“No, I mean it. Something’s off.”
“Let it go, man.”
“Why? D’you know something I don’t?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know shit. The man keeps to himself. You should do the same.”
“You know better than anyone I’m not capable of that.”
“You’re like a sorority girl.”
Roarke punched his shoulder. A small one, without much force.
“Stop stalling.” Riggs snorted. “Get back to work.”
“Speaking of sorority girls, I hear you have a new, young client. What’s she like?”
He grabbed the bucket of manure, and hauled it outside. “Works harder than you.”
“Dick.” The big man filled up the feed bucket for Aspen and Laurel.
The painted mare poked her head out of the stall, sniffing around for a treat.
“Did you wake up on the wrong side of the barstool this morning?” Roarke prodded.
Riggs sighed. The cause could be from exhaustion after his stellar night with Skylar as much from the annoyance at his friend. Roarke was fun to hang out with, and razzed him just as well as the other Knights. But he was too damn nosy. Probably an old trick of the trade from his physical trainer days. “She’s an OR nurse. From Chicago. Lotta fun, cute and bubbly…”
“Cute and bubbly from Chicago? Does she have a sister?”
Riggs snorted, and held out a carrot for Laurel. “Yes, Wren, back in Chicago. Ironically, she’s more your type.”
“Ooh, angsty and hardcore? Can’t wait to meet her.” He stopped filling the last bucket. “How do you know her sister?”
“Long story.”
Roarke’s eyes widened. “You’re telling me you boned her sister?”
He scraped his hand down his face. “Hell, no. Wren’s a tattoo artist who lived here a while ago. She hung out with a few of my friends. I got a call from her asking to help her little sister get acclimated to DFW.”
His buddy smiled. “Acclimated.”
“Something about making her feel safe while she explored the city.”
“And did you?”
Holy hell, did I explore her. And I want a lot more, too.
He plopped his cowboy hat back on his head, and washed out the bucket.
“Damn right, you did.” Roarke chuckled.
He ignored his comment. Truth was, Skylar was the first client he really wanted to see again.
Soon.
Riggs strolled back through the stables to put away the tools. As he passed Laurel’s stall, she nipped at him. “Damn!” He glanced at his arm. Already red, and would become a nasty bruise later. “You get ornerier every day. Relax, girl. I promise they’re coming home soon.” He checked in her stall for anything that would’ve annoyed her, like a snake. All normal. Her water and feed bowls were full. “If you apologize, I’ll give you another carrot.” He held out his hand.
Laurel rubbed her nose along his palm.
Riggs stepped forward and patted her neck, which made the mare nuzzle into his shoulder. “That’s the apology I’m looking for.” He gave her another carrot.
“That’s all it takes, huh?” Roarke leaned against the doorframe. “A carrot? I’ll remember that for my next date.”
“If you’re bringing carrots for your clients, they’re gonna want their money back. What happened with your last one?”
“She moved to Colorado. Duane’s helping me reach out to new contacts, get my schedule filled up. I have an excursion with a regular in a few weeks in New York. Five-star hotel.”
“Nice. Leave the carrots at home.”
Roarke grabbed the hose and sprayed Riggs’ chest. Soaking the rest of his clothes that weren’t dripping with sweat. The water in the hose nearly scalded him from lying in the Texas sun.
He snatched up the pitchfork, and pretended to aim for his buddy’s ratty shoes, but his friend sprayed him in the face.
His cheeks instantly burned. The all too familiar heat from the Afghan desert showered his mind. Instead of hot water, that deadly day on mission splattering his face was fire. Debris.
Bloodied debris.
When he glanced at his hands, he wore his tactical gloves, his fingers gripping the mounted MK19 machine gun atop the Humvee, and squeezing the trigger, blasting a thousand rounds into the inferno. Only to be followed by the thumping of Blackhawk helicopter blades overhead, the ground below still ablaze, and clutching onto Murphy’s arms as he dangled out, his chest full of armor-piercing bullets, and his dead eyes staring back.
“Riggs!”
He blinked.
Hot water ran down his face as he knelt on a hay bale, and his lungs desperate for air. The helicopter blades that’d sounded so real was just his heartbeat thumping in his ears. Battering against his ribs.
“Are you okay? You just dropped like a spitball from the ceiling,” Roarke sounded concerned.
The water still poured out of the hose, lying on the ground.
Laurel pounded her hoof against the stall, her neighing a high pitched squeal.
Riggs shot up to calm her, using his soft strokes on her neck to time his own breaths. Down to a somewhat normal rhythm.
“I’m sorry, man.” His friend side-stepped him, careful to keep his distance. “I didn’t know the water was that hot.”
“I’m fine. Let’s clean up and get goin’.”
“You sure?”
Am I? What the fuck just happened?
“Yup.”
CHAPTER TEN
Skylar
Several weeks later
She shut the door behind exam room two. Her heart grated against her sternum nearly out of control, but Skylar had managed to keep her anxiety in check. The two-hundred pound man with a stringy, black ponytail never knew he’d set her on edge. Giving her enough time to treat his lacerated arm despite her nerves on overload. Not because she knew the patient or he’d done anything wrong, but because he fit the profile. Any man with a black ponytail made her nervous.
