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He talked of how once this was done not only could it be adjusted as needed, avoiding the whole plaster replacement procedure, she wouldn’t have to worry about replacing the cast because of skin irritation or getting it wet. Then he and Cody got off into a discussion she could only follow half of, and Cody actually ended up overseeing the scan itself, since the tech was brand new to the staff.
“We’re looking into getting our own scanning equipment,” the doctor said as the brief process ran through.
“Keep this one until you do,” Cody told him. “Somebody else might need it.”
“You sure? This is expensive equipment.”
Cody nodded. “It’s already got the proprietary software that sends the scan to the manufacturer installed, and that takes a while to get and set up, so this way you’re ready to go.”
Expensive equipment. And Cody had just loaned it out. For her sake. And now was extending that loan just in case somebody else needed it. And another aspect of the guy she’d never seen before slipped into place. And each additional piece was one more bit of proof that she’d been not only stubborn, but willfully blind to who he really was.
When they were done Dr. Reed, who had stayed for the whole process because it was new to him, began to apply the temporary splint to her wrist, and the splint-boot combination to her injured ankle, a thing that looked like it was going to weigh a ton, it was so bulky.
“You need to be more careful than ever, so you don’t swell up again and make the new cast not fit properly,” he ordered sternly.
“Oh, great,” she muttered.
“You’re not fully into the reparative stage yet, although the inflammation has greatly subsided. I recommend very little movement until we get that cast on. The wheelchair, but only with help. Pushing it yourself would likely aggravate your wrist in that temporary splint.”
“Then she just won’t,” Mom said briskly. “She’ll just stay still or be moved by someone else.”
Her gaze shifted from the doctor to her mother. “Wheelchair? Still?” She’d actually harbored the faint hope she’d be walking out of here on crutches.
“Or I could just carry you everywhere,” Cody said blandly, as if he were suggesting nothing more complicated than opening a door. As if he sensed the sudden intensity in the room, Dr. Reed muttered something about paperwork and left them to it.
Britt didn’t dare look at him, because the memory of the times he’d already carried her had erupted in her brain, and she was afraid if she did look at him her confused, unwanted, but overwhelming feelings about it would show. She tried to focus on the idea of being confined to a wheelchair for days longer. She tried to imagine two more long days of maneuvering through her mother’s clutter of furniture and couldn’t. Her own taste ran to more sparse furnishings, with space to move…
She suddenly realized she might be able to gain something out of this. “My place,” she said abruptly.
“What?” her mother asked.
“I’ll do it in my place.”
“But honey—”
“It only makes sense. Less furniture, more open space.”
“She has a point,” Dad said from where he’d been quietly observing from the far side of the room. “One of us will have to stay with her, but it would probably be easier.”
“You don’t need to stay with me,” she protested; either of her parents fussing over her would drive her mad. “Isn’t that what that fancy new intercom system is for?”
“And, Ms. Stubborn, just how long would you last before deciding you could do this one little thing by yourself without bothering anybody, and if you survived that one more little thing, then a bigger thing?”
Her head snapped around and she stared at Cody. Opened her mouth to let out a sharp retort. But in the instant before she did the truth of what he’d said hit her and she shut it again. How the heck had he learned her so well?
As if he’d heard the thought, he added quietly, “Just like I would do. Like I did, when I was ten and broke my arm trying to ride Buckshot.”
She gaped at him, remembering the spirited, feisty buckskin stallion. “Your dad’s stud? You really tried to ride him?”
He shrugged. “Never claimed I was sane.”
Again she bit back the retort she would have normally let fly. Because her brain had done the math. He’d turned ten just months after his father had been killed. She just looked at him, her gaze locked with his.
“Well, that’s settled then,” her mother said briskly, startling Britt out of the moment. Or however long it had been that they’d simply been staring at each other.
And then a nurse came in with the dreaded wheelchair. He was a good-looking young man, someone Britt might have flirted with once, but she was in no mood now. He helped her into the chair with gentle efficiency. And it had zero effect on her heart rate.
Unlike every time Cody touched her.
