by Nola Cross
“Smells great,” he called.
He came through the kitchen door and ran smack into a vision. She was standing with her back to him at the stove, this time wearing a short, white terrycloth robe. Her hair was piled in a loose knot on her head, and the tendrils at her nape were damp and wavy, as if she had just stepped from the shower. About that time he caught the scent of something flowery and fresh, confirming where she’d just been.
She turned and smiled. “Good morning.”
“Hi.”
Eyes off the cleavage, asshole!
“Oatmeal okay?”
“Yes. Fine.”
“Raisins okay? What else do you like in it? Brown sugar? Butter?”
“It all sounds fantastic. Do I even have raisins and brown sugar?”
“Yep. In the pantry.”
“Huh.” Maybe he should organize his cupboards and see what else he had on hand that he’d forgotten about.
“Coffee black, right?”
“Right.”
“I’ll put it in the sports bottle for you, but first let’s do your meds.”
“Meds? You’re sounding professional this morning. Are you by any chance in full nurse mode, Dez?” He couldn’t stop a grin.
She laughed. “I guess I am.” Then she sobered and put down the wooden spoon she was using, standing against the front of the stove with her fists on her hips. She faced him squarely. “I’m not leaving, Hawk.”
Their gazes clashed, but neither looked away. Her chin lifted in defiance, her nostrils flared. It was clear that she was taking a stand. If he fought her on this, he might lose her precious friendship. Did he want to take that chance?
No. He’d thought about it long and hard as he lay in his recliner last night, knowing this moment would come. In the end he’d decided he’d rather have the torture of her presence than to risk hurting her and never seeing her again. And he could handle it, right? He was a mature man with all kinds of self-control.
Besides, he had to admit that he was kind of helpless here. Yesterday had proved that. And she did seem to have a good head on her shoulders, a good sense of how to be of real material assistance. He didn’t want to have to depend on sweet old Mrs. Atterman or wait for the nurse’s one daily visit.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Her arms dropped to her sides and she whooshed out a long breath.
“Yeah, okay. Stay. Do your helpful sister thing. I appreciate it.”
“Great! Thank you.”
He chuckled. “I think I’m the one who should be thanking you. You’re giving up your vacation to hang out with a pissed off, crippled up Indian.”
She cocked her head and gave him a mock frown. “Hmm. If you put it that way, maybe I should reconsider.”
“Oh no. You’re stuck now. You’re officially at my beck and call. Where are those meds, Nurse Desiree? Where’s my coffee and my oatmeal?”
She giggled, and the sound was like some exotic birdsong he’d never heard before. A beautiful, golden sound that stole into his heart and made him even more glad that she was there.
And it terrified him too. Fucking terrified him.
* * * *
They had just finished breakfast when the doorbell announced Nurse Sarah’s return. His belly full of hot cereal and two bottles of coffee, Hawk stood behind Desi as she opened the front door for the older woman.
“Good morning! How are we today?” The nurse chattered about the rainy weather and the daffodils blooming beside the walkway as she sat down and opened her bag. She patted the couch next to her. “Come sit down here, sugah. Let’s see how those hands look today.”
As she’d done the day before, the nurse put on a pair of medical gloves and worked to cut away the old gauze and expose his burned palms. It seemed to him they looked a little less swollen today, but it was hard to tell. The blistered skin was sloughing away in ragged patches, leaving raw, red flesh exposed. It hurt just to look at them.
“Are you going to remove that dead skin?”
“Not yet. Right now it’s still protecting the healing tissues underneath. We don’t need to rush this process. Things are looking good.” She motioned Desi closer. “Now, hon, you watch what I do here so you can do the evening bandage change.”
As she had done before, Sarah squirted a sterile solution over his hands and patted them dry with a clean towel. He flinched when she squeezed a coil of cold antiseptic gel from a tube and spread it over the burns without disturbing the blistered skin. Last, she placed pads of sterile gauze on his palms and wrapped his hands again like a mummy’s bindings.
