Комбат. Олимпийский характер. Андрей Воронин

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      Billy excused himself, promising to give her regards to his parents and offering well wishes for Tamara’s speedy recovery.

      As Clay rolled her to the exam room, Tamara grinned. “That’s a small town for you. Can’t go anywhere without running into a neighbor or a lady from church or your parents’ bowling partners.”

      “Which is why we always drove away from town for our dates in high school.”

      “Dates? You mean when we went parking.” She wished she could recall the words as soon as she said them. No point reminding Clay of the car windows they’d steamed…or the first time they’d made love.

      “Yeah. That’s what I meant.” His voice had a thick seductive rasp that told her those memories still affected him. Her pulse stuttered. Maybe he hadn’t totally wiped her from his life after all.

      Doc Mason’s nurse, Ellen Hamilton, stuck her head into the hall from an exam room a couple doors down. “Right in here, Ms. Brown.” After Clay wheeled Tamara into the exam room, the petite gray-haired woman laid out a sheet and a paper gown. “Would you like help changing out of your clothes, honey?”

      Tamara tried to push herself out of the wheelchair and fiery needles stabbed her chest. She muffled a moan. Instantly Clay tucked his arms under hers, lifting her and helping her to the exam table.

      Tamara glanced to the nurse. “Yeah. I think I’ll need help.”

      “Fine.” Ellen turned to Clay, her expression patient.

      Unmindful of the nurse’s stare, Clay took Tamara’s foot in his hand and unlaced her shoe. After sliding it from her foot, he moved to the next shoe.

      Tamara was so stunned at his presumptuousness that she could only gawk. When he gave her foot a soft rub, her breath snagged in a hiss of surprise.

      Foot massages after a full day tending the ranch had been one of Tamara’s greatest pleasures when they were married, a relaxation treat that often led to full body contact, clothes shed, lusty appetites sated.

      Clay’s eyes locked with hers, and he grimaced. “Sorry. I was trying to be gentle.”

      She started to tell him the gasp hadn’t been one of pain, but the nurse cleared her throat.

      “I meant that I’d help her change.” Now her expression was challenging. She lifted a sculpted eyebrow and tipped her head toward the door.

      Her ex-husband wasn’t stupid and wasn’t easily cowed. He straightened his spine and set his jaw in a manner that Tamara knew well. He had no intention of backing down.

      Tamara almost laughed at the standoff, until she realized that Clay thought he still had a right to be in the exam room with her, that it was natural for him to help her change into the hospital gown. A warm swirl of nostalgia flowed through Tamara followed closely by a shot of irritation.

      Clay had lost any claim to such marital intimacies when he signed their divorce papers without blinking, without so much as a tremble of his hand. She, on the other hand, had been shaking so badly she barely recognized the signature she’d scratched as hers.

      And now he wanted those privileges of familiarity back? She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

      “Would you please step outside, Mr. Colton?” Ellen Hamilton asked.

      A muscle in Clay’s jaw twitched. He raised his chin, his eyes determined.

      “Clay.” His name squeezed past the lump of regret that clogged her throat.

      He snapped his rich coffee gaze to hers, and the stubborn glint faded, replaced by a wounded expression, a chagrined acceptance that plucked at her heart. He hid it well. Someone who didn’t know Clay and his take-no-prisoners attitude, his stubborn cowboy pride, would have missed it. But Clay had been her husband, half the blood and breath that made her whole. An ache wholly unrelated to her injuries pulsed through her chest.

      He ducked his chin in a quick jerky nod of understanding and concession that broke Tamara’s heart. “I’ll be in the waiting room when you’re ready to go.”

      He left without a backward glance, and the room seemed infinitely colder and more lifeless with him gone.

      A moment later, a lean man in his late forties with thinning dark hair stepped into the room and shook Tamara’s hand. “Ms. Brown, I’m Frank O’Neal, Dr. Mason’s fill-in. I hear you took a nasty tumble.”

      “You heard right.”

      The doctor flashed a polite smile. “Well, let’s see about getting you all fixed up.”

      Over the next hour, Dr. O’Neal X-rayed and examined Tamara from head to heel. He taped her ribs, gave her injections for pain and to relax her cramping muscles, all of which made it far easier for her to move unassisted. While the X-rays developed, she redressed by herself, though the process wore her out.

      She sat in the exam room alone, remembering Clay’s earlier hurt expression, when the sound of raised voices filtered through the door left cracked open.

      Concerned that something was wrong, Tamara strained to hear the exchange between Ellen Hamilton and Dr. O’Neal.

      “How long…—azine…missing…” Dr. O’Neal groused.

      “I don’t know.” The nurse who’d stood up to Clay sounded shaken.

      “…your job to…any idea…hell we could catch if…missing?”

      “…well aware…accounting of…narcotic. Doc Mason always…himself.”

      “Have any…—peared before?”

      The nurse’s answer was too quiet for Tamara to make out.

      The scuff of hard-soled shoes drew closer then hesitated just outside the exam-room door. Tamara looked up, and through the narrow opening, she met the doctor’s shaken gaze. The man’s brow furrowed, and he rubbed a hand over the nearly bald spot on his head. Appearing agitated, he glanced away for a moment before schooling his expression and entering the exam room.

      He plunked two bottles of pills on the exam table and gave Tamara a tight grin. “I want you to take one of these every four to six hours when you need them for pain. The other is a muscle relaxant. Since people react differently to this medicine, it’d be wise for you to have someone stay with you while you recuperate.”

      She studied the bottle of pills. “I occasionally get migraines. These won’t trigger a headache, will they?”

      He shook his head. “Shouldn’t. This is one of the best pain meds on the market. However some people report getting sleepy, some get loopy, some feel a little dizzy.”

      Clearly the man didn’t want to acknowledge that she’d overheard his heated discussion with his nurse. Tamara took the hint and dismissed the issue.

      Dr. O’Neal shoved his hands in his lab coat’s pockets. “Do you have a roommate?”

      “No. I live alone in San Antonio.”

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