Healing the Quarterback (Wildhorse Ranch Brothers Book 2) Page 5

  A gunshot exploded in the background. Dylan jerked, and her knee came down on Charlie's left leg, nearly staking him to the couch. The quarterback reared away from her and clenched his teeth shut against a cry of pain; every tendon in his neck strained with the effort.

  "Oh, my God! I'm so sorry, Charlie!"

  Dylan was up off the couch as explosively as the next shot that cracked from the TV. The cowboys onscreen had gone to war with the outlaws. Dylan hovered her hands in the darkness as if she didn't trust them to return to him. Charlie propped himself up sideways on his forearm and winced.

  "It's fine," he growled. "I'm fine. Get back over here."

  "Absolutely not." She was in full-on doctor mode now. She should have been in full-on doctor mode all along—he was a patient, for God's sake, not a hook-up. All irresistibly tousled, horizontally laid, six and a half feet of Charlie Wild required her professional protection—not her sexual advances. "I never should have done that."

  "We never should have done that," Charlie quickly corrected her, "but we did. We're both equally responsible for what just happened." He arched an eyebrow at her. "Or did you think you were taking advantage of me?"

  "I am taking advantage." Dylan was determined to get through to him. To get through to both of them, since she clearly needed a reminder of where the boundaries were. "I'm your doctor. You're my patient. It's absolutely against the rules."

  "You mean it would be taboo to continue," Charlie said. She hated that suggestive look in his eyes. It was too open, too encouraging—it promised that every temptation she wanted to taste with him would be that much more savory for how forbidden it was. She pushed back the dark, snarled curtain of her hair, trying to banish the knots his fingers had made.

  "No, not…taboo. What am I saying?" she muttered aloud. "Yes, it would absolutely be taboo, but not in the fun sense—which is clearly how you're framing it for yourself."

  "So, you admit it can be fun."

  Dylan growled in frustration. "There's a balance of power at play here, Charlie. It would be unethical for me to press any advantage I have over you—acknowledged or otherwise." She crossed her arms to punctuate the point.

  "Dylan. Come on." Charlie held his hands out as if he were a particularly tasty spread at a party. Maybe he was. Dylan shook her head to banish the thought. "Look at me. No one has ever taken advantage of me in my life. I could be down both legs and an arm, and I'd still be in charge of the situation. Or at least totally complicit in it. And I was totally complicit in what was happening earlier. Will you look at me?" he repeated, when she refused to meet his gaze

  "I do look at you, Charlie. That's the problem." Dylan bent to retrieve the popcorn bowl before thinking better of it. Going after the bowl would only put her back in Charlie's range, and