Crazy for Cowboy Page 13

  He groaned, sending a new rush of excitement through her. She kissed him back, urgently, as though her life depended on it. Then suddenly, he pushed her away.

  “Horse okay?”

  “What?” She stared at him, open-mouthed and panting.

  “King, is he okay?”

  “Yes. He’s fine,” she sputtered. “Don’t worry about the damn horse. Kiss me, you fool.”

  He chuckled then promptly obeyed, kissing her deeply. She moaned again as his hands moved up her body, massaging her waiting breasts.

  She couldn’t hold back the purring sound that issued from her throat. She’d never thought of herself as wanton, but she was wantin’ him, all right. She, Doctor Emily Grant, who never made love in public places, who never had sex anywhere but on a mattress behind a closed door, was ready, more than willing and screamingly able to take this man on a bed of leaves. For the second time that week.

  She shifted her position and scooted one of her legs in between his so that she could move on top of him.

  “Ugggg!”

  Emily froze. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She pulled her weight off him in a variation of the pushup and moved to one side, examining his lower body.

  There was an obvious swollen area just below his belt buckle, but she was fairly certain that it hadn’t been caused by the fall. She smiled, pleased that she had the same effect on him as he had on her, but confident there was no medical emergency attached to that portion of his anatomy. It seemed to be in perfect working condition.

  She cast her vision lower, finding, just above the knee on the leg furthest from her, a large patch of crimson seeping through his jeans.

  “You’re bleeding.” She examined the area around the injury, looking for broken bones. Then she did a quick inventory of the rest of him, something she’d started when his kisses distracted her.

  He was lucky. Nothing else appeared to be amiss. No broken bones, no other lacerations. Although, Emily was sure he’d have some pretty major bruising.

  She reached for her medical kit and pulled out a pair of scissors. Gently, she clipped away at his pant leg until the wound was completely exposed. Satisfied, she reached for the bottle of peroxide and a wad of sterile gauze.

  “This might sting a little,” she warned him, and dumped the contents of the bottle onto the wound.

  Brandon sucked in a breath. “Hey!”

  “Just be thankful it was peroxide and not alcohol,” she told him, applying pressure to his leg with the gauze.

  “If you’ve got some on ya, I could use a shot right now.”

  “Not that kind of alcohol, you goof.”

  “Man, you are nasty,” he exclaimed with mock indignation. “Is this the way you treat your four-legged patients? I’m glad I have only two.”

  “One and a half, at the moment. Here.” She thrust a fistful of individually packaged gauze dressings at him.

  “What am I supposed to do with these?”

  “Unwrap them for me while I apply pressure.”

  He handed them to her one by one as she mopped up the blood. “This looks deep,” she told him. “You’re going to need sub-q sutures.”

  “What?”

  “Sutures in the subcutaneous area.”

  He tilted his head to one side. “That made even less sense.”

  “Under the skin.”

  “You mean stitches?”

  “Exactly. Lucky for you, I’ve got some butterfly sutures with me.”

  “You’re going to sew me up right here?” He didn’t sound especially pleased with the prospect.

  “No. These are bandages,” she explained as she rummaged through her kit. “They’ll hold the skin around the wound together. Then I’ll wrap the area in more gauze. Damn.”

  “Now what?”

  “I don’t have enough dressing with me to cover your wound and apply pressure.” She sighed and sat back on her heels. “Take off your shirt.”

  Brandon’s brows shot up. “The sight of blood gets you going, huh?”

  “Get your mind out of your shorts, big boy. I need something to hold against the wound so I can apply pressure.”

  “Why can’t we use your shirt?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I was planning on talking you out of it later, but since the opportunity has arisen...”

  “It’s quite obvious what has arisen around here, mister,” she said, sneaking a glance at his nether regions. “I’ll be leaving my shirt on, thank you very much.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked away. “Go on. Strip.”

  Material rustled. Emily chewed on her bottom lip, trying to keep her brain focused on her job and away from her galloping libido.

  “Here it is.”

  She turned to grab the shirt and caught the sight of bare skin. He was lightly tanned and well muscled. She’d gotten a hint of his build during their sexual encounter at the riding stables. Seeing his exposed chest now set her drooling. A fine dusting of curls worked their way down his ribbed abs to the top of his belt buckle, then disappeared.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to take your top off too?” he asked innocently.

  “No!” Emily shook her head to clear away the lascivious thoughts that had seeped into her gray matter. “We don’t have time for that right now. We need to get you to the hospital.” She grabbed his shirt and wrapped it securely around the sterilized gauze. “Do you think you can make it up the hill?”

  Brandon cranked his head toward the embankment. “I’ll try.”

  “You can lean on me,” she offered.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?” Didn’t he think she was strong enough? She was used to patients that were a heck of a lot bigger than he was.

  “If I touch you again,” he said, his eyes sparkling, “we won’t be moving from this spot.”

  Emily’s heart went ka-thunk. “Stop that. You’re distracting me, and I’m supposed to be the level-headed person around here.” Picking up his discarded duster, she draped it over her shoulder. “Come on.” She helped him onto his feet and put her arm around his waist. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “You’re looking a little green around the gills.”

