“No, I haven’t had time, but…”
“Then sit down and lift your sweater so I can check you over. Sheriff Monroe told you I’m a doctor.” Before she could blink, he divested her of her coat and pressed her shoulders until she landed on the edge of the double bed, the only piece of furniture in the miniscule cabin other than the small table, two chairs and a recliner facing the fireplace. “I’m Mitchell Hoffstetter. What’s your name?”
“Lillian, and this isn’t necessary. I’m breathing fine.” Maybe a little heavier than usual, she puzzled over as he reached for the hem of her sweater and her breathing sped up. She must be more tired than she thought if she could get flustered by this polite, but not so welcoming stranger.
Ignoring her, he remained every inch the professional as he pushed her sweater above her chest and picked up her right hand to place on the bunched-up top. “Hold it up while I unwrap you. Did you do this, or did someone help you?”
I don’t have anyone anymore. She bit her lip to stop tears from forming in her eyes and gave up the ridiculous battle of trying to keep his hands off her that was costing her too much energy. “I did, yesterday.”
Mitchell tossed aside the tape and swore as he saw the purple bruising that hurt her so much. His touch was gentle as he palpated her ribs but the discomfort was enough to elicit a gasp of pain. “Sorry, pet,” he murmured, the low-voiced, distracted comment grating on her nerves.
“I’m not a damn dog,” Lillian returned, shifting away from his probing fingers.
Looking down at her, he cocked his head and stepped back, his intent gaze drawing a shiver that had nothing to do with being chilled. “Do you have a dislike of nicknames?”
“No, just of the men who use them,” she retorted.
“So you prefer women, but it wasn’t a woman who knocked you around.”
Exasperated, she blew out a breath and yanked her sweater down. “I didn’t before, but I just might learn to swing that way. Are you done poking at me?”
Mitchell’s amused grin reached his eyes. “Yes, and I didn’t feel a fracture. You’ll heal better without wrapping but you can ice them while I heat up something for dinner. When was the last time you ate?”
“Earlier today.” Lillian didn’t mention she’d only eaten a candy bar.
He turned to rummage through a cupboard above the sink. The apartment sized refrigerator with an upper freezer and stove along the wall was the extent of the kitchen. “I see I’m going to have to make sure my questions are specific. What have you eaten since this incident occurred?” He extracted a tube of antibiotic ointment and padded back over to the bed, his probing gaze once again on her face.
“Are you this bossy with all your patients? If so, I can’t imagine too many of them come back for a second appointment.” His interrogation might stem from professional concern but coming on the heels of getting free of Brad’s abusive hold on her, the constant questions grated on her already strung tight nerves.
“I don’t care about signing you on as a new patient, only about not being forced to get an air ambulance out here in the next twenty-four hours. Hold still while I apply this ointment to your cuts.”
Well, that certainly put me in my place. Guilt slid through her; she’d never thought of that. She held her breath as he rubbed the medicine onto the cut by her eye and then on her lip, his touch light but enough to warm her, or maybe she was just feverish from her injuries and exhaustion. Yes, that must be it because there was no way she was attracted to him, despite his rugged good looks and a body any red-blooded woman would drool over.
He stepped back and she stood, a sudden, room-spinning swirl of dizziness assailing her, forcing her to grab Mitchell’s shoulders. She closed her eyes against the sharp concern in his gaze as he gripped her hips and eased her back down onto the bed.
“Again, what have you eaten today?” he demanded. “Or, do you have other injuries I can’t see?”
Sighing, she opened her eyes to his face hovering right above hers, his warm breath wafting across her lips. She wondered if he included some of that bossiness in his kisses and then questioned what the heck was wrong with her to have such a thought pop into her fuzzy head. “A candy bar,” she admitted, leaving out her bruised hip and leaning back to restore her bearings.
“Figures. Stay still while I heat something up.”
Mitchell kept his annoyance under wraps as he turned on the propane fired stove and retrieved the packaged chicken breasts from the refrigerator. So much for enjoying a peaceful few days in front of the fire, away from the demands of his job and the well-meaning but nosy friends he’d made since answering the ad for a family doctor in the small town of Willow Springs. At the time, he’d thought the much slower pace would suit him, that trading the big, noisy city for a quiet, rural environment would soothe his heartbreak faster. He didn’t have the day to day memories haunting him here like in Denver where he saw Abbie’s face in every room of their home, heard her engaging laugh every time he ate at a restaurant they had frequented and pictured her writhing, glistening bare body at the BDSM club where they’d met.
But it hadn’t taken him long to discover he couldn’t flee the pain of losing her. Abbie’s sweet, biddable nature had drawn on his dominant urges and when she had submitted to him the first night they’d met, there’d been no looking back, or elsewhere for either of them. Eight years hadn’t been enough time with her, and too often he found himself resenting her for leaving him, followed by a stab of guilt from that emotional buffer.
Was it too much to ask for these few days alone so he could wallow in self-pity and rage at fate for the last two years of loneliness and sorrow?
The single overhead bulb flickered and then went out, plunging the cabin into semi-darkness, the gray cast from the one window and amber/yellow glow of burning embers in the fireplace the only sources shedding any light. Lillian didn’t say anything, which prompted him to look around and check on her. Slumped over on the bed, she lay sound asleep, her slim legs still dangling over the side, her upper body twisted at an uncomfortable angle. Grateful for the few minutes reprieve, he slid the pan off the burner, the generator kicking in as he shrugged his coat and gloves back on. At least he had stacked enough wood by the door to last a while before her presence had interrupted him.
Thirty minutes later, wood sat piled next to the fireplace and Mitchell was setting the fried chicken and a bowl of corn on the table when his guest roused. He watched her stretch and then wince as she arched back too far. Her grimace was enough to set aside the fleeting appreciation of eyeing her movements that pushed her breasts upward and shifted those long, slender legs apart. The woman looked good in snug denim.
Mitchell shoved that observance to the back of his mind in favor of getting a hot meal down her. “I would ask how long you’ve gone without sleep, but I won’t bother. Come eat something.”
Lillian sat up and scrubbed her hands over her face, mumbling, “I’m not hungry.”
“You’re irritating me, pet.” She glared at him, her eyes flashing. Why he enjoyed riling her with the nickname, he didn’t know, and he didn’t care for the way her censuring look stirred his cock.