Chapter 5
Vaughn tried not to stare while Dr. West bent down to pick up the shattered pieces of her coffee mug. Truly, he tried.
The way the strands of warm brown hair fell forward made his fingertips itch with his desire to feel if those strands were as silky and thick as they appeared. He could imagine that hair spread out on something totally random like, oh, maybe crisp white bedding.
Which sent his libido sprinting to the finish line of his racing thoughts: what the petite doctor herself would look like on his crisp white bedding. Maybe wearing only a white coat.
Strike that. No white coat.
Fuck him sideways. Had he not learned any lessons from his past? And had he truly lost all grip on his sanity that he would now fantasize about any woman in front of him?
No. Not any woman. This woman.
A weird tingle of his power ran through his gray matter like a sewing machine needle pricking a path. What the hell? The sensation made zero sense given the context—he was safely standing in front of her in a perfectly unthreatening hallway.
So was his ability to detect danger trying to tell him something else? Amplifying his interest in her? Or maybe his desire had somehow triggered his power. The cause and effect still didn't add up.
Well. At least his interest was focused on someone unmarried this time.
Yeah, he'd checked. A discreet question posed to the hospital receptionist confirmed that the good Dr. West was at present, unattached.
Not that he had any business asking. The combination of his track record with women, plus with the fact that he would blow out of town in a week or so, hopefully never to return, sealed the decision on any interest he might have wanted to explore. Not going to happen.
He got another strange tingle in his mind.
Damn it. Why the hell would his power choose now, of all times, to change? For years, he was the Taggart kid who had the ability to detect danger to himself. Simple. Came in handy with high school scuffles, stock picks, and his MMA bouts.
He waved off a nurse who hurried toward them. Then he dashed into a nearby bathroom and pulled out fistfuls of paper towels from the dispenser.
Returning to the spill, he knelt next to Dr. West. Mariah. A scent of coffee and mint wafted over him, making his mouth water.
Because he wanted coffee and a mint?
Hell no.
As he laid the towels out on top of the spill, the tan paper turned dark brown, like old blood on an octagon mat. He swept the lump of damp towels and ceramic chips into a big wad. His hand brushed against hers, and a zap of warmth shot up his arm and into his chest.
Damn it, he'd sworn off women since last year's disaster.
Since he'd betrayed his brother. Which reminded him that he hadn't talked with Garrison yet. Hadn't laid all of his sins out on the table.
Frankly, Vaughn never imagined he'd return to Copper River, much less talk with his siblings again.
An image of Shelby's unconscious form, chest draped in electrodes and arms poked full of IV's, rose in his mind. There was one sibling with whom he still couldn't talk.
"Well, that should take care of it." He stood and grasped Mariah's fine-boned forearm to help her up. A few brown dots marred the hem of her white coat. Holding out the towel bundle, he gestured toward the remaining pieces of mug in her hands. "I'll take that."
He disposed of the entire mess in the bathroom garbage can, returned with a few more towels, and scooted them around the floor with his boot until the area was dry.
"Thanks for cleaning up and also for stepping in back there," she said, her voice somehow mellow and sharp at the same time. When she chewed her full lower lip, a rogue wave of heat urged him to do the same exact thing.
Offering her a clean paper towel, he paused and shrugged. "Wyatt Brand's an idiot."
She dried off her hands and then stepped to a nearby dispenser to get a glob of antibacterial gel, and he followed suit.
Her nose scrunched, making stupid birdies flop around in his stomach. "Tell me how you really feel about him," she said.
"My real feelings for most of the Brand family are not fit to express in polite company."
"Aw, you think I'm polite? That's so sweet." Her raised brows over sparkling green eyes threw an upper cut at his libido.
That foreign feeling in his face, like half-dried clay cracking apart? It was a real, honest-to-shit smile. "Most people would have told him off or decked him."
A pause. "Well, I didn't want to mess up the fancy manicure." She waved perfectly normal, buff and trimmed nails, devoid of all polish, in front of him. Great. Now he wanted to know how those fingers would feel trailing over the skin of his chest, his belly, and lower.... "Besides, I hate showing off." She brushed off imaginary dust from her shoulder.
"Wyatt wouldn't want to get his ass kicked by a five-foot-nothing woman," he said. Damned if the corners of his mouth continued to creak upward.
She tucked her hands into the coat pockets and frowned at the floor. "Well, that's a crappy start to the morning. No coffee plus jerk. Nowhere to go but up, right?" A brief grin transformed her pixie face from impish to radiant.
His tongue went dry, and it took him two attempts to form words. "Maybe I could make it up to you?" The second those words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back. On the one hand, hell yes, he wanted to spend some time with Mariah. What guy wouldn't? But on the other hand? Christ, he had only to review his entire body of work in the field of Mistakes With Women to know his request was a bad idea.
