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I let out a giggle, already knowing she’d roll her eyes at me for what I was about to say. “Nope. I just wanted a reason to be able to tell you how much of a smokeshow he is. Seriously, Pais. This guy ishot.”
Another laugh burst out of her. “Kota. He’s a gunshot victim.”
“Uh,yeah. But he’s a hot one.”
“Girl. Okay, I’m not puttin’ that in the call notes, but feel free to tell me all about it later. I’ll have an officer out there ASAP.”
“Thanks, I’ll meet them at the ER. Congrats again, future Mrs. Wilson!”
2?/?
dakota
By the time the stranger was out of surgery, I’d learned more about his injuries. Apparently, he’d been lying on his side because he’d been shot in the rear. That’s right—the rear. If it weren’t for the blood and the surgery, it might’ve even been funny. I could imagine him telling the story at a bar, leaning in with that scowl of his, warning people to “never turn your back on trouble.”
It was only a graze, so the bullet hadn’t gotten lodged in deep muscle or bone, but it was significant enough that he’d required surgery to clean the wound and repair some damaged tissue.
A deep laceration to the butt would have anyone bleeding like a stuck pig, given the heavy blood supply there, so the amount of blood covering the sheet and his shirt made sense. He’d likely have some swelling and bruising around the area. Maybe a limp and a hefty dose of discomfort while seated, too, but I couldn’t deny how relieved I was that it hadn’t been more serious.
I’d be just as relieved for anyone else, though, of course. It wasn’tjustbecause he was hot. Nope. Definitely not. The fact that even lying in a hospital bed with a bullet wound, he looked like he could moonlight as an action hero? That was just a minor, utterly irrelevant detail.
That said, the reason I was now sitting in his room in the post-anesthesia care unit to wait for Adam to take his statement wasabsolutelybecause he was hot. Well, that, and I was curious as heck about how he’d managed to get shot in the butt. Lots of wacky things happened in Charlotte Oaks, but that just wasn’t the norm. I couldn’t imagine anyone in this town thinking that was a good idea, and in my line of work, I saw more than my fair share of things that “seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Bored, I looked around the room, my eyes landing on the chair in the corner. There was a plastic bag of bloody clothes, and beside it was another smaller bag holding the patient’s personal items. I leaned forward, squinting as I spotted a photo peeking out from the folds of a brown leather wallet. There was a boy, probably only three years old. The boy was laughing as he sat on the shoulders of a man… andoh my lanta.
It was him. The scary stranger, but different. Younger—though still just as huge. There was no scruff on his jaw, and his hair was cut in that military-style I could spot from a mile away, thanks to how many folks in my extended family were former military.
But probably most alarming of all—he was grinning. Wildly.
I flicked a glance at the sleeping man in the hospital bed before creeping closer to the photo. The difference between the now and then versions of him was like night and day. If I thought he was hot before, that smile in the photo? That smile made him handsome in the way action movie heartthrobs were handsome. Sure, he was hot while scowling. But while smiling? He was a dang forest fire.
Too scared that I’d get busted snooping to risk continuing to stare at the old photo, I took my seat again. He looked angry, even in his anesthesia sleep—brows furrowed, jaw clenched, like he was fighting some internal battle even while knocked out cold.
But I guessed I would be, too, if I’d gotten shot in the butt. The man was built like he could handle a world of hurt, but no one walked away from that injury without at least some indignity.
After a while, he stirred, and I hopped to my feet. I smoothed my hands down the front of my dark teal scrubs, feeling the fabric cling to my sweaty palms. Then, I approached the bed with the same caution you’d use when creeping up on a bear fresh out of hibernation. And considering the looks he’d worn earlier, I wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t bite.
“Hey there,” I said, giving him my best bedside manner smile. “Welcome back to the land of the conscious. Need anythin’?”
He blinked at me, a deep trench forming between his thick brows. “You’re an ER nurse.”
I let out a short, breathy laugh. “I am.”
“This isn’t the ER.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, his tone every bit as peachy as Bailey had warned. “Well, seems I don’t have to ask if you know where you are. Can you tell me what day it is?”
“Yeah.”
I lifted a brow, waiting.
“Wednesday.”
“Good,” I said with a nod, working my way through the other questions to assess if he was alert and oriented. Should the PACU nurses be asking these questions? Yes. But were they here right now or even aware that their patient was awake? Nope. “Can you tell me your name?”
Instead of answering me, he flicked a glance behind me, so I looked over my shoulder at the whiteboard on the wall. His chart info was scrawled in loopy, feminine handwriting in blue marker, including his name—Tucker Black.
It seemed to fit him. If I were the aura-reading type of healer instead of a nurse, I’d guess black would be the color of his.
