Chapter 4
At the start of Sunday morning rounds, Mariah had her hands full of caffeinated survival and her mind full of test results for the critically ill patients from early yesterday morning. Or was it two nights ago?
Her days and nights ran together. She rubbed her face with her free hand as she trudged down the first floor hallway to the back stairs. At least a few hours' sleep last night and a good shower had helped. With any luck, the coffee would push her over the hump from marginally functional to semi-human. She rolled her neck.
What about her patients? Shelby Taggart, first of all. The orthopedic surgeon had cleaned out the open fracture and placed the external fixation device on her lower leg. Antibiotics were running, and she was afebrile. Normal CT scan.
So why didn't she wake up?
She had also reviewed Eric Patterson's case with the neurosurgeon in Casper. The scan had showed a skull fracture but no brain swelling, bleeding, or CSF leak. After Mariah had updated a calmed-down Garrison and youngest brother, Kerr, they'd made the decision to keep both patients here in Bondurant Valley Hospital.
Actually, no. They had insisted on both patients staying here unless there was no other choice. Not the reaction she was used to seeing.
And what about that fight in the ER between Garrison and Vaughn?
She shivered at the memory of Vaughn's hulking frame, his apparent refusal to fight back against his furious brother, and the way he searched her like she had the answer to a question he needed to know.
No. Not exactly an answer to a question. He'd looked at her like he could strip her bare with a mere glance.
Quit it. He was a stressed-out family member in an emotional situation, nothing more. People had all kinds of reactions to such experiences when their loved ones were injured or sick.
Time to look at probabilities. Had some random guy affected her confidence, or was her self-doubt the problem?
In medicine, the saying went: If you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras. Same with weird feelings. In Mariah's case, the most likely explanation was that she had weird feelings because of her own neuroses, not because of some random guy.
With a sigh, she exited the empty service stairs to reach the back entrance of the patient floor.
Rounding a corner, she came within a sloshed drop of dumping her coffee on Wyatt Brand. She pulled up short as the large, wild-eyed man loomed before her.
The Brand family, like the Taggarts, was well known in town. Wyatt owned the local hardware and supply store. One of the Brand brothers was a principal at the school. Another one was the sheriff. Their mother was also a patient of Mariah's.
And a few weeks ago, yet another Brand brother, Hank, had kidnapped little Zach Taggart and Garrison Taggart's girlfriend, Sara.
Then Hank disappeared. Like, no leads for the investigation, no body parts left behind, no forensic evidence. Vanished.
Which left brother Wyatt to fill the void of bad behavior and even worse attitude. A baton he appeared to have picked up with gusto.
"Dr. Mariah?" That grating voice, combined with the typical leer, was enough by itself to make a gal want to kick him in the nuts. Not to mention, a few weeks ago, when he had accompanied his ailing mother to one of her appointments, Wyatt had made a pass at Mariah.
She carefully folded her arms as she kept her cooling cup of happiness between herself and the guy.
"No" apparently didn't mean "no" in his world, if his ten other advances since were any indication. Points for persistence, but enough was enough. She might have hang-ups from the traumatic experiences in her youth, she may have set the dating bar low due to her past relationship mistakes, and she may not have gone out with anyone in more than a year, but Mariah drew the line at dating co-conspirators in possible felonies.
He scratched at his unshaven chin and stretched to his full, burly height, causing her to crane her head back. Then he leaned forward, invading her personal space. "Have you thought about my offer to take you out for dinner?"
His stale breath of onion-laden hash browns made her eyes water as she backed up. "No, thank you," she sputtered. "What are you doing here? It's seven o'clock on a Sunday morning. I haven't been in to see your mom yet. After I round on her, I'll be sure to update you."
He waved the comment away, like his mother's pneumonia had nothing to do with his presence here in the hospital. Uh oh. Her heart didn't so much flop as go splat. That last sip of coffee turned to acid in her stomach.
He grinned. "Thought it might be a good time for us to talk."
Nothankyouplease. "About what?" Would it kill any other staff member in this hospital to use the back stairs this morning? She'd pay good money for a distraction right about now.
"Our future together."
Right about now, she'd take a fire alarm or a Code Blue. "Pardon?"
"It's simple. I want you. You want me. What else is there to say?" As his beady eyes raked her from feet to head, she fought the urge to yank the lapels of her white lab coat closed.
He pressed a meaty palm to the wall near her head. The thick scent of greasy male clogged her nose. His other arm rose on the other side of her.
