Resisting Her Rebel Hero

by Lucy Ryder

  Sandwiches? Coffee? And where had all these people come from? It looked like a temporary ops center—or a tea party for big hulking men.

  “Good, you’re here.” A voice at her elbow distracted her from the chaos and Cassidy turned to see the head nurse holding out a clipboard.

  She accepted the board, feeling a little shell-shocked. “What on earth’s going on?”

  Fran Gilbert followed her gaze. “The town’s disaster committee in action,” she explained with a shrug, as though it happened every day.

  Disaster—? Oh, no. Cassidy gulped down a sudden sick feeling. Please don’t tell me…! Shaking off her pessimistic thoughts, she frowned at the older woman. “Disaster? How bad?”

  Fran frowned in confusion. “Bad?” Then realizing what Cassidy was thinking, she said, “No! God, no. Cassidy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She gave Cassidy a quick hug. “I just meant that the disaster committee responds whenever the rescue teams go out. The junior league ladies take turns providing hot food and drinks. To practice they set up basic first-aid stations for minor injuries. When news came through that the hikers were being brought down, they moved operations here.”

  “Oh.” Cassidy let out a whoosh of relief, a little awed at the way the community mobilized when the need arose. Any disaster in a big city was met with looting and rioting.

  “They say it’s to practice for a real disaster but I think it’s just an excuse to get out and socialize.”

  Cassidy nodded. “Okay, no disaster. What do we have?” she asked, as Fran led her towards the ER cubicles.

  “Mostly minor but too many for poor Monty to cope with,” the older woman said, before launching into a rapid-fire report worthy of a busy city ER nurse.

  Rebecca Thornton, she told Cassidy, had slipped and fallen off the trail. She’d broken her leg and her husband had climbed down the steep embankment to get to her. He’d slipped near the bottom in the treacherous conditions and knocked himself out. Several others had then climbed down to carry the injured couple out but had found their way blocked by huge boulders. With the gully rapidly filling with water, the group still on the trail had elected to return and alert the authorities. They hadn’t made it back yet and a team was still out, looking for them.

  Dr. Montgomery looked up briefly from checking a young man’s bruised and lacerated arm. “Glad they found you,” he said with an absent smile, before turning to give the attending nurse instructions.

  Soon Cassidy was swamped, treating a broken leg and collarbone, a fractured wrist and a concussion. There was a bruised and swollen knee that she suspected might be cartilage damage, a host of cuts and scrapes, and hypothermia along with exhaustion and dehydration.

  And that was just the hiking party.

  Once they’d been examined, treated and transferred to the wards for fluids and observation, Cassidy turned her attention to the rescue crew. Among the expected lacerations and contusions, she diagnosed torn ankle ligaments, a dislocated shoulder and a broken finger. Pretty mild considering the awful night they’d endured, she mused, sending one nurse to the suture room and another to X-rays.

  She’d just left Hank Henderson propped up with an ice pack on his foot when the elderly doctor called to ask her opinion about the shoulder injury.

  After examining Andy Littleton, Cassidy decided there didn’t seem to be any serious ligament damage that would require surgery. She told Andy to take a deep breath and quickly pulled his shoulder back into place. He went white and swayed alarmingly before throwing up in the kidney dish she shoved at him.

  Listing drunkenly while she strapped his shoulder and arm, he made Cassidy swear a blood oath that she wouldn’t tell anyone he’d cried like a girl. Biting back a grin of sympathy, she squeezed his hand, and turned to find Harry Montgomery beaming at her like a proud teacher whose pupil had surpassed his expectations.

  “Looks like old Howie’s loss is our gain, eh?” The big man chuckled, his age-spotted hand patting her shoulder awkwardly. “He said you were a bright young thing. What he didn’t say was that you have an easy way with people along with that sharp diagnostic mind.” He studied her shrewdly. “I guess the old buzzard didn’t want to lose you, eh?”