A red flush flew up her neck. "What?"
What a great look on her. Blush. He smiled even wider, despite his misgivings. "What if I took you out for coffee and a bagel sometime?"
"Out?"
He had committed. Wouldn't back out now. "You have to eat sometime, right?" Stupid silence filled the space between them.
She blinked and frowned.
That weenie smile of his dropped like a lead balloon. Mission abort. Pull the damn cord.
When the flush reached her cheeks, it made her beautiful emerald eyes glow. "Of course I have to eat. It's just that... it's generally not something I do with company." Then she cringed.
"Maybe it should be something you do more with company," he tried one more time, like a desperate pirate digging one more hole, hoping to find the treasure.
"Well." She chewed her lip. "Sure, I guess that would be okay."
The world started spinning again, and the invisible pirate did a jig. "Sounds good to me," he chuckled.
Sounds good to me? Since when did stick-in-the-mud Vaughn become Mr. Yuck-It-Up? And how un-cool did a guy have to be for sounds good to me?
"Any time in your schedule tomorrow?" he blurted out. Real smooth, man. Not desperate at all.
"Monday? Well, I have rounds in the morning then I'm off for the rest of the day because I was on call this weekend. Maybe a late breakfast?"
Warmth spread out from his chest and flowed into his limbs. Maybe he had a tiny chance to have a normal conversation over a meal with a normal woman and not make a mess of it. This wasn't a life decision. This meet-up could be a way to get back on the proverbial bike but with training wheels. So he wouldn't be hurt again. Simple enough. "Bring your appetite. We'll go to the Hungry Moose. Ten?"
"Sure."
"Good." He stood there like a real, live dope, watching her. For what? Praise? To see if she would spontaneously burst into flames?
God, man, say something. Quit staring. Too much silence.
A frown formed as she toyed with the stethoscope around her neck. "So, um, if you'd like to wait in Shelby's exam room, I'll check on Eric and then her. I can update you then if you like." She clamped her mouth shut, spun on her heel, and hustled down the hall, her white coat providing cruel cover as she disappeared into a work area.
As he dragged his sorry, un-suave ass down the hall to Shelby's room, he craned his neck to get another glimpse of Mariah, but she was deep in discussion with one of the nurses.
Back to business already.
And why not? She had a job to do, which didn't involve mooning over Vaughn.
He stretched his fingers, working his wrists in circles. Kerr had told him that Vaughn's old punching bag in the main barn had burned up in the fire several weeks ago. It had been three days since he last trained, an eternity for a routine-driven guy like himself. His muscles ached to get back to the gym, lift weights, and then pound the hell out of something. He needed to work out to keep those liquor demons at bay. Needed to punish his body to remind him of the pain he caused other people.
MMA training had been the only thing that saved his life, too. Without the discipline of his training, Vaughn would be permanently pickled. Or dead.
His love for MMA wasn't really about the fights. No one outside of the northeast had ever heard of him, and he preferred it that way. No, what he loved about MMA was the regulation of the activity, the way he could become stronger, how he could use the mind-numbing hours of punches and kicks to work through his baggage and come out better both mentally and physically on the other side.
If time permitted, he could take a trip down to his old gym down in Rock Springs this afternoon and do some sparring.
But what would satisfy him more than a good workout or winning a big MMA bout? Taking down a grade-A asshole like Wyatt Brand.
At the door to Shelby's room, he paused, hand on the door handle.
Kerr sat, crammed uncomfortably into a chair positioned right next to the motionless figure drowning in wires and electrodes and tubing. Their vibrant sister had become a still-life piece of decorated medical art.
Like his mother had looked, years ago, before she died in this same hospital.
Damn it, his family needed to catch a break.
"Any changes?" Vaughn asked, entering the room.
Kerr's light brown and gold eyes flicked up and then back to Shelby. "No." He stood in a slow, stiff action, shifting from foot to foot. "Stable, so not worse."
"Doctor's coming in after she sees Eric."
He rubbed his thigh after a few steps. "I'll stick around for the report, then head out."
Vaughn paused. "What's the story with Wyatt Brand?"
"The lily-livered monkeyfucker?"
Vaughn choked on spit. "Nice image. Yeah. Aren't they all kind of assholes in that family?"
Kerr's expression twisted, and he shook his head. "Not all of them. But the Brand men are royal pains in the ass."
"I just had a bizarre run-in with Wyatt."
"Really?" Kerr shrugged. "Seems like I heard that his mom has been sick in the hospital here recently."
"What he was doing had nothing to do with visiting hours."
Kerr ran his hand over his short orange hair. "He was an accomplice to Zach and Sara's kidnapping."
