About an hour later, because there was no cell signal inside the building, a nurse came in to let Cammie know someone had called the ward for her. When she returned, she told me the call was from Ramsay and he was on his way. He’d be there in the morning to take me home.
It irritated me to have my life managed without discussion, but I didn’t let Cammie see. She didn’t deserve my frustration. Instead, I told her to go home, that I would be fine on my own. Reluctantly, she left, and I had a fitful night’s sleep, stressed about who Ramsay was and what he’d been up to while I recovered in the hospital.
The next morning, I opened my eyes and found Ramsay sitting in the chair, watching me. His expression was soft, unguarded. I watched him close down as soon as he realized I was awake. His features hardened into a cool, detached facade.
Dread knotted my gut.
“Mornin’.” Ramsay straightened in the chair. “Do you need anything?”
“Where were you?” My voice was still gritty with sleep.
“Taking care of some things.” He stood. “I’ll get the nurse.”
“No, I’m fi—” My words faded to silence because he’d already left the room.
He returned with Janet who asked if I wanted breakfast before they discharged me. I wasn’t hungry, so I shook my head. She glanced between me and Ramsay with a wrinkle between her eyebrows, as if she sensed our tension.
Before any more could be said, however, he left again to wait for me outside. There were no shadows at my door, so he must have dismissed the private security, people I never got to meet or thank.
Janet waited outside the shower for me in case I needed assistance. The hot water felt great, but I was exhausted and sore. The attack had taken its toll on my entire body, not just my gut. Being the sweetest person alive, Janet offered to braid my wet hair, which I gratefully allowed her to do. Cammie had brought clean clothes for my discharge per the hospital’s recommendation: clean underwear, yoga pants with a low waistband, a long-sleeved loose tee, socks, and comfy sneakers. Stretching my arms up to put on the tee hurt like a bitch, so I learned quickly to keep my arms as low as possible while dressing.
Finally, I was ready to go. Hospital policy dictated I had to leave in a wheelchair, and Ramsay was waiting with it in the room. We shared a loaded look before Janet steadied me as I lowered into it.
My surgeon, Dr. Vincent, showed up to go over the meds I needed to take during my recovery and to discuss my suture aftercare. Once I signed my discharge papers, Dr. Vincent turned to me with a gentle smile. “We’ll coordinate with your local doctor’s surgery for the check-up appointment so you don’t have to travel all the way up here. If your doctor thinks you need to see me, we’ll arrange that then, but I’m optimistic your wound will heal nicely.”
“Thank you, Dr. Vincent. For everything.”
He gave me another kind smile, an expression that changed when he looked up at Ramsay. “Next time, please don’t lie to medical professionals about your legal relationship to a patient. NHS Scotland has a confidentiality obligation that you put at risk. Thankfully, in this case, Ms. Silver has retroactively granted us permission to share her medical information with you, Mr. McRae.”
If Dr. Vincent thought Ramsay would show some kind of remorse for lying, he was sure to be disappointed. Ramsay stared stonily at him. I had to give it to Dr. Vincent because he wasn’t intimidated. His lips turned down in disapproval, but his expression softened when he looked to me. He pressed a hand to my shoulder and squeezed. “Take care of yourself, Tierney.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Ramsay was silent as he guided my wheelchair out of the hospital entrance toward the visitors’ parking lot. Then he grumbled, “He has a thing for you.”
“Who?” I scowled, confused and annoyed by the subject when we had many more important things to discuss.
“Your bloody surgeon.”
“No, he doesn’t.” I shook my head. “You’re just annoyed because he called you out for lying about being my husband.”
“He fancied you. He kept touching you unnecessarily.”
I shook my head. “Really? This is what we’re going to talk about?”
“Nope.” His lips smacked together over the word harshly and he didn’t speak again until we reached an unfamiliar vehicle. “I rented a car that’s easier for you to get into.”
My eyes burned at his consideration. Goodness, the attack had triggered my emotions like nobody’s business. I blinked back tears and murmured, “Thank you.”
When Ramsay wrapped his strong hands around my biceps to help me stand, I looked into his face. His beard needed a trim, and he had dark circles under his eyes. But he wouldn’t meet my gaze. It was like he was right there in front of me … but he wasn’t at the same time.
My belly fluttered with nervous butterflies as he helped me ease into the passenger seat of the car. I was never more grateful that he hadn’t brought his Defender because trying to get up into it would have been a nightmare. Even trying to get into my little Suzuki was going to be a hassle for a few days. Not that I would be driving anywhere for a while yet.
I waited as Ramsay returned the wheelchair to the hospital.
I couldn’t work out if he was being distant because he knew the inevitable slew of questions that were about to be fired his way … or if he was being distant for a much more worrying reason.
Ramsay got into the driver’s side, and I realized he’d had to push the seat way back to accommodate his long legs. He held out a plastic bag to me. “They forgot to give you your belongings. Since the bastard took your bag, it’s only your phone in there.”