  With heat rising to her cheeks, Cassidy looped her stethoscope around her neck. She felt like a new resident under scrutiny. Besides, one didn’t have to be Einstein to pick up the question behind the compliment. The question of why she was treating runny noses and middle-ear infections in a small mountain hospital instead of running her own ER—which was what she’d originally intended.

  “He’s a wonderful man,” she replied with a warm smile. “And I loved the daily challenges in ER.” Thrusting her hands into her lab-coat pockets, she chose her words carefully. “But big city ERs are like operating in a war zone, and when you lose count of the number of ODs, stabbings and rapes you treat…” She sighed. “I realized I needed a change—to get back to basics. Howie mentioned Crescent Lake and I thought it might be the perfect place to try out something more community-oriented.”

  She didn’t say that hearing it was deep in the Cascades and a continent away from Boston had sounded appealing. She’d been desperate to get away and work on forgetting the career-damaging fallout of treating a real-life hero injured in the line of duty. A “hero” who’d turned out to be anything but.

  She shuddered at the memory. God, she’d been stupidly naïve and had paid a very high price. Then again, how could anyone have known the handsome vice cop wasn’t one of the good guys?

  The charming wounded-hero act had been just that—an act. He’d used it to lull people—her—into a false sense of security. He’d pursued her with flowers, gifts and romantic dinners then stolen her hospital security card, giving him access to the ER dispensary as well as a stack of prescription pads, which he’d used by forging her signature. In the end there’d been a full-scale police investigation—with her as the prime suspect.

  In truth, all she’d really been guilty of had been bad judgment. She’d trusted someone who’d proved to be anything but trustworthy. In hindsight he’d been too good to be true: too romantic and too sensitive for it not to have been a very clever performance from a man who knew exactly what women wanted.

  By the time she’d realized something was wrong, the media frenzy had crucified her, calling her professional competence into question. It had been a nightmare.

  Fortunately for her, Lance Turnbull had been under internal investigation. One that had involved a dozen other women doctors around the city. Cassidy had eventually been cleared of all charges but the damage had been done. She’d suffered through snide comments and cruel jokes from her colleagues until she’d finally buckled under the stress.

  “GP work is pretty boring compared to the excitement of ER,” the old doctor warned, wrenching her from her disturbing thoughts. “Especially here in the boondocks.”

  Relieved to focus on something other than her past failures, Cassidy looked around at the controlled chaos and sent him a small smile. “I wouldn’t exactly call it boring,” she said, her smile turning into a grin when his deep chuckle filled the hallway.

  “No, it isn’t,” he agreed, “especially during tourist season. But off season gets pretty quiet.”

  “I can do quiet. And I’m impressed with the way everyone bands together. It’s wonderful knowing that there are still places where people are willing to step in and help their neighbors without expecting something in return.”

  “That’s what’s kept me here for sixty years,” he said, moving to the door. “The warm community spirit. You don’t find that in the city.” He turned and studied her intently. “I’ve watched you over the past two weeks, Cassidy, and you’re a very perceptive diagnostician. We could use someone like you heading up the hospital.” And when Cassidy opened her mouth to remind him that she was only there for three months, he beat her to it with his parting shot, “Think about it,” before disappearing down the hallway.

  Cassidy wa
tched him leave. Admittedly she was enjoying the opportunity to practice family medicine in a town where people cared about each other, but Boston was her home. And that kind of decision couldn’t be made lightly.

  *

  It wasn’t until late afternoon that she finally realized she’d been hanging around waiting for something to happen. It didn’t take a genius to realize that something was a certain Navy SEAL and that she’d been waiting for him to come in to have his injuries treated.

  Irritated with herself, she’d collected her purse and jacket and was on her way out when the door banged open and there he was, looking like he’d just blown in from a big, bad superheroes convention with his big, bad SEAL attitude.

  When her knees wobbled and her head went light, Cassidy assured herself it was simply because she hadn’t eaten anything all day. It certainly didn’t have anything to do with the way his gold eyes latched onto her like a tractor beam.

  Gesturing to an empty suture room, Cassidy wordlessly handed her jacket and purse to the receptionist and ignored the jitters in her belly as the sheriff half-dragged, half-carried him down the corridor and through the doorway to heave him onto the narrow bed. And just like that, every delusional thought she’d had in the early hours blew up right in her face.