“You’re being silly, Sky,” she whispered. “Just do your job.”
That was years ago, two thousand miles away.
“Lucas,” Mary called from the nurse’s station. “You okay?”
She took a deep breath. “Yep.”
The charge nurse gave her a strange look. “Can you last one more hour?”
“Of course.” Skylar grabbed the tablet to scroll to the next patient file. She bit back a gasp. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“What is it?” Mary asked.
“I know this one.”
“Do you want me to take it?”
She held the tablet against her chest.
A dozen room indicator lights flashed on the screen at the nurse’s station.
Skylar bit her lip. “No, I’ll take it.” She opened the next exam door. Then swallowed.
Garrison Riggs sat on the gurney holding a bleeding shoulder with a nasty bruise.
“What did you do to yourself?” she asked in her casual nurse tone. Her first instinct was to help. To heal. Closely followed by the urge to slug him in the jaw.
Riggs’ eyes widened. “Skylar?”
She sighed, and reviewed his chart as a way to avoid making eye contact with those Sinatra blues. Besides, this clearly wasn’t a ploy to see her. The man really was injured. “Something about an accident with an animal.”
“I didn’t know you worked in the ER.”
“They’re short staffed this weekend. I offered to help.”
He smiled, but not nearly as wide as his stunning one. “Damn, am I glad you did.”
She rolled her eyes, and pulled up the wheeled stool. “What’re we looking at here?”
“Kicked in the shoulder by a horse.”
That forced her gaze to meet his. “A horse?”
He shrugged the good one. “Long story. Is it broken?”
“We’ll X-Ray to be sure.” She poked around in a few spots, checking for tenderness. Asked him a few questions. The wh
ite scar on his other shoulder drew her attention. He hadn’t talked about it during their night together. Then again, she’d never asked passed pointing it out.
“You never called.” He almost appeared wounded as he said it.
Skylar had deleted most of his messages the last few weeks. Probably just looking for another payday. She didn’t have the heart to outright block his number. After the awesome times they’d shared. Especially in her bedroom. She hated to admit it, but she’d missed him. Thought about him. Hell, even dreamt about him. “I’ve been busy.” She checked his sheet for allergies, and noticed the occupation field.
Entertainer.
She snorted.
“I thought we had a great time.”
We did. You earned your money that week.”
He blinked, and the surprise on his face seemed genuine this time. “You didn’t know?”
“Excuse me?”
Now I really do want to slug him.
Riggs sighed, and scraped his good hand down his face. “I thought you knew. My apologies. Seriously. That’s why you never called.”
“You think?” Sarcasm dripped from her voice as she took antiseptic wipes and cleaned out the cut.
He winced.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “This will just be a second.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Lucas,” Mary poked her head in. “There’s a spider bite in exam four.”
“Thanks.” She never once looked away from Riggs’ wound.
“Looks like you could still use a little fun in your life,” He said, his voice low.
“I can’t afford you.” Her words dripped with disdain.
“But I’m worth every penny. I offer the perfect stress relief.”
“I’m sure. Charge by the hour, do you?”
He laughed.
Which ticked her off more.
“So do you. In fact, I can barely afford your services either, with healthcare these days. This whole visit alone will cost me what, three grand?” The sexy smirk never left his mouth.
Probably. “Touché.”
Keeping her distance was impossible for the rest of his scans. Her job required her to touch the patients, no matter any personal feelings. Not to mention, he constantly tried to charm her over with small compliments, touching her hand, and caressing her knee. So natural and nonchalant. His corny one-liners were so bad to the point of endearing. That was one of the things that’d initially attracted her to him. Riggs was always easy going. He’d successfully distracted her mind from the previous patient.
She handed him his final checkout papers.
“Can I have a lollipop?” His blue eyes nearly glittered.
“Normally, no. But for you, I’ll make an exception.” Skylar reached into the basket to offer a sucker.
He gently held her elbow, pulling her attention back. A serious stare made her heart hiccup. “Thanks for taking such good care of me. Please, let me thank you over dinner. The least I can do.”
“Do you charge extra for alcohol, or is that included?”
Riggs blinked, his hand still hot on her elbow. “No charge. Just good food, good company.”
Doubtful.
She turned away and started clearing the room for the next patient.
His sigh felt heavy in the air as he started to walk out.
So much for that social life.
Riggs stopped at the curtain. “With so much seriousness and tension in your job, to which you’re clearly still addicted, don’t you deserve a little fun?”
Skylar tilted her head.
Those Sinatra blue eyes pleaded for her to say yes in the alluring, boyish way.
She sighed. “Better offer a lot of fun, to make up for the colossal screw-up.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Riggs
He could barely contain his excitement as he sat at the bar of the four-star restaurant. The low hum from the people at the full tables increased the intimacy. A frosted-glass window separated the main dining area from the four-sided bar, all dark wood with a menu full of high-end wines.
Skylar had waited an entire week before she’d called him after his trip to the Emergency Department. Probably to further prove her point that she had control over whether or not their relationship continued. Aloofness, casualty, or still miffed over the perceived deception, whatever the reason, Riggs heard it.