“Just call me King Tut,” he muttered, shrugging off a sensation of light-headedness. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t seem to stop the faint surge of nausea when his hands were messed with.
“Think you can do that?” The nurse turned to Desi and held out two small slips of paper. “Here are prescriptions for the special wound cleanser and antiseptic gel. Insurance should cover them. You can get them at any pharmacy. Same with the gauze pads and gloves and strips.”
“Okay.” Desi took the prescription slips and folded them in half.
“Any questions?”
“No. I can do this.” She gave them both a confident smile.
“Good.” The nurse patted Desi’s hand, then turned back to him. “Now let’s check this chest of yours.” After a quick exam of the tiny sores on his upper torso, she again smeared on some of the gel. “Continue to keep your shirt off if you can. This area is healing real nice. Just apply a little gel again tonight to help fight any infection. Use a very light touch, like this, okay?”
Desi nodded, this time looking less sure of herself. As Hawk imagined her fingers moving across his skin, an echo of the light-headedness returned. Would he be able to sit still and let her touch him like this without reacting in a way that would embarrass them both?
Sarah closed her satchel. “Now, about bathing—”
“I’ve got that covered,” Hawk broke in.
“You do? Good. Your missus can assist you in the shower. It’s fine to get the bandages wet. Just change them right after you get out and make sure you don’t do any scrubbing or you’ll damage the skin. Understood? Don’t use those hands at all. Don’t disturb the bandages. Let your missus do all the scrubbing.” She gave him a broad wink and a grin.
“Got it.”
She rose to leave, and they followed her to the door.
“See you tomorrow about this time?” Hawk asked.
“I’ll be here, sugah.”
* * * *
Desi turned without meeting his eyes and started for the stairs. “I’m going to go get dressed,” she called over her shoulder.
“Okay,” he called back.
Let your missus do all the scrubbing. The words tumbled through her head again and again as she pulled on a clean pair of jeans and her favorite red sweater.
How was this ever going to work? Of course Hawk needed to bathe, and it was clear he couldn’t do it alone. Was she a good enough nurse to help him without freaking out? She stared at her flustered reflection in the old mirror and palmed her fist with determination. Of course she was!
On the other hand, if just seeing his naked chest made her insides turn to warm pudding, how could she face seeing the rest of him? Much less scrubbing him!
Her job as a nursing assistant in the ER meant now and then seeing a man in some stage of undress, but she was usually too busy to notice much. Now she tried her best to imagine what might lie beneath Hawk’s sweatpants. Would it be hairy down there, or smooth like his chest? And what about his penis? His cock? What would that look like? She blushed as she whispered the word to herself. Her breath felt all jerky in her chest, and some kind of little flutter was happening deep in the core of her body.
She scowled at her reflection. In the years to come, she’d be examining and treating all manner of patients. Women and children. And men too. Nursing was her chosen career, after all. This situation would be commonplace.
/> And guess what? It starts today, Desiree Taylor.
As she tied her shoes she tried to come up with some practical ideas. She remembered the shower had a hose attachment with an adjustable spray head. She’d used it herself that morning. Maybe she could stand on the outside of the curtain and reach around with that hose and just kind of spray randomly at him. If he turned in a slow circle while she held the water on him, he’d get pretty clean.
But there were areas of his body that needed to be washed well with soap. What about that? And what about drying him afterward? What about shaving and deodorant? And helping him get dressed again?
Her belly was churning as she came back down the stairs. His shower could wait, she decided. She should run to the pharmacy right now and get those first-aid supplies so she’d be ready to rewrap his hands. Besides, they needed a few grocery items too.
Hawk was standing at the front bay window with his back to her. He turned when he heard her footsteps. By now, she was almost used to the sight of his muscular chest and shoulders, the intriguing taper of his abs. Almost.
“You going somewhere?”