  “I am feeling kinda light-headed.”

  “That’s from your injury.”

  “That’s from the woman beside me.” He leaned against her, letting her take some of the weight from his weak left side. Together, they began to hobble up the ravine.

  “You ride King,” she instructed him, figuring out their plan of action. “I’ll follow along on foot.”

  “It’ll take you half an hour to walk back.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  Nice of him to be concerned, but this was no time for chivalry. “Well, you certainly can’t walk. Not in your present condition.”

  He didn’t answer her, just ran his hand across his brow and kept climbing.

  “Okay, look. You get on the horse and I’ll walk alongside.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t like that idea, either.”

  “Why not?”

  “You won’t laugh?”

  “Right now I’m too concerned to find any humor in this. What’s the problem?”

  He didn’t speak right away. When he did, his words came out in spurts. “I...don’t...really...want to get...back on a horse right now.”

  Emily clamped her lips shut. His reaction was understandable. He’d just been thrown. She even admired the fact that he was man enough to admit his apprehension. Still, he needed medical attention, more than she could give him.

  She let the topic go, concentrating her efforts on helping him. Once they were past the cliff, it was easier. The way was level and Brandon was able to clutch at the odd branch for support.

  When they got to the other side of the train tracks, Emily left him leaning against a tree while she untied the
horse. That’s when the answer came to her. She smiled at the simplicity of the solution.

  “I’ll tell you what, we’ll both ride.”

  “We can do that?”

  “Sure, haven’t you ever seen a Clint Eastwood movie?” She put her foot in the stirrup and hauled herself into the saddle. Then she motioned King over to where Brandon was standing. “Here, I’ll give you a hand up.”

  “Up to where?” he asked, looking at the horse dubiously. “This isn’t a two-seater, ya know.”

  Who did this guy think he was? David Letterman? “Stop kidding around. You’ll sit on the horse’s rump. You can put your arms around me to hold on.”

  “That sounds appealing.” Brandon pulled his left foot up toward the stirrup, flinched, and set it back down. “I don’t think I can do it.”

  “That’s okay. We’ll use that rock for leverage,” she told him, indicating the outcrop with a twitch of her head. “If you can get up there, it won’t be so far for you to move your leg.”

  While Brandon crawled onto the rock, Emily maneuvered the horse so her new patient could favor his sore leg and mount the animal from the right. She reached out her hand to him.

  He squinted up at her. “Am I allowed to get on from this side?”

  “I’m sure King won’t mind, just this once.”

  Swinging his injured leg over the horse with an audible grunt, he made it onto King’s rump.

  “Okay?”

  “Okay,” he answered, but Emily suspected that it was a lie. She reached back, grabbed his hands and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  She decided to make small talk, to help him take his mind off his injury. The fact that her line of questioning was designed to give Brandon an opportunity to confess his true identity was purely coincidental.

  “So, how long have you been riding?”

  “Today? About twenty minutes.”

  “No, silly,” she said, looking heavenward. “I mean, when did you first learn?”

  “You know, it’s still so fresh in my mind, it feels like just last week.”

  That was probably the truth, she thought. And that’s what she was after. The truth.

  Sure, she could have confronted him with everything she’d learned—his real name, his real occupation—but what would that accomplish? If Brandon didn’t confess his deception, willingly and of his own volition, how could she ever fully trust him?

  But that didn’t mean she couldn’t prod him a little.

  “Comfy?” she asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  She twisted around to look at him. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he whispered in a deep, raspy voice.

  Emily knew exactly what kind of pain he was talking about. She felt it too. His body was pressed close against hers, sending her hormones into overdrive. Lusting after a man who required medical attention wasn’t very classy. Not to mention, unprofessional. She snapped the reins. “So, what are you doing here today?”

  “Me? Riding a horse.”

  “Do you usually wear makeup to ride? Or is there something you want to tell me?”

  She felt him shift his weight. “Did you see all the big lights over by the hotel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, they’re filming a movie.”

  “And you’re in it?”

  His answer was barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

  Emily felt a flicker of hope. All he needed was a bit more coaxing. “Is that a hobby of yours? Appearing in movies?”

  “Nope. First time.”

  She let the pause between them stretch. Surely he would clarify. But, as the silence dragged on, she realized he wasn’t going to say anything more. She’d given him the opportunity to fess up about being an actor and he hadn’t taken it.

  Or was there another reason why he’d stopped talking? Emily thought back to his last set of answers. There’d been a definite strain in Brandon’s voice. He was probably feeling the effects of his injury. She decided to hold off further questions until later.

  They made it past the steep hill when Emily looked up to see a familiar face, coming toward them. “Sam!”

  “What happened? Houston okay?”

  She was so used to thinking of him as Brandon, that it took her a moment to place the other name.

  “I’m fine,” the male at her back answered.

  “He fell down the ravine, Sam. He’s gonna need stitches.”

  “Sutures,” Brandon corrected.

  Emily glanced over at Sam. His full attention was on the man sitting behind her. Deep etch-marks lined his face as he eyed Brandon’s bloody pant leg.