  “You may now stick him with as many needles as you like,” the sheriff announced, shoving his hands on his hips and glaring at his brother. “In fact, that’s an official order. Maybe it will improve his attitude and I won’t have to toss him in jail again for disobeying a direct order.”

  “I said I was fine,” the SEAL snarled as Greg, the young deputy who’d helped drag him into the examination room, ducked his head and made a beeline for the door.

  Wise move, she thought when a string of muttered threats turned the air blue. She might be relieved he’d made it back in one piece but it had been a long day and an even longer night, obsessing about whether or not she had been imagining things. The good news was that she was sane and not hallucinating. The bad news was, Cassidy thought with a sinking sensation, he was even more dangerously attractive in the cold light of day.

  And that was bad. Very bad. Because Cassidy Mahoney was done with dangerous bad boys who made women swoon. She really was too busy getting her life back to deal with two hundred and forty pounds of belligerent male.

  It seemed the sheriff was too since he folded his arms across his chest and glared at his brother, clearly not intimidated by the show of aggression. “And if he gives you any trouble, make him wear a pretty pink hospital gown,” he barked, ignoring the way Sam’s lip drew back over his teeth in a silent snarl. “He deserves to have everyone laugh at his ugly butt after the stunt he pulled.”

  Cassidy watched the silent clash of wills and her first thought was that nothing about Major Kellan was ugly. She was pretty sure her staff wouldn’t be laughing either. More like swooning from the thick cloud of testosterone and bad attitude that surrounded him.

  A fierce golden gaze caught and held hers as though he knew what she was thinking, and Cassidy felt a flush creep up her neck into her cheeks. Besides being grossly unprofessional, picturing him naked wouldn’t do a thing to convince her she’d imagined her earlier reaction to him.

  The sheriff raked his hand through his wet hair, looking tired and exasperated. “Listen up, man,” he growled, “I know you’re a big, mean SEAL and everything, but just let the doc check you out, okay? I don’t have time to babysit you or keep you from bleeding to death. You wouldn’t believe the paperwork. It’s a nightmare. Elections are coming up and I can’t afford to have you die and make me look bad.”

  “I keep telling you I’m fine,” Sam snarled. “Quit hovering like a girl. There’s nothing Old Monty can do that I can’t do for myself, so get the hell out of my face before I break your ugly mug.”

  “Oh, please.” Ruben snickered rudely. “You can’t even break a sweat without help. Now suck it up and let the doc check you out. You look like hell.”

  Samuel said something that Cassidy was pretty sure was anatomically impossible but before her eyes could do more than widen, Ruben turned to her with a grim smile. “Doc, he’s all yours, just as I promised. He’s a bit more battered and bloodied but I refuse to take credit for that. He’s a hard-headed pain in the ass so you might consider sedating him.” He sent his brother a meaningful glare. “In fact, unconscious would be a real improvement.”

  Ignoring the derisive suggestion, Sam turned narrowed eyes her way. “Doc?” he demanded. “You’re the doctor?” His tone suggested she’d deliberately misled him. “I thought you were the nurse.”

  “No,” she corrected smoothly. “You thought I was a stripper.”

  “And with that,” Ruben drawled mockingly, “I rest my case.” He slapped his hat on his head and adjusted the brim. “Cassidy, ignore the inscrutable death stares. Underneath all that macho SEAL hoo-yah attitude he’s really quite sweet.”

  The SEAL snarled something impolite and with a deep laugh the sheriff sketched a salute and disappeared down the hallway, leaving Cassidy with two hundred pounds of seething testosterone. Sweet wasn’t a word she’d associate with Major Hotstuff, she mused, moving to the supply cabinet for a towel. Just the idea of it made her want to smile. So she frowned instead.

  “So,” he said, taking the towel and fixing her with his mesmerizing stare, “you’re a doctor.”

  She sent him a cool look then turned to remove disinfectant and a package of swabs from the overhead cabinet. “Is that a problem, Major, or an apology?”