Hauling air in and out of her lungs, she whipped her head from side to side. She gulped. Oh no. Her vision blurred at the edges and her head swam. Mariah so did not do confinement in any physical form. Not after... Damn it, she needed to step away from this situation before her flashbacks took over.
No help? No problem. She'd get out of this mess herself.
If only she didn't have a severe allergy to personal confrontation. She could assert herself if a patient's life was at risk, but any other situation? Not her comfort zone at all. But enough was enough. She peered down the hallway. No one in sight; all the nurses must be in morning report. Great.
She tried a test duck, but he slid that hand down next to her shoulder and blocked her exit. Then he smiled, the curl of his damp lips triggering a rush of bile up her esophagus. Too familiar. Too much like before.
The hospital linoleum beneath her feet shifted into plywood in her mind's eye as her memories turned this unpleasant situation into a past horror. She was stuck in that room all over again.
Air. She couldn't get enough air into her tight lungs.
No more nice doctor.
"Mr. Brand, I need to go see patients. Thank you for the offer, but I'm not interested." She forced herself to meet his too-avid leer. Damn it, she'd need a shower to wash away the taint of his gaze all over her. "At all. Ever." Her voice rose, the words coming out clipped and salty. "And do let me know if you'd like the answer provided in smaller words or interpretive dance. I'll do whatever is necessary to get the point across."
"Not possible." A red stain crawled up his neck and face.
As she slid under his big arms, she got a weird tingle over her skin.
Safety. Like a cocoon.
God, how she wished. She peered around. A stairwell, an empty public restroom, and the dead end of a long hall. No safe haven here.
"Okay. We're done here." She edged farther away from Wyatt.
In a burst of movement, the coffee mug flew out of her hand with a crash. A painful pinch on her upper arm, and suddenly she stopped flush against the wall. Air left her in a coughing whoosh, and her pulse skidded out of control. His face loomed inches away.
What the hell? This gorilla had actually put a hand on her.
"I'm not good at taking 'no' for an answer, Mariah. We'd be so great together. Give us a chance." He gripped her arm; her past and present slammed together in nasty juxtaposition. "You saying that you're too good for me?"
Her ears buzzed. This entire situation was surreal. Couldn't be happening. "No. No, I—" She should scream. She should run. She shouldn't freeze like this. Like she did before... before. She opened her mouth. No sound came out.
His fingers dug into her bicep. Tears burned her eyelids. "Then I don't see what there is to discuss," he said. "Unless maybe you like the chase or making the man work for it. Or maybe you like rough stuff? Okay. I can play that game, little teaser." He raised his empty hand.
And just like in that nightmare from long ago, she flinched away.
A low growl nearby, and the hairs stood on her arms as a large man entered her tunneled field of vision, sucking up the light behind Wyatt.
Vaughn Taggart slid in front of her and wrapped his hand around Wyatt's wrist until the man let go of Mariah. Then Vaughn walked, one big man pushing another back, step by slow step. Wyatt gave a guttural grunt as his eyes widened, then narrowed.
"This is none of your business, Taggart," Wyatt spat, leaning forward but going nowhere.
Vaughn radiated strength and confidence out of the back seams of his form-fitting gray Henley shirt and faded jeans that stretched over his muscled thighs. He did the best impression of an impassable obstacle she'd ever seen. His stance widened, almost like a fighter at the beginning of her brother's MMA bouts, and then he took another step forward, forcing Wyatt to shuffle backward or fall on his ass.
Good.
"Have a nice day, Wyatt." Even though Vaughn's tone remained low and calm, its intense power rolled through her bones. She actually sagged against the wall.
"But, I was only—" the jerk sputtered.
Vaughn continued to hang onto Wyatt's wrist. To a casual observer, the grip was light and easy. The tell? Tight sinews and blanched knuckles as Vaughn clamped down on those bones. "She doesn't want to talk to you."
Hello? She's right here and can hear you. But maybe now wasn't the time to interrupt the glory of Vaughn Taggart bullying the bully.
"How would you know?" Wyatt seethed, trying to pull away.
"You're right. Maybe I misread the situation." Vaughn made a quarter turn and locked onto her with a dark, narrowed stare. A whiff of shaving cream and vital, warm male made her take a deeper breath. It was a lovely scene, watching Vaughn hand Wyatt his ass. "You want to talk with him?"
She crossed her arms and glared at Wyatt. "Nope."
"Works for me." Vaughn turned back to the incapacitated jerk. "The good doctor has work to do, like take care of people who need her help. She doesn't want to waste her time talking with morons. She needs to check on my sister and friend."
Wyatt grinned. "Yeah. How are they doing?"
