Craving Her Rough Diamond Doc

“All I’m saying is be nice. Friendly. Think of something to say to personalize your interactions. Compliment patients, ask their advice, engage them somehow, and don’t use any of your annoying tricks.”

“Back to thinking I’ll purposefully antagonize the patients? I have some training, you know.” She took a deep breath, counted to ten and smiled past the lump in her throat. She could fake a smile. It was the least offensive mask she had, even if perhaps not the most healthy. “Anything else?”

Wyatt looked at her a little too long, but the road demanded his attention and, let off the hook, she looked back out the window.

“Two more things,” Wyatt said. “One: there isn’t much black and white out here—the law, and how stringently it’s followed, is fluid. Don’t get involved unless something is likely to harm the patient or someone else.”

“Like?”

“I’ve treated and not reported a hunting accident before,” Wyatt answered without hesitation, so matter-of-factly that he might have simply expressed his love of potatoes.

“A shooting?” That just seemed wrong. Dangerous.

“Shot himself in the leg, but missed any major trauma.”

“That’s…”

“Illegal. I know.” He didn’t seem fazed by it, though. “The patient was hunting in the off-season, which is to say: illegally. But the way I see it, and the way pretty much anyone in the area would see it, a man has a right to feed his family. Happened on his land. He’s not well off, but he’s making the most of what he has. I wouldn’t want him punished for making sure his kids didn’t go without.”

“That’s why you wanted me to stitch you up…” Imogen murmured, realization coming in a flash.

“That’s why I wanted you to stitch me up.”

“He could have lied about being the one to shoot him, you know.” People lied all the time.

“I know, but he wasn’t.” Wyatt still seemed unfazed, and so sure of himself. Ego.

She nodded, still processing this information. The idea of putting her license on the line didn’t appeal, but she could understand his logic. There was a certain kind of nobility to the decision, whether she would’ve made the same call or not. “At least it won’t be boring.”

“Last thing. If you have questions or concerns about one of my calls, make them in private—later, ideally. I need you to trust me and follow my orders without hesitation.”

“I’ll try,” Imogen murmured, mostly because she wasn’t ever sure exactly what she was going to do from moment to moment. And even if she’d never questioned a doctor’s call in front of a patient before, she wasn’t feeling too sure of anything. The job. Why she’d come. Him. Her worthiness as a nurse or a person. Amazing how fast all that could come rushing back. And she had thought she was past someone having the ability to make her feel so off. So small.

He turned the bus off the road and into a gravel lot beside a tiny white church, the kind quickie-wedding places and photographers liked to clone for ambiance.

“Do better than try.” He sounded distant suddenly, and more than a little icy. Dr. Beechum had just arrived. A new mask came down, and Imogen didn’t know which Wyatt was the real one—the one who walked her through stitches, the surly wild man on the mountain, or this icy man now walking to the back to start setting up.

Ditching her cup, she rubbed some warmth back into her suddenly chilled hands.

She hoped it was the last of his masks she’d have to watch out for.

She’d learned early on that when the masks came off, the monsters came out.

CHAPTER THREE (#u399a18a3-e6aa-5eff-9293-f35535756274)

“EMMA-JEAN?” Like an immigrant to Ellis Island, Imogen had been renamed. And this time it wasn’t a patient mangling her name.

The first couple of times she’d heard her name mispronounced by patients, Imogen had wanted to correct them. But in the spirit of following Wyatt’s Grandpa Law she’d held back. That and because the patients seemed no more interested in talking to her than they might be to a wandering taxidermist who offered to kill and stuff their favorite pet for them.

Most of her smiles went unreturned. No one even wanted to talk about the fabulous weather, how green and lush everything was, how wonderful it smelled outside, with the honeysuckle blooming, or pretty much anything else she brought up.

Her efforts to find common ground with one older gentleman had even resulted in her being called a “damned dogooder” for offering him a cup of coffee. Further alienating the patients wasn’t high on her frustrating list of things to do. Coffee had been her go-to for common ground. Who didn’t like coffee?

With a deep breath and after a few seconds to unclench her hands, Imogen turned to face Wyatt, who’d called her new name. He looked smug. He also looked like he needed someone to stomp on his toes. Someone like her. Later. After she played his stupid game.

“Yes, Doctor?”

“Next patient.” He could’ve just said that, but that would have deprived him of the perverse pleasure he took in her predicament.

She stepped off the bus and made for the serene little church, today’s waiting room, feeling not at all serene. Red carpet, wooden benches carved on the ends with crosses, an open stage in the front for the kind of preachers who needed room to wander. So quaint and peaceful it almost took the edge off her day. Her little oasis away from Wyatt.

Inside, a handful of people sat—most of whom had spent the day there, chatting while people came and went from the bus. She snagged the sign-in sheet from the table beside the door and called the last name on the check-in sheet. “Mr. Smith?”

Day almost over. Just one more patient.

An older man stood with some effort and as he turned to look back, ice lanced through her middle.

Blue skin.

Oh, no. His skin tone rivaled a blueberry, bluer than anyone she’d ever seen. She’d coded patients in her time, she just hadn’t expected it to happen on this job.

Fear, bright and blistering, sent her running for the man. “Sir, it’s going to be okay. Sit back down. Breathe for me. Sit. Yes.” She urged him back onto the wooden pew, ready to throw him on his back to give CPR.

Assess. Breathing somewhat labored, but he still breathed. He looked a little alarmed but not panicky. Didn’t exactly add up. She needed Wyatt. Blue skin was a bad sign. “Someone get Dr. Beechum.”

Everyone in the room stared at her, shock and horror on their faces—and not one of them equipped to run for Wyatt.

With the man seated, she confirmed his pulse was more or less regular then held up one hand to signal he should stay, and barreled for the bus. The door had barely opened before she started shouting, “Wyatt! A patient inside is cyanotic. I think he’s coding…”

Wyatt grabbed a tank of oxygen and a mask, and ran behind her.

She was nearly at Mr. Smith’s side when Wyatt took her by the elbow and thrust her behind him. “Oh, sir, I’m so sorry. My nurse is new—Emma-Jean, Amanda’s friend. Don’t think she’s ever encountered anyone with methoglobinemia before.”

Her breathing sounded so loud in her ears Imogen couldn’t even be sure she understood what Wyatt was saying. The man wasn’t coding? Blue skin happened when someone was deprived of oxygen. Blue skin was never good.

The two men exchanged a few quiet words and the next thing she knew, Wyatt was peddling her backwards, out of earshot, his big body blocking her view of the bizarrely colorful man. “Take a walk, Emma-Jean.”

“Please tell me what’s going on. That man—”

“He’s descended from the Blue Fugates of Troublesome Creek.” Wyatt leaned close as he spoke, like she knew the people or the creek. It was a hell of a time for him to invade her space and fill her nose with his good smell. It just got warmer and fuller the longer the day wore on. And with her adrenaline surging, her senses only multiplied her reaction to it.

“Take your phone, walk up the hill and run a search on it. Come back in a half hour, I’ll explain if needed.”

“I’m sorry. I thought…”

“I know.” His voice gentled but he still looked grim. “You’re embarrassed, and so is he. Take a walk.”

Imogen nodded, and though she wanted to apologize to the man for causing a scene, she slipped to the exit with as much dignity as she could muster.