Today has been nothing short of a mess. This entire week, if I’m being honest. The spring rains finally quit and the hay dried out enough that I could’ve gotten some decent work done today if I didn’t go and fuck it all up.
I look down at my forearm and the cut looks a hell of a lot more gruesome than I thought. The sting from my mower blade that sliced right through me wore off hours ago, but this sucker bled long after the burning pain was gone.
All part of the job, I guess. A rancher’s day is often determined by the weather, which is why I need to get my arm put back together and race back home so I can hopefully finish mowing tonight.
I spin again and put my back facing the entrance to the room. As soon as I’m turned, I hear the handle wiggle, and the wooden door swings open. I turn around, expecting to see one of the doctors I’ve met at this clinic a time or two in the past.
Instead, my steps falter, and I nearly buckle at the knees because in walks the prettiest woman I have ever seen.
The way she’s dressed screams city, from her pink top and skintight skirt, down to her sexy as hell high heels. The whole outfit is proper, polished, and it's a stark contrast to my faded Hawkeyes tee that has a hole worn in the side. Where I’m stained with grease and sweat, with a big waist and barrel chest, she’s trim. Fit with gentle curves. Without a sheen of sweat or oil across her brow. Her soft blonde hair is illuminated by the fluorescent lights that glow in the hall behind her, and I swear she looks like a goddamn angel.
My brain short circuits, and I know I’m staring at her longer than is appropriate, but there’s no way that what I’m seeing is real.
The slight curl in her shy smile and those round chocolate eyes. It’s been three months since I’ve seen them, but they haven’t faded from my memory for a day. They were haunted the last time I laid eyes on them, right beforeshe turned and ran out of Madame Muffin's, leaving me speechless.
She stalls when she sees me, and her eyes immediately fixate on the center of my chest. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she nearly flushes. Her gaze slowly moves from my chest upward, pausing at my neck and scruffy beard that’s days overdue for a shave. She’s taller than I remember. It might be the heels, or it might be the fact that today, she’s not cowering in on herself. My eyes stay on her, desperate for the moment recognition crosses her face, but it doesn’t happen.
“Hi,” she stammers, moving in another step so she can shut the door behind her. I stand still, dumbfounded, unable to say hello back.
“Let me just…” She turns toward the sink, moving her hands underneath the water and gracefully rubbing the soap between her palms. I take a seat on the exam table, watching the bob of her silky blonde ponytail swish across her shoulders as she moves. I categorize each movement. The drying of her hands, the crumple of the towel as she tosses it in the garbage can. The way she pulls on her blue disposable gloves. When she turns toward me, there’s a professional expression plastered on her face.
“Hi, Mr. Hart. I’m Doctor Carrington.” Her lips part in a smile, a full smile, and my breath catches in my chest.I knew it that night, but seeing her again confirms every thought I’ve had.
Everything about this woman screams pretty. She’s not overly done, not showing off her beauty, and there’s almost something about her that appears shy, even though I can’t imagine what she’d be shy about.
It’s then that my manners finally kick in, and I reach up to swipe the cowboy hat from my head. I set it on the table behind me and run my hand through my mop of hair. Her eyes flick to the wound on my arm, and she takes a step forward.
“Piper said you cut yourself.” Her slender hand curls around my wrist, and that familiar warmth comes back in waves. “Is it tender?
“Naw,” I rasp.
She holds my wrist in her hand, raising my arm and turning it toward the light to assess the damage. “What happened?”
“Sliced it while changing mower blades, that’s all.”
Her eyes are glued to my arm while mine are glued to her face, watching each expression flick in and out as she assesses the wound. What it would be like to be smart like this, to be in such a well-respected and honorable career. She was wearing scrubs when I saw her last. I wonder if her bad day was because of a different job. I wonder if sheworks here all the time. Hell, I wonder if she lives around here. So many questions ping through my mind, and I open my mouth, ready to fire them off when she speaks.
“Are you in a lot of pain?”
I quickly shake my head no without even fully soaking in her question. In pain? Not really; I’ve done a lot worse in my life. But it sure stings. It’s been aching, throbbing, and feeling like it’s had its own heartbeat all day.
I look down at my arm, surprised to see how large the cut looks now that it’s stopped bleeding. When I look back up, her gaze is on me, and I’d give a million dollars to know what she’s thinking right now.
“Can you wiggle your fingers for me?”
I do as she asks, slowly moving my fingers back and forth.
She pauses and her brow furrows slightly as her gaze lingers on my face. “Any new numbness or tingling when you do that? Shooting pain?”
I shake my head no again, thankful it likely means that I didn’t do permanent damage.
“This is fairly deep. You’ll need stitches for this to heal properly, quite a few actually. Once we get this cleaned up, I’ll place them, but you’ll have to take care of this arm. Keep it clean and dry, replace the bandage as needed, and you’ll have to limit activity for at least a week.” Shelets go of me, gently placing my arm on my lap, and I immediately miss her touch.
She flips on another light switch near the sink, shining the beam over my exposed skin. “Maybe ten days. No rigorous activity or straining and try to limit use of this arm. I’d like to prescribe an antibiotic as well, something prophylactic since this has been open to infection for a few hours. I’d recommend a tetanus shot if you aren’t up to date.”
I grunt at her instructions. I’ll take the meds and shot, but she doesn’t know what it’s like to work on a ranch if she thinks I can take it easy for the next ten days. Her head whips up at my grunt, and when I only smile back at her, her head tilts to the side playfully.
“I’ll take care of it the best I can, ma’am, but it’s nearly time for first harvest. I can’t promise anything more than that.”
