Heart Of Texas. Mary Baxter Lynn
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him with the same vengeance as another burning prod to his back.
“Sara Ann Wilson?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“That’s her,” Daisy responded, pride deepening her voice.
Clark groaned inwardly. Was this really happening? Yes, and his misery wasn’t near over yet. He was accustomed to the best sports doctors in the business working on his chronic back pain, which had been brought on by an old football injury from his college days. He didn’t want this small-town doctor working on him, especially because he planned on having a business relationship with her.
Damn! Fate had definitely kicked him in the gut.
“She’s one of them pull-and-stretch doctors.”
“You mean chiropractor?”
“That’s what I said.”
Despite his condition, Clark almost laughed outright. Talk about a quirky twist of events, this was it. But not a good one, he told himself, trying to decide if he should crawl to his vehicle and attempt to make it back to Lufkin.
He moved slightly only to yelp out loud.
“You’re in sad shape, sonny boy.”
Clark glared at Daisy, then holding onto one arm of the swing, he staggered to his feet. However, that was as far as he could go.
“Want me to help you?” Daisy asked.
Hell, no! “Yes, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Put your arm around my shoulders.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Daisy pointed her finger in his face. “You always were one to argue with your elders. For once, just do as you’re told.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Somehow Daisy managed to help him inside the Lexus without further harm to him and without any to her. In fact, she was much stronger than she looked; he’d have to hand her that. She might be old, but she wasn’t dead—far from it.
Minutes later he brought the vehicle to a stop in the doctor’s driveway, then very gingerly made his way to the front door. But not without cost. A new onslaught of sweat drenched him, and he suspected his face was the color of paste.
He practically fell against the doorbell and stayed there. Yet it seemed an eternity before he heard any sound of life. If she wasn’t at home, he didn’t know what he’d do.
The door swung open.
“Yes?” a soft voice asked before her eyes widened and her mouth fell open.
“Sorry to disturb you,” Clark said in a low, terse voice, “but I’m—”
“In pain. That’s obvious.”
Clark clamped his jaw shut, another pain spasming his back.
“Clark Garrison, right?”
Before he could respond to the fact that she recognized him after all these years, a wave of dizziness swept over him, and he pitched forward into her arms.
Her gasp was the last thing he remembered.
Two
Later Sara couldn’t have said how she remained upright, much less got this six-foot-two lug of a man to the floor without causing further injuries. An added miracle was that she positioned him on his back.
If she hadn’t seen his twisted features, she would have sworn he was drunk, something that wouldn’t have surprised her, considering who he was and what she knew about him.
Although it had been years since she’d seen him, she would have recognized him anywhere. His appearance hadn’t changed all that much except that he had gotten better looking, if that was possible. Alice and every other girl her age had thought he was the greatest thing since sliced bread. These days Sara suspected that women thought the same thing.
Now, however, was not the time to rehash what a conceited “bad boy” her sister’s ex-boyfriend had been. Her job was to revive him and relieve his pain as quickly as she could.
At this point Sara couldn’t say who was perspiring the most, him or her. Geez, she’d had some memorable moments in her tenure as a chiropractor, but this one would go down in the history books as the most bizarre to date.
A smile unwittingly tugged at her lips. Wasn’t it supposed to be every woman’s secret dream to have a gorgeous man fall at her feet? While she had no such dream, she could appreciate the moment.
“Clark, Clark,” she said, “can you hear me?”
He grunted, then nodded.
Relief surged through her. “Welcome back.”
“Yeah, right.”
Apparently he hadn’t lost total consciousness which was good and bad. His tolerance for pain, it seemed, was quite low, a weakness found in many of her male patients. “Can you tell me, or better yet, pinpoint where you hurt the most?”
There were a million other questions she would’ve liked to ask, such as how had he known who she was and where she lived. But those questions were easily answered. In a town the size of River Oaks, nothing was sacred.
He seemed comfortable, sprawled on the carpet that covered her hardwood floor. At least he was no longer moaning, and a semblance of color had returned to his face.
“The cattle prod’s right here.” Clark rolled onto his stomach, grimacing, and placed his hand in the middle of his lower back.
His analogy brought another smile to Sara’s lips, although she knew exactly what he was saying. In order to understand back pain, one had to have experienced it. She certainly had. That was one of the reasons she had chosen this profession.
“Let’s see if we can’t get rid of that prod,” she said, “but I’m making no promises. This situation is far from ideal, but then, I don’t have to tell you that.”
“Dammit, lady, just do what you gotta do, okay?”
“I have a table in my spare bedroom. You think you could make it in there?”
“Do I have to?”
Sara picked up on his shallow breathing at the same time she noticed the muscles in his jaw were bunched. “No. I think I can make an adjustment right here and work the kink out. A hard surface is what we need, and the floor certainly is that.”
“Go for it.” He cursed. “Otherwise, I’m not sure I’m going to live through this.”
Sara hid a smile. “Oh, I suspect you’ll live. I’m good at what I do.”
“Let us pray.”
“Your shirt has to come off,” Sara said calmly but crisply, ignoring his ill humor and crankiness.
He struggled onto his elbows. Between the two of them, the shirt was soon off and tossed aside. Once he was again flat on his stomach with head to one side, she knelt and placed her hands on his upper back, then began a slow, deliberate descent down toward his lower back, touching, pressing in what she knew were just the right spots.
He moaned.
“Am I hurting you?”
“God, no,” he rasped. “Please don’t stop. Your hands feel like magic.”
Sara had had her hands on numerous bodies, most of them male due to the numerous ranching and farming jobs around River Oaks. Never once had she experienced any stimulation whatsoever. Until now. Suddenly, she was light-headed, and her mouth was dry as her hands massaged his muscles.
Maybe it was because she knew him from back when, knew that he had been in her house, knew that he had dated Alice, knew that he had possibly been intimate with her sister.