Chapter Four
Two hours later, Joss checked back in on her patient. She was knocking off soon and she thought she’d discharge him before she left for the night. There really was no need for him to stay. He’d had another X-ray, which had shown pleasing relocation, there were no fractures that would require orthopedic follow-up, his neurovascular observations had checked out and a splint had been applied.
She twitched the cubicle curtain back. He was alone, flaked out on the gurney, the young cowboy and the medic from the rodeo having departed a while ago leaving Troy to sleep it off. Her gaze was drawn automatically to his long, lean form, his dusty boots hanging over the end of the trolley. Just-as-dusty fringed chaps encased his jeans except for the area over his crotch, which accentuated the bulge there like a bloody great bull’s-eye.
As if his big-ass belt buckle didn’t already draw the gaze to that part of his anatomy.
“Hippocratic oath, Joss,” she whispered.
Her gaze wandered higher. They’d relieved him of his shirt earlier and he was still shirtless. The splint he’d been put into bent his arm at ninety degrees so it rested across his stomach but that still left an awful lot of smooth, hard, honed, golden skin exposed.
Higher still, his jaw was dusted with dark growth, his mouth was slack in slumber and that tiny white scar in his eyebrow was fascinating as all giddy up. His close-cropped hair revealed a beautifully symmetric skull in stark contrast to his crooked nose.
Basically he was a young, fit, hot guy—a cowboy no less—who was a sheer pleasure to look at and she had no right to be ogling him like he was a piece of meat.
But damn the universe for throwing him at her. Three times.
What the hell was she supposed to make of that?
Joss approached the gurney, resting a hand on the railing. She fixed her gaze on his face, not his body and took a moment to gather herself. “Troy.” He didn’t stir and she cleared her throat of its ridiculous breathiness. “Troy.”
It was louder and had the desired effect, which saved her from having to touch him. Probably wise to avoid that at all costs.
He opened his eyes, his brow furrowing as he looked at her, the dreamy smile from earlier gone. He lifted his head to look at his arm, then around him before returning his gaze to lock on her.
Green. His eyes were green. She’d been in too much of a state to compute that on Thursday night.
“Hey,” she said quietly as he finally seemed to focus. “I thought you weren’t going to end up in my ER?”
“What can I say?” He flopped his head back against the mattress. “I wanted to see you again.”
Joss laughed, ignoring the flutter of her pulse at his easy flirting. The man obviously didn’t know how to turn it off. “How are you feeling? You dislocated your elbow, remember?”
He glanced at his splinted arm again. “Vaguely.”
Joss smiled. “Yeah. You’ve been a little out of it. We give good drugs around here.”
“Oh God.” He shut his eyes briefly before they flicked open again. “I wasn’t an asshole, was I?”
“On the contrary. You were pretty funny. Morphine agrees with you.” He grimaced, clearly not happy at the pronouncement. “How’s the pain?”
He lifted his arm experimentally. “Feels okay. I’ve had worse.”
“That’ll be the residual narcotic. It’ll probably be more painful in the morning from stretched ligaments and inflammation. I’ll send you home with some painkillers just in case.”
“How long does the splint have to be on for?”
“At least two weeks, maybe three. Depends on how diligent you are with your physical therapy.”
“Yeah.” He frowned. “That’s not going to work.”
Joss cocked an eyebrow at the flinty tone in his voice. Nothing lazy about it now. “Oh?”
“I have Big Spring next weekend. And Lubbock two weeks after that.”
“Yeah.” She smiled sweetly. “That’s not going to work.”
“I have to compete.” His mouth set in a grim line. “I need the points if I want to get back into the extreme tour. Got to be in Tucson in August.”
“You can maybe make Lubbock. But next week? Sorry…you take another fall and land on your arm again?” She shook her head. “It’s much more susceptible to repeat dislocation now especially in these next few weeks and you could do permanent damage if it happens again. Hell, you may not even be able to straighten your arm properly from this dislocation.”
“What?” He half sat before grimacing and slumping back.
“It’s possible that you could have reduced range of movement. Extension problems aren’t uncommon after elbow dislocation.”
He shook his head, his jaw set. “That’s not acceptable.”
Joss sighed. Whether it was acceptable or not it was a cold hard fact. It never ceased to amaze her how many jocks and professional sportsmen who relied on their body for their living weren’t prepared to give it the proper time to heal when it was injured.
It didn’t make sense.
“Well do your physical therapy like a good boy, take your painkillers, stay off bulls and have some patience.” She folded her arms. “Now, how are you getting back to the motel?”
He looked like he was going to argue some more, shifting slowly in the gurney to a more upright position but something pulled him up short and he winced. “I’ll catch a cab.”
“And is there someone who can keep an eye on you?” He’d been pretty wiped out from the morphine. She’d be more comfortable discharging him if she was doing it to someone’s care.