  “Ya sure yur okay, son?”

  “Yeah, Sam. I don’t think it’s as bad as it looks.”

  She’d never seen the old cowboy so concerned. And she’d never heard him call anyone son.

  Sam had lost his own boy to cancer decades before. Son wasn’t a tag that he threw around. He must have thought highly of Brandon to call him by it. But then Sam didn’t know—couldn’t know—that the fellow he’d just called by that familiar endearment had pulled the wool over his eyes. What would the old man think when he learned that the guy’s entire persona was a lie, that he wasn’t Houston Saveloy at all?

  She’d given Brandon the chance to come clean but he hadn’t taken it. Maybe her own trust, like Sam’s, had been completely misplaced. Maybe the actor was simply incapable of telling the truth.

  She pulled herself out of her brooding, hit with a sudden notion. If Brandon was a novice rider, how would he have met Sam in the first place? Had he come to the old cowboy to learn how to handle a horse?

  It was the only explanation that made sense. If true, Sam must have known who Brandon was from the beginning...and still thought enough of him to call him son. It was probably the best recommendation he could have given.

  * * *

  To Brandon, seeing the top of the Wainwright Hotel in the distance heralded his salvation. Between the pain and the mid-morning heat, he was starting to feel woozy. He hung onto Emily, willing himself to stay upright.

  He tried to think of something else—how much milk he had left in the fridge, the number of sweaters he had in his closet, the last ten movies he’d seen with Liam—anything to keep his mind off his leg.

  “Let’s get you down from there, son.”

  Brandon looked up to find himself in front of one of the horse trailers he’d seen earlier, and beside him stood Sam, lifting a pair of skinny arms out toward him. The picture was ludicrous. The crusty old guy was reaching up to catch him as though he were a child. Brandon figured he had about thirty pounds on Sam. If he let himself go, he’d probably crush the ol’ fella.

  Fortunately, at that moment, Robbie came running up to lend a hand. With the two men guiding him down, Brandon was able to reach terra firma once again. Gently, they eased him into a sitting position on the grass. Brandon was on the verge of laughing at the vision the two macho cowboys presented, hovering over him like a pair of Florence Nightingales.

  “I’ll bring my truck around,” Emily announced, adjusting his bandage. “You wait here.”

  Brandon glanced down to see the area stained with blood. He quickly looked away. “No problem,” he answered, gritting his teeth against a wave of nausea.

  After a couple of deep breaths, the sensation passed. He raised his head, taking in the sight of his three nurses. Other than the concerned trio before him, there was a general lack of people about. “Where is everyone?”

  “Lunch break,” Robbie informed him, tilting his hat back. “Everyone’s in the mess tent. Should I call for an ambulance?”

  “No. The hospital is just up the street. I’ll drive him there myself.” Emily grabbed her bag and addressed Robbie again. “Do you need to fill out an accident report?”

  The redhead muttered an expletive, excused himself, then hurried away, Emily on his heels.

  “How ‘r ya doin’, son?” Sam asked when they were alone.

 
“I’m hanging in.”

  The older man gave him a light pat on the arm. “Nice trick.”

  “Huh?”

  “Gettin’ hurt. Women love t’ fuss over a guy. Good move.”

  “Sam, I didn’t do this on purpose,” Brandon protested. “It was an accident.”

  “Even better,” Sam said, and gave him a toothless grin.

  The sound of a vehicle approaching stopped their conversation. Emily brought her truck alongside them. She ran to the passenger’s side and opened the door. With Sam’s help, Brandon managed to get in without jarring his injured leg.

  “I’m going to get blood all over your upholstery.

  Emily clicked her tongue. “Typical male. You’re bleeding to death and all you can think about is the truck.”

  “I’m not bleeding to death.”

  “No, you’re not. But we do need to get you to a hospital.” Emily grabbed the seatbelt buckle and pulled it across him. The scent of her was distracting, drawing his thoughts away from any discomfort he was feeling. Then he saw her expression, tight with worry. “When did you last have a tetanus shot?”

  “I don’t know. Are you always this romantic?” he asked, trying to make her smile.

  “Stop being a smart ass, or you’ll be walking to the hospital.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He felt her hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him back in the seat. “Rest now,” she told him.

  Brandon was happy to oblige. Thankfully, he leaned back and let himself sag.

  “You want to come, Sam?” he heard her ask.

  “No, no,” Sam answered. Brandon opened his eyes in time to catch the old guy’s sly grin. “I’m sure yull do jus’ fine without me.”

  Brandon kept his eyes closed through most of the drive to the hospital. Opening them made the world spin. He’d already fallen asleep on Emily, passing out on her was not at all suave. At some point, she slipped a bottle of water into his hand and told him to drink it slowly.

  The stifling heat escaped from the cab as the air conditioner blasted coolness around him. Before they’d left the grounds of Heritage Park, he was beginning to feel better, wondering if the trip to the hospital was even necessary. But he was hardly in a position to argue with Emily’s judgment. After all, she was the one with the medical background, and it did feel good to have a woman fawn over him. In fact, when Emily was the woman, it felt terrific.