"Now it's my turn to say none of your business." He released Wyatt's wrist like it was toxic slime and continued to walk forward, imposing his body into the guy's space.
Wyatt slipped on the pool of coffee on the floor and landed square on his butt. Scrambling to his feet, the sweating man craned his head around. Rage played across his contorted face. One of his eyelids twitched. A red glow came and went in his eyes, along with a weird whiff of burnt sulfur. Had to be a trick of the light along with a chemical smell. She didn't move.
"You've made yourself an enemy, missy." He pointed at her before facing Vaughn. "And you, Taggart. Mark my words. Everything is about to change. You've only seen a tiny amount of what's to come. We've nearly completed—your family will soon become extinct." He spun on his feet and stomped down the hall, the squeaks of wet boots on linoleum fading away.
For several seconds, she mutely stared at the broad back and shoulders in front of her. Then the thermal-clad torso fully rotated until she came nose to chest with one of the best sets of pectoralis muscles she'd ever viewed beneath cloth. What would those muscles feel like under her fingertips? Would his skin be as warm as she imagined? She only wanted to know for clinical data, of course. No other reason.
After too long of a delay, Mariah stuck her hand out, determined to salvage her unprofessional lapse. "Well, thanks for that..."
"Vaughn Taggart."
The same hand that had incapacitated Wyatt now enveloped hers, somehow generating a physical sensation of safety. She frowned as a swift headache throbbed for a few beats then dissipated. As his thumb moved over her skin, a jolt of interest headed from her chest due south and arced between her ovaries. Wow.
Oddly, his big frame and presence took up a lot of space, but she didn't feel threatened.
Eyes with irises the color of gold glitter swirling in dark coffee locked onto her, and her cheeks warmed.
Okay, she didn't feel exactly safe. But whatever the sensation, it didn't scare her.
"Mariah West. I've been taking care of your sister and Mr. Patterson."
"I know who you are." The hard slash of his mouth formed words in an economy of movement.
"Okay, then. Thanks again for the help." Her hand rested in that warm paw of his, and she tugged.
Nothing happened. His fingers remained locked around her hand. Not painful, not intimidating, but firm. Unmoving. Making it clear: he would let go when he chose to do so.
Her heart fluttered, a bird banging around a cage.
After studying her for more long seconds, a line formed between the thick, nearly black brows.
"What the hell?" he breathed, almost to himself.
"Pardon?" She pulled on her hand again. "Um?"
"Sorry."
He released her hand.
In a vacuum-like sensation, the feeling of safety receded, leaving her reeling on her heels with what probably passed for a dumbstruck expression.
He rubbed his chin with the heel of his hand. "Weird."
"What?"
He shook his head, the hall lights catching glints of auburn in his dark brown hair. "Before I forget. My apologies for my behavior in the emergency room."
"Well. Okay." She licked her lips. "Family members are often stressed out in those situations."
"Anyway. Yeah. Sorry." He shoved a hand into the front pocket of his jeans, accentuating areas she had no business contemplating without being board certified in urology. "So what's the deal with that Brand asshole?"
"Wyatt? He can't take a hint."
"I didn't like how he looked at you."
"And it's your business because...?" How fabulous would her life be with someone like Vaughn who cared about her wellbeing?
The lines of his uncompromising face became harder. One curt dip of his hard chin. "No reason."
Right. Because she had totally read into every bit of the tingly feels she got around him. Not like she didn't have a track record for misunderstanding men. Case in point, last boyfriend. Two years invested, mountains of disappointment, ending in the statement that she didn't fit into his vision of a future. Oh, and don't forget his ultimatum about her career. Hell of a blind spot, not seeing that one coming.
What about her over-the-top reaction to Wyatt's encroaching on her personal space? Always came back to how that damned horrific past haunted her. One day, maybe her experience in that awful place wouldn't color every part of her life in shades of brown plywood. Not today, though. She sighed, tugging at the stethoscope hanging around her neck.
"Uh, thank you for taking care of my family," Vaughn broke the awkward silence.
Her head whipped up at the sudden warmth in his tone. All right. He could ricochet from intense and brooding to appreciative. Fine, she could keep up. "Sure thing. So... I should probably get this mess cleaned and then go check on my patients."
"Let me help. I'm the morning shift staying here today, so I don't have any place else to go. We can chat more when you see Shelby."
Great. Exactly what she did not want: him monitoring her every move as she examined his family member. Even now, his proximity felt like a hand resting an inch from her shoulder. Not touching her, but present.
Not exactly threatening, though, was it? More like... waiting.