“Are you kidding? The rodeo’s over. The motel will be full of yahooing bull riders.”
“I mean someone who’ll actually look in on you, not be drunk off their ass while you throw up in your sleep and choke on your own vomit.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I bet you’re fun at parties.”
Parties? Ha! She should be so lucky. “I’m a real treat.”
“Well you’ve no need to worry about me vomiting in my sleep. I have no plans to hit the sack, not when there are celebrations going on.”
“I’d advise against that. Sleep is what you need.”
He snorted. “You think I’m going to be able to sleep with a bunch of cowboys drinking and playing country music in the parking lot until the sun comes up? Besides, I could really murder a beer right about now.”
Joss crossed her arms. Sweet baby cheeses. This was going from bad to worse. “For starters, you should lay off the alcohol while you’re taking painkillers. And secondly, I’d recommend a couple of quiet days with your arm. You get drunk on top of your morphine and start waving that thing around like you’re bulletproof or God forbid fall over on it and it’ll make things worse. You need to rest it so it’s not too sore to start physical therapy in a couple of days.”
“Relax, doc. I promise not to get shitfaced, okay? And I’m used to pushing through the pain during physical therapy. I kick PT ass. Ask anybody.”
Relax. God, he reminded her so much of Damien. Relax, Mom. Chill. Stop making a fuss. Everything’s cool. Except he was heading toward delinquency and she didn’t know what in hell to do about it.
And pushing through the pain was plain old dumb.
“I liked you better when you were drugged.”
“Yeah well, I liked you better when I was drugged too.”
He grabbed the railing of the gurney and gingerly pulled himself up into a sitting position. Picking up his splinted arm, he tucked it in closer to his torso. A sudden sheet of pallor swept over his face and he swayed for a second or two.
“Troy?” She reached for his shoulder at the same time he grabbed the railing. His skin was warm and firm beneath hers, the roundness of his shoulder joint filling her palm.
“Are you okay?”
“Just a little dizzy. Sat up too fast.” He blinked and shook his head as if to clear it. “I’m good now. Can I go?”
For the love of Mike. This guy.
His dizziness probably was only postural and she couldn’t justify keeping him here. He’d no doubt refuse anyway if that mulish set to his jaw was anything to go by but she’d be an idiot to discharge him to a booze-fueled party where he could potentially injure himself further hanging around a bunch of hopped-up cowboys.
“Why don’t I just admit you for the night?”
“To the hospital?” He stared at her incredulously. “No way.” He rattled the rail, narrowing his eyes to green slits. “Let me out, doc.”
Joss stood her ground. “I don’t think going back to the motel is a good idea.”
He rolled his eyes. “Okay. I’ll sleep in the back of my pickup—it’s still at the arena.”
Was he crazy? Why on earth would he think that was a more palatable option? She shook her head. “Absolutely not.”
“Then I’ll find a buckle bunny to tend to me through the night. I’m sure there’ll be a few of them at the party.”
Joss blinked. “A what?”
“You know, like a groupie. A rodeo groupie.”
“You call them buckle bunnies?” The term was crass and degrading and made her wince.
“Hell no.” He held up his un-splinted hand in a surrender motion. “They call themselves that. With pride. And I don’t see anything wrong with women who are up front about what they want from you. They’re out to bag some cowboys, maybe grab a buckle or two as a trophy. That’s honesty.”
Joss couldn’t decide if her feminist principles were insulted or whether she was just plain jealous of such sexual liberation. “And I bet you’re real popular with the…” It was no use—she couldn’t say it. “Them. Right?”
“Well, I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Joss scowled at him, his answer rubbing her the wrong way. The fact they’d somehow veered off track even more so. How many women he’d slept with was none of her business.
“And the likelihood of you resting that arm if you found a…friend for the night?”
He grinned. “Not high.”
“So…we’re back to square one.”
“Well hell, Joss, unless you’re offering to take me home to yours, I’m shit out of options.”
“Okay fine, come back to my place.”
She didn’t know who was more stunned by her offer. Her. Or him. She knew he hadn’t actually meant it but faced with the choices it was a good solution. At least that’s what she told herself because the thought that it may have been the way he’d said her name—with a slight burr of exasperation to it—was too confusing to consider.
And anyway, it was the least she could do for the man who had stopped and helped her in her hour of need on Wednesday night. And brought her thieving son home the next night without making an unholy ruckus over it.
This was Troy’s hour of need—whether the idiot realized it or not. It was her turn to help him.
And it was just one night.
“Really?” He eased himself back onto the mattress, his lazy grin from Wednesday night back in full force. “I’m not sure I’ll be up to much but…” He shrugged. “If you’re willing to get on top.”