Loud and clear.
He didn’t blame her.
He’d thought she’d known he was a Knight the whole time. Surely, the woman’s sister wouldn’t have kept that detail from her. When she’d asked him what he did for a living—after an incredibly erotic night and basking in post-coital glow—he’d truly been confused.
Perhaps she’d been asking if he had a second job, if being a Knight wasn’t enough. Then they’d become distracted by conversations about his tattoo, his military days, and the painful subject about her dead sister.
Had he known that she wasn’t aware…
The door opened, and in walked a gray dress.
Riggs blinked.
The long pair of smooth legs gliding in under that gray dress belonged to Skylar.
His Skylar.
Her butterscotch hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, with a few curly tendrils framing her face. Her sun-kissed cheeks pulled up when she saw him. Subtle, yet unmistakable.
“Damn,” he breathed.
Somehow, she’d managed to look so much taller than the first week they’d spent together. Super high black heels clicked across the wood floors with confidence, and he itched to suckle those smooth legs…one inch at a time.
Riggs stood, and kissed her cheek, letting his hand linger on the small of her back. She smelled like sugar and pomegranate. Her rosy lips reminded him of raspberries.
“I’m really glad you called,” he whispered in her ear.
“Couldn’t say no to a patient in need.”
“So, the Florence Nightingale thing is real?” He escorted her over to their reserved table toward the back, giving them more privacy, and pulled out her seat. Her shoulders skimmed his hands when she sat.
“Only if they’re awake. Normally, they’re passed out by the time they get to the OR.”
He chuckled and took the seat next to her. The deep-red damask cushion felt like a pillow underneath him.
The waiter draped their napkins over their laps and poured water into their glasses. Riggs ordered a bottle of red wine.
“I’m sure you have some pretty strange nurse stories,” he continued. He rubbed his hand across the pristine tablecloth. Stark white, countering the warm caramel walls textured with a dark glaze, giving it an almost antique appearance.
“Of course.” Skylar nodded. “Kind of why I got into it. My sister had so many funny ones.”
He was careful not to let his smile slip when she spoke of her sister. Clearly, she didn’t mean Wren. “She was a nurse?”
She pressed her lips together, and looked down at the table. Finally, she nodded. “In Chicago.”
He slid his hand over her knuckles, and squeezed her soft skin. “Tell me one of yours.”
The light in her eyes returned, and she curled her fingers into his. “On the ED shift after you left, I had a patient try and steal all the chux from our storeroom because he claimed his dog lost control of his bladder.”
“What are chux?”
“Disposable underpads. Not sure how he got in the storeroom in the first place, but he was definitely high on something.”
Riggs laughed. “Theft a problem in the ER?”
“Oh, people try to steal whatever they can. My favorite stories are the ones drug seekers come up with to get meds. This one guy comes to the ED at least three times a week for pain killers, so they tell me. But he uses a different name, as though they wouldn’t recognize him. That’s why I like the OR. There’s enough drama in medicine without the human element.”
Skylar’s bubbly side came back the more she talked. He loved the passion in her voice
, and the way her skin responded to his touch when he ran his fingers up her wrist.
The waiter returned with their chosen wine, pouring some in each of their glasses, and then took their order.
“Your turn.” She sipped her wine. “I’m sure you have some crazy Marine stories.”
Riggs’ throat dried out, and he sipped his own wine. More of an attempt to hide the flicker of unease. “Several PT runs in our boxer shorts after caught out of barracks one night. Then there was the time we caught one of the guys stealing snacks from the commissary, so my friend Renner, filled the guy’s footlocker full of rubber mice and cheese cubes.”
“Creative.”
“Basic was full of pranks like that.”
“How many tours did you do?”
“Three.”
“Any combat?”
He swallowed again, but kept his practiced polite expression in place. “Some.”
She shook her head. “I can’t imagine.”
Riggs shrugged a shoulder. The nerves crawled up his gut.
We need to get off this topic.
“I’m sure there are similar things in that ER.”
Skylar raised her eyebrows. “Are you kidding? Five policemen stand duty in the ED every Friday and Saturday night. I’ve only been there a month, and I’ve already seen a half dozen arrests, and two knife fights.”
He scowled. “You’re right in Oak Cliff. Not a pleasant neighborhood.”
“Anything like Afghanistan?”
“Hardly. That place is literally hell on Earth. Especially Kabul.”
Bodies everywhere on those streets.
She winced, and then straightened. “That reminds me. On my first surgery, the same day I met you actually, the doctor threw an amputated toe at my face.”
Riggs blinked. “What?”
“Yeah. He likes to prank all the new hires. But I caught it.”
“Wait, he does that as a joke?”
The waiter came by with their food, and she never responded.
As Riggs stared at his linguine, all he could focus on was the bits of parsley.
An amputated toe.
Images flashed in his mind of the gruesome arteries hanging from his CO’s neck. Shrapnel stuck in his Kevlar vest, and then back to Murphy’s dead eyes.
Tell Me What You Feel Page 4