  His amused gaze drifted over her face and breasts to the neat row of supplies she’d begun setting out and he drawled, “Only if you’re plotting revenge.”

  “Fortunately for you I’m not the vengeful type, Major.”

  His mouth curled at one corner and he said, “Uh-huh” into the towel. Cassidy ignored the impulse to bang her head against the wall. She had a feeling it would be a lot less painful than getting caught up in the man’s web.

  Fortunately, her little chat with the elderly doctor had reminded her of why she was off men in anything but the professional sense. Flicking him an assessing glance, she decided the sheriff was right. He did look like hell.

  “There’s no one to save you from the needle this time, Major.” She opened another cabinet and removed a suture kit and syringes. “In fact—” her voice was brisk as she moved closer “—I can foresee more than one in your immediate future.”

  Ignoring the dark eyebrow hiking up his forehead, she stepped close and pushed the soaked parka over his wide shoulders and down his arms. He shrugged and sucked in a sharp breath, before drawling, “Not just beautiful and smart, but psychic too?”

  Cassidy bit back a snort and tossed the garment onto the floor, before turning to wash her hands at the small basin. “It doesn’t take a clairvoyant to see that you’re an action junkie looking for trouble,” she replied smoothly, pulling a strip off the paper towel dispenser.

  He shrugged. “Goes with the job.”

  “For which the free world is eternally grateful.” She dried her hands and dropped the paper into the bin as she turned. She caught his eyes crinkling at the corners as though he didn’t take himself half as seriously as other people did, which…surprised her. She was accustomed to being surrounded by alpha males who thought they sat at God’s right hand. Discovering he could poke fun at himself had something warm and light sliding into her belly. Something that felt very much like admiration.

  Telling herself that certainly didn’t mean she liked him, Cassidy focused on his once white T-shirt, now covered in mud and blood. Shaking her head, she pulled it out of his damp waistband and grabbed a pair of scissors off the counter.

  With a few snips, his shirt fell away and she quickly unwound the soiled bandage. When the move exposed fresh blood oozing from the loosened dressing, she bit back a curse.

  “You’re an idiot,” she muttered, knowing exactly who she was addressing this time. Lifting a loose edge, she pressed her hand
gently against his hard belly and ripped it off in one smooth move.

  Sam hissed audibly in surprise and pain. “Holy…! Hell and damnation, woman, what the hell was that?” His fingers whitened around the edge of the bed and he looked like he wanted to wrap them around her throat.

  “Sorry,” she said, and meaning it. It would have been worse if she’d taken her time removing it. “It’s better coming off fast.”

  “For you maybe… Jeez…does the CIA know about you?”

  “The CIA?” she asked, sending him a narrow-eyed look out the corner of her eye, fairly certain he wasn’t being complimentary.

  “Yeah. Hear they’re looking for interrogators.” Definitely not complimentary. “My CO would recruit you on the spot to torture the tadpoles in BUD/S.”

  “Tadpoles? Buds?” she asked, pouring disinfectant into a stainless-steel bowl and filling it with warm water.

  “Wannabe SEALs in Basic Underwater Demolition SEALs,” he told her. “Have to knock the cra…I mean stuffing out of them during hell week to sort out the men from the boys. You’d be perfect for the job.”

  Apparently he’d managed to survive without having the stuffing knocked out of him. She wondered how he’d managed it. Sheer stubbornness most likely.

  She pulled on a pair of latex gloves then ripped off a large section of cotton wool. “I’m good, but thanks anyway.” She pressed a hand to the smooth ball of his shoulder. “Lie flat and lift your arm over your head.”

  His scowl turned into a grimace when he realized he was too big and had to scoot down the bed, ending up with half his long legs draped over the end. Growling irritably about “damn midget beds”, he raised his arm and bent it behind his head. With lids lowered over his unusual eyes, he sent her a sleepy look.

  “Although if you continue ripping off my clothes and making me lie down,” he drawled softly, “I’ll start thinking you have ulterior motives, Miz Honey.”