“I have a couch.” Joss hoped like hell her sarcastic smile masked the sudden flurry of images in her head all involving her in nothing but that big-ass belt buckle, riding him like her own personal cowboy. “It’s possibly the most uncomfortable piece of furniture in the entire existence of the world but you’re young; you’ll cope.”
“Way to talk it up, doc.”
Joss ignored him, unlatching the rail and easing it down. “Let’s go.” She grabbed the brown paper bag stowed under the trolley with his shirt and hat in it, conscious of him lying there unmoving, watching her. “You need some help?”
She hoped not. She really hoped not. Acres of golden tanned skin were tempting enough without having to lay her hands on it.
“Nah.” He smiled again. “I’m good.”
He sat then in one smooth easy action, his abdominals bunching as he swung his legs over the side of the gurney. Joss waited a beat or two in case he lost his color and swayed again. “Dizzy?”
“Nope.”
Satisfied he was telling the truth she opened the clothing bag. “You want to put your shirt on?”
Please, please, want to put your shirt on.
He shook his head, his green eyes holding hers. “I’m fine.”
Oh yes he was. Very, very fine.
“All right then.” Joss stood aside for him. “Let’s get the paperwork sorted and we’ll go.”
His body crowded hers briefly as he slid from the gurney and she took a step back but not before his heat and aroma surrounded her. She’d expected him to smell like a farmyard. Like dirt and cattle. But he smelled like leather and rope.
And didn’t that do strange things to her pulse.
“You hungry?” he asked as they passed a vending machine.
“Not really.”
Not for anything that was in a vending machine anyway. Joss clenched her hands by her sides as he headed toward the machine, his bare, smooth back utterly lickable. It made her want things she hadn’t thought about in a very long time.
Like her nails marks down all its lean golden perfection.
*
As soon as Joss started the car Troy was out like a light, obviously still suffering from the effects of injury and heavy-duty narcotics. He’d slammed down a can of Mountain Dew and a packet of Cheetos while he’d waited for her and now here he was, sleeping like a baby.
So much for wanting to party the rest of the night.
Having him in the close confines of her car was an exercise in self-control she wasn’t sure she was going to win.
Wasn’t sure she wanted to with his eyelashes casting ridiculously long shadows on his cheeks whenever a streetlight flashed by and she saw his lips still coated in Cheeto dust.
Reminding herself she was a doctor and he was her patient didn’t help. Because technically he wasn’t her patient. Not anymore. Which only made her feel marginally better about the sudden flashes of lust that gripped her every time the streetlights sliced in through the windshield, illuminating the flat perfection of his abs.
Andy had owned a nice set of abs. She’d forgotten how much she’d loved to look at them, to touch them.
Thankfully home was only a six-minute drive and she didn’t have to put up with the double temptation of abs and Cheeto lips for too long.
He stirred when she cut the engine in the garage, his face screwing tight at the movement.
“Starting to hurt?”
“A little.” He winced as he reached for the door handle but pushed on without complaint, following her into the kitchen via the back door.
The house was silent. It was close to eleven and both Damien and Gus would be dead to the world but it didn’t stop her tiptoeing in, relying on the moonlight flooding in through the windows rather than electricity to move past the dining table and whispering, “Follow me.”
It had been five years since Andy died and this had never been their house. But it had been his childhood home and it felt weird bringing another man into it. Not to mention it was Andy’s father’s house. How would he feel about it?
She walked from the kitchen across a hallway into the massive sunken living room that faced the street. Large picture windows let in ambient light from out front allowing her to easily navigate to the couch.
“This is it.” She kept her voice low as she turned to face him and almost took a step back when she realized how close he was. Leather and rope oozed in the space between them.
He looked down his body. “I’m kinda dusty,” he said, his voice also low.
Joss refused to follow his gaze, fixing hers instead on the way light from outside fell on the naked slopes of his shoulders. “It’s seen worse. I’ll just get you some sheets.”
“No need. This is luxurious compared to a lot of the paces I’ve bunked down.”
“I’ll get a blanket. It might be summer but the nights can still cool down.”
She turned to leave but he grabbed her arm gently and she stilled. “I won’t need it. I don’t get cold.”
She believed him. The imprint of his hand burned right through her clothes and she remembered how Andy had always felt like an oven. She missed that about sleeping with a man. How toasty warm they were.
Sweet baby cheeses. She was in trouble.
She shook his hand loose, delved in her bag for the bottle of painkillers and placed them on the nearby coffee table with a rattle. “I’ll just get you some water.”
She ignored his whispered protest, forging on to the kitchen. Her hand trembled as she turned on the faucet and filled a glass, her heartbeat tripping crazily against her pulse points.
This was madness. What the hell was wrong with her? Her body had taken on a life of its own. “Pull yourself together, Joss,” she lectured under her breath, giving the faucet an extra vicious twist as she turned it off.