"So you had mentioned. Why isn't that sicko in jail?"
"Did you get knocked out in a fight and forget that this area has some real close-knit ties? They have family members in law enforcement, school, and one uncle is a judge. We'll never get a charge to stick against any of them."
Of course Vaughn knew about the judge, given how many times he'd stood in front of the man for sentencing, no thanks to Sheriff Tommy Brand. What a winner, Tommy. That particular jackass had taken great pleasure in hauling Vaughn's butt to the county jail, over and over. The Sublette County sheriff's department probably had to reduce their workforce after Vaughn left town.
"Convenient, isn't it, how all of our concerns about crimes on and off the ranch have been swept under the proverbial rug."
"The fuck you say," Vaughn spat.
"Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I do like to talk during sex. Thanks for asking." Kerr's mouth quirked upward. "But no, I'm not lying. Wyatt may end up getting off scot-free."
"Not okay. Can't we lawyer up or get a private investigator?"
"With what money, bro?"
That statement nailed him right in the guilt complex, somewhere near his liver. "I heard that Wyatt helped Hank kidnap Sara and Zach." The skin of Vaughn's neck prickled.
"Sure did."
"What happened to Hank?"
"Disappeared in an explosion. Like a fart in a stiff breeze. Blowing up that shack in the woods effectively destroyed any evidence. Kaboom."
Vaughn shook his head. "Not buying it."
"None of us are, but that's the only explanation we have at this time. Supposedly, law enforcement is still investigating but..."
"The Brands own the police."
A curt nod told the tale.
What he'd give to punch something. Or someone.
Before he could ask another question, Mariah entered the room, along with that mouthwatering hint of mint and mocha. With a glance that seemed to linger on Vaughn—or was that wishful thinking on his part?—she turned and performed her exam while talking to Shelby like she was awake. Like she anticipated a reaction. A movement. Anything.
Hell, they all wanted Shelby to respond.
Turning back to Kerr and Vaughn, Mariah looped the stethoscope around her neck. "She's stable. Breathing on her own and without any need for additional oxygen. Labs are good. No evidence of infection in the leg. That's all good."
"But?" Kerr scuffed a boot on the floor.
Fine furrows appeared between her brows. "Well. She should be awake by now. Anesthetic from surgery has long since worn off."
Vaughn's ears began to ring. "Do you think there's been... damage to her brain?" Not his baby sister. God, no.
"Well. Possibly. Time will tell." Damn, but the woman was direct.
"What about Eric?" Kerr asked.
"Similar but with a worse head injury with that skull fracture. I've been on the phone with neurosurgery in Casper several times in the past twenty-four hours."
"And? Anything they can do to help?" Vaughn snapped. He wanted to take the words back the second they left his mouth. He didn't miss her flinch.
"According to the specialist, no further treatment is needed right now. I redid the CT scan on Eric this morning, and the swelling is going down. He doesn't need surgery." She bit her lip. "I'm happy to transfer him to Casper if you'd feel more comfortable."
"No!" Kerr sliced the air with his hand. "They both stay here."
Vaughn's head snapped up.
Kerr ran a hand through his orange hair, making it stand on end. "I meant that it's better for them to be close to family if possible."
Mariah exhaled. "All right then, I'll stay in touch with the neurosurgeon and we'll continue to care for them here. Our orthopedist will come in later today to check on Shelby." She walked to the sink and washed her hands, then turned back. "I'll be on call through tomorrow morning. If anything changes, we'll let you know." She didn't mention the Hungry Moose date. Of course not.
Vaughn watched her retreating back, all the while feeling like a dog watching his favorite toy leave the room.
"Dude. You need a bib for that drool?" Kerr grinned and made a kissing face.
"It's not like that. Besides, she's the..."
He inspected his nails. "Cute doctor who saved Shelby and Eric's life?"
"Maybe," he mumbled.
"Someone you'd like to perform a physical on you one day?"
"Damn it. No." He rubbed his chin. "Doesn't matter." And that was a problem, wasn't it?
The real problem had nothing to do with Mariah at all. It had to do with the fact that Vaughn had no business even thinking about a relationship with anyone. Not after what he'd done. And certainly not when he planned to stay in Copper River for as short a period of time as possible. Once things were back to normal with his family, he had a life to continue elsewhere.
He had cut ties, started over, and created the life he'd always dreamed of.
Right?
His head snapped up as Kerr groaned and walked around the foot of the bed. He stretched out his back and picked up his feet. No, foot. With a tired slump to his shoulders and a halfhearted wave, Kerr left, pulling the door closed behind him.
Vaughn sat his sorry ass down into the uncomfortable chair and rested his hand on Shelby's slack arm as his daytime shift at her bedside began.