The Least Likely Groom. Linda Goodnight
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of the anterior cruciate ligament. Every athlete hated them because they sidelined a guy too long. But from the way B. Washburn, RN, told it, a regular ACL tear didn’t sound so bad. His, on the other hand, was way beyond torn. His knee was, as she so blatantly phrased it, “demolished.”
“So, when can I ride again?” He asked when she finished telling him that not only was his dream in jeopardy, but his career, as well.
“That will be for the orthopod to say after he’s done a scope.”
Orthopod? Was that a doctor from outer space?
He thought better of asking. And to tell the truth, if someone didn’t get the sharks off his leg, he was going to lose his sense of humor.
“But you’ll be off the circuit for at least a couple of months, maybe longer.”
“No way.” He struggled up to his elbows. “Get me some pants, Jacks. I can ride.”
To prove his point, he swung his right leg over the side of the bed, but the left one refused to follow.
B. Washburn, RN, caught him by the calf and pushed him gently, but efficiently back onto the bed. The eyes he’d thought of as honey-colored, now looked muddy with anger.
“Don’t be foolish, Mr. Garrett. It’s bad enough to put yourself in harm’s way by riding bulls, but refusing treatment for severe injury is totally irresponsible. It won’t heal and you won’t ride, maybe ever again if you make it any worse.”
He gazed down in amazement at her slender arms. “Hey, you’re pretty strong for a girl.”
She’d tossed him back onto the bed as easily as Sinsation had tossed him on his head. Dadgum ornery bull. “You must know judo or something.”
“Or something.” She favored him with a cheeky grin that sent a little spiral of interest curling through his belly. Darn if she wasn’t making him think of taking a couple days off to hang around Rattlesnake and find out just what that something was—among other things.
“Man, what’s the world coming to? I get stomped by a bull and body-slammed by a girl all in one day.” Moving had stirred the knee-eating sharks, and he was starting to feel grouchy again. “Are you gonna get my pants or do I have to call 911 and report a theft, as well as a kidnapping?”
B. Washburn, RN, pushed the phone toward him. He scowled at her. She stared back with those honey-colored eyes, as solemn and sympathetic as an undertaker. The real bad feeling settled in to stay. He got the unmistakable impression that he was about to take an unplanned vacation to Amarillo.
Chapter Two
Near the end of her shift Becka slid into a chair at the nurses’ desk to make final notations on the patients’ charts. As she leafed through Jett Garrett’s, she frowned.
Rolling her chair away from the desk, she called to the nurse standing inside the medication room directly behind her. “Mindy.”
“Yeah?” A bubbly blond head peeked around the door.
“Has Mr. Garrett in 14B had anything at all for pain since admission?”
“I haven’t given him anything. Did you give him something in the E.R.?”
Becka worried her bottom lip and looked through the chart once more. “No.”
“Those rodeo cowboys are so tough.”
Becka rolled her eyes. Tough or not, the man had to hurt, and there was no way he could sleep with a roaring headache and a throbbing knee. As uncomfortable as she was around a man as reckless as Jett, tonight he was her responsibility and, bull rider or not, she would never shirk her duty. Neatly replacing the chart, she stashed the ink pen in the pocket of her scrubs and headed for room 14B. On the way she made up a new ice pack for his knee.
As she approached the room she heard the sounds of “Itsy Bitsy Spider” and didn’t even try to stop the grin that formed on her lips. Her son, Dylan, loved that song and she’d tickled her fingers up his four-year-old arm a thousand times or more. Besides, Jett’s inappropriate singing amused her.
Upon entering the room, Becka noticed at once that the cowboy was in a world of hurt: eyes squeezed a little too tight for sleep; lines of stress creasing his richly tanned forehead and bracketing the handsome mouth. The singing, no doubt, was to take his mind off the pain.
“‘Down came the rain,’” he sang through gritted teeth.
“Mr. Garrett,” she said softly.
The singing stopped. His eyelids sprang open. “Jett.”
“All right, Jett. I have a new ice pack for your knee.”
“Bring it on. The old one’s lost its zip.” He started up on one elbow, the sheet sliding down to reveal a sprinkle of black hairs on a brown, well-honed chest. Halfway up he grimaced and slid back onto the pillow.
“Would you like something for pain? Dr. Clayton left orders for an injection if you need it.”
“A shot?” The apprehensive way he asked nearly had her laughing.
“It will ease the pain. I promise.”
“I’m all right.”
“You’ll be better if you don’t play macho man. The physiology of the human body is such that healing takes place much quicker if the muscles are relaxed. Yours are as a tight as the lid on a pickle jar.”
He perked up. Cocking an eyebrow, he smoothed one hand over his six-pack belly. “Been looking at my muscles, huh?”
Becka ignored the little zip of interest. “They’re stellar, I’m sure. Now why don’t you let me get that injection for you so you can rest better?”
“On one condition.”
She eyed him warily. With a wild man like Jett, a woman never knew what “condition” he might think of. “What’s that?”
He indicated the green vinyl chair next to the bed. “You sit here by me afterward and talk to me until the medicine takes effect.”
Surprised, Becka studied a pair of eyes so blue the sky dimmed in comparison. Was this a come-on from a guy accustomed to having his way with any and all women? Or was Jett Garrett, daredevil deluxe, afraid?
The question intrigued her. A glance at her watch revealed her shift would be over in fifteen minutes. She had to go by Sid’s Repair Shop and check on her car before picking up Dylan at day care, so she couldn’t stay later than that. One of the other nurses had offered her a ride—an offer she couldn’t refuse under the circumstances.
However, except for Jett’s, all the patient charts were signed out, and everything was in order and ready for the next shift to take over.
“I only have about fifteen minutes,” she said. “But I’ll stay that long.”
“Deal.” He closed his eyes again and lay back.
She stood there a moment, staring down at a too-handsome man with all the qualities that scared her to death. Restless and unpredictable, Jett lived his life on the edge, ever searching for the next thrill, never staying in one place or with one woman because something else always caught his quicksilver interest. Beyond fearless, wildly exciting, and every inch a man, Jett Garrett exuded an energy, a life force so powerful that he was in danger of burning himself out like a shooting star. And the fool didn’t even know it.
But she knew. Oh, yes, Becka knew, for she had been a willing participant while another man’s flame was extinguished by his own lust for life.
Other than the compassion that made her an excellent nurse, she had no explanation for why she’d agreed to spend an extra fifteen minutes just sitting beside the disturbing cowboy. Sure, she’d done it a hundred times for other patients, but this one was dangerous. Everything about him