“Just to the pharmacy and to get a few groceries. Any requests?”
“A six pack of beer.”
She grimaced. “Sorry. No more booze with your Oxy.”
“Okay. Fine. But I’m finishing that bottle of Cab.”
“Cab?”
“The wine.”
“Oh. Okay. But you need to go easy on the alcohol, remember? Can you give me directions to the drugstore?”
He told her how to get to the neighborhood shopping center and she put on her coat and left, relieved to be out of the stuffy room.
Two hours later she opened the door to a silent house. Hawk must be upstairs sleeping, she decided. She put the first-aid supplies on the kitchen counter and made a second trip to the car for the groceries. Then she put everything away and preheated the oven. Still no sign of Hawk.
As she climbed the stairs to return her purse to her bedroom, she heard a muffled bump and a string of swear words coming from behind the upstairs bathroom door. What the heck?
“Hawk? Are you okay in there?”
There were several seconds of silence, then another string of expletives in a low mutter. And finally: “Dez?”
“Yes.” She put her lips close to the crack of the door. “Who else would it be? Are you okay?”
“Yes. Yes. I’m okay.” Exasperation dripped from his voice.
“Can I help?”
“No! Stay out!”
“Uh, okay. If you’re sure you’re all right.”
“I’ve got this, Dez. Relax.”
“I got us a pizza for lunch. I hope you like sausage and mushroom.”
“Love it. Sounds wonderful. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Desi backed away from the door, put her purse away, and returned to the kitchen. She popped the take-and-bake pizza into the oven, then washed and refilled Hawk’s sports bottle with fresh water. She checked her watch and the whiteboard next to the fridge. It was almost time for his meds.
She smiled to herself. Meds. Yeah, she was Nurse Desiree Taylor. She was ready. She could handle anything.
* * * *
Hawk stood outside the shower, still dripping wet. His hands hurt like hell. The bandages had unwound and hung in sodden ropes, leaving his blistered palms exposed. As he struggled to dry his legs, the texture of the terrycloth towel was like a thousand tiny spikes on his tortured nerve endings.
He should have thought things out a little better. Getting his pants off had been easy. Starting the water hadn’t been difficult either. His shower worked with a simple dial that he managed to paw into the ON position. He was even able to adjust the water temperature. It had felt great to stand there and let the warm rivulets sluice down his chest and back. He hardly noticed when the gauze began to sag and come loose from his hands. But as the sodden wrappings unraveled, he remembered Sarah’s words, and he decided he didn’t need to scrub anything. He maneuvered his body so the spray hit him in all the strategic places, satisfied in the end at feeling refreshed and clean for the most part.
Then he turned off the water and stepped out and the real problems began. Just getting the towel out of the cupboard and unfolded was a feat of sheer willpower, much less getting any kind of hold on the damn thing. About the time he’d succeeded in patting his chest dry, he heard Desi’s voice at the door. Shit! He’d planned on being dressed and back downstairs before she returned.
He grabbed for the clean pair of sweatpants hanging on a nearby hook. If he held the waistband taut using the backs of his hands, he could get one foot inside. But the lower half of his body was far too wet; his foot wouldn’t go through the leghole, and instead got tangled in the dripping strands of gauze. He struggled to free himself, hopping around the room on one foot as Desi pelted him with questions through the door. Who cared about the damn pizza? He just wanted to get his pants on and get his throbbing blisters covered up again.
After a long moment she retreated. He hobbled to the toilet and nudged the lid closed so he could sit down. With a frantic kick he managed to extricate his foot from the wadded pants leg, and in the process tore the gauze the rest of the way off his left hand. Technicolor flashes of intense agony ripped through his palm. For a moment he thought he might pass out. He leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the torturous pulsing recede.
After what seemed an eternity he began to feel a little better. Cold water dripped down his shoulders and chest, since he hadn’t yet dried his hair. He shivered as he spotted his towel on the floor in the corner. He’d let his hair dry on its own, he decided.
Determined to be more patient this time, he pointed his toes and slowly worked one damp foot down one pants leg. This time he made it out the hole at the other end. Then he repeated the maneuver with the other leg. Filled with a real sense of triumph, he was able to stand at last and work the waistband up. It got stuck for a moment on his wet ass. He swore and tried to jerk the fabric up, tearing what was left of the gauze off his right hand. Strips of dead flesh peeled away, leaving fresh wounds. It took every ounce of will not to yell out loud.
He stared down at his hands. The torn flesh throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
“I think I need a nurse,” he muttered, the irony of the situation fully apparent.
Barefoot, he made his way downstairs, drawn by the smell of pizza and the clinking sounds of plates and flatware being set on the table. He dreaded the coming scene. There was nothing he could say to make it go well.
Desi was just taking the pizza out of the oven. When she glanced at him, her smile of greeting turned to a puzzled grin. “What’s with the hair?”
“I, uh, couldn’t dry it.”
Her eyes widened. “Wait. Did you try to take a shower?”
“I did take a shower,” he said, proud and foolish at the same time. His raw hands were screaming bloody murder.
Her gaze dropped lower. “Where are your bandages? Hawk, what have you done?”
She ran forward and grabbed his wrists, turning his palms up. She gasped, a look of true horror on her face. Then she straightened and took a deep breath.
“Sit down,” she commanded.
He obeyed. He was feeling a tad shaky anyway.
She went to the counter and opened a bag with the pharmacy name on it, taking out several small packages. She didn’t hesitate in her movements as she came back to the table, armed with fresh gauze, scissors, and a tube of the antiseptic gel that Sarah had used. He watched as she put on a pair of gloves and dressed and rewrapped his wounds like an expert, relaxing a little as the anesthetic in the gel began to take soothing effect.
If he hadn’t had his eyes open, he might have thought it was Nurse Sarah herself handling his care, so proficient was Desi at her work. But then, Nurse Sarah didn’t make his heart pound the way it was right now.
He cleared his throat. “You’re a natural, Dez.”
She gave a little
smile, not quite meeting his gaze. “Thanks. I’m not going to do anything about the skin you just tore loose. We’ll have Sarah look at it in the morning when she comes. For now, we’ve got you bandaged again. How does that feel?” She set his second hand away and sat back.
“Better.” He managed a semblance of a smile in return.
“It’s time for your pills too. That should help.” She hopped up and administered the water bottle and medications, then brought the pizza to the table. She touched the edge of the crust and crinkled her nose. “It’s cold. I can stick it back in the oven and reheat it for a few minutes.”
“That’s okay. I like mine at room temperature. It makes the cheese chewier.” He realized that his belly had been growling the whole time she’d been taking care of his hands. “I’m sure ready for a bite or two.”
She fed him the pizza, alternating with bites from her own piece. After they’d eaten one slice each, she left the room for a moment and came back with a towel and a wide-toothed comb. “I can’t stand this another minute. If we let your hair dry this way, it will be a tangled mess.”
She settled the towel on his head and began to gently fluff and stroke. He let his eyes close. Mere moments ago, pain had radiated through his body. Now he was filled with a languid sense of bliss. Every tug on his scalp sent shivers of pleasure down his spine. She began to work the comb through sections of his damp hair. Since he hadn’t used his usual shampoo and conditioner, there were a few knots. He winced as she combed one free.
“Sorry about that.” She gave a soft laugh.
“It’s okay.”
“Your hair is so beautiful,” she murmured.
He didn’t know what to say to that.
But he realized they had somehow slipped innocently across a critical boundary in the last few minutes, and there was no going back. As she stood behind him, tending his hair, her slim little belly brushed against his back through the open slats of the kitchen chair, teasing his skin with the nubby red sweater she wore. If he dared let his head fall backward, it would come to rest against her soft breasts.
It took every bit of his self-control to straighten his spine.
