. The other half of him wondered if his long-term plans would be better served by halting her flow of words until he had the composure to deal with her confession. ‘What am I going to do with you?’