The Cowboy's Valentine Bride. Patricia Johns
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Nina marrying someone else was for the best. He couldn’t really imagine her nursing him back to health anyway. He’d been the one to take care of her, not the other way around. She’d been flirtatious and fun, and incredibly high maintenance. That engagement ring had set him back significantly more than three months’ salary. If she’d waited for him, he’d have had to face that look of disappointment when she realized the husband she’d be saddled with—wounded, bitter, broken. Maybe it was all for the best... The pain had dulled—still there but somehow far away—and his eyes drooped shut.
Several hours later, Brody awoke again, this time to a soft tap on his door. He pulled his blanket over his waist to keep himself decent and called, “Yeah?”
The door opened to reveal Kaitlyn. She wore a pair of jeans and a white cotton shirt that brought out the contrast between her milky skin and the auburn waves that fell behind her shoulders. That sure beat waking up to Afghanistan.
“Morning,” she said. “How did you sleep?”
“Like the medicated.”
“I guess that’s to be expected,” she said with a chuckle. “What time did you take your pills last night?”
“Four in the morning.”
She jotted it down on a chart, then pulled out a roll of gauze. “I’m going to change your dressing this morning. Are you okay with that?”
Her tone was professional and slightly distanced. He might as well be in the hospital again with the kind but unrecognizable nursing staff that moved through his room like clockwork. He didn’t like this side to Kaitlyn—and while he appreciated her attempt to put him at ease, maybe he didn’t need to be at ease. A few messy, personal connections were better than sterile professionalism, where the emptiness was filled by the clamor of his memories.
“How come you’re being so formal?” he asked with a grimace.
“I’m your nurse. You’re my patient. It’s a different relationship, and you need to be able to trust me for your medical concerns.”
“I’d trust you a whole lot more if you didn’t sound like a stranger,” he said.
Kaitlyn smiled and shrugged—suddenly she looked like the same old Kate who used to beat him at cards.
“That’s more like it,” he said. “I’m still me, and you’re still you.”
“Except you have to do as I say,” she said, a teasing smile tugging at one side of her lips.
“Yeah, yeah.” She was right—he was at a distinct disadvantage...especially waking up to Kaitlyn coming into his room first thing in the morning before he was dressed and steeled to the day. At least it was cold enough that he’d worn an army-issue undershirt to bed so she wasn’t staring at him bare chested.
“All right,” she said, kneeling next to the bed. “Let’s see the leg.”
Brody tossed the covers back to expose his leg, and she went to work. She moved with confidence, peeling back bandages, easing gauze away from the wounds. She made little sympathetic sounds when gauze stuck to stitches.
“Wiggle your toes,” she instructed.
He complied, and she looked satisfied. “Does that hurt to move them?”
“No.”
“Good sign.” She took his foot in her hand and moved his ankle in a full rotation, then jotted something in a notebook. “How is the pain right now on a scale of one to ten?”
“Ten being?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“When I saw you yesterday,” she said.
So she’d noticed how bad his pain was the day before. That was somehow gratifying. He wasn’t the complaining type, but he also didn’t want to suffer for days unnecessarily, either.
“About a six,” he said.
“And you’re—” she looked at her watch “—just about due for your next dose. So that’s an improvement.”
“Why not just ask if I’m feeling any better?” Brody asked.
“Because you’d tell me you were even if you weren’t,” she retorted.
She had a point. “Okay, fine.”
“So now I want you to stand up,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. She stood beside the bed, hands folded in front of her and a no-nonsense look on her face.
“What?” He pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Right now?”
“Yes, right now.”
“You’re not going to give me pain meds first?”
“No.” She met his gaze evenly, and Brody heaved a sigh. “If you don’t start putting some weight on that leg, it’ll only get harder.”
Brody pushed the covers back and Kaitlyn bent to help lift his injured limb over the side of the bed. Every movement was a fresh blaze of pain, and he closed his eyes against it, willing his stomach to settle. He felt vulnerable sitting here in an undershirt and a pair of army-issue shorts. His muscles were tense along his shoulders, and he sucked in a sharp breath.
“Take a moment to breathe...” Her voice was quiet and close. “You’ll be fine. I’m right here. When you’re ready, you’ll stand, but you’ll put all your weight on your good leg. I’m not that mean.”
The pain slowly subsided, and he had to admit it was marginally better than yesterday. She’d said it was a good sign, hadn’t she?
“Okay,” he said.
Kaitlyn’s cool fingers slipped under his biceps and she tugged him gently forward. He followed her encouragement and pushed himself up, all of his weight on his good leg. He wavered slightly, and Kaitlyn moved in closer—sliding an arm around his waist to steady him.
The auburn top of her head shone just at his shoulder level, and he was distinctly aware of where her hands touched his sides, even if he was trying to ignore it. She smelled good—something like vanilla, but not quite—and it made him start thinking of things he should know better than to connect to Kaitlyn Harpe.
“Can you straighten your leg?” she asked, and her voice was close to his chest as she looked down at his injured leg—that was her focus, at least. He straightened it with a grimace, and after a moment, he put a little bit of weight onto it.
That was too much, and the pain made the room tilt and spin. She’d never be able to catch him if he went down...
“Brody, this is great!” Her tone lost the nurse quality, and she looked up at him with shining eyes. It brought him back to the one time he’d kissed her when he was all of twelve... They’d been kids, and nothing had ever come of it, of course. If he were a little less woozy, he’d be tempted by those pink lips so close to his face—just a matter of dipping his head down and catching them with his—but with the room tilting like that, he’d probably miss. He wouldn’t come off as anything better than an awkward twelve-year-old, pecking a girl on the lips and not knowing what else to do.
“I’d better...” His voice was weaker than he liked, but she expertly eased him back down to the side of the bed, and he rubbed his hands over his face. She was his nurse, but having her this close to him was going to be harder than he’d imagined.
“A little dizzy?” she asked.
“A bit.”
“That’s natural. It’ll be easier the next time we do it. You’ve been on some pretty strong pain medications.” She was back to being the nurse again, and she chattered on about his different doses of meds as she adjusted his pillows so that he could sit propped up in bed.
“I think I need a few minutes to myself,” he said discreetly.
“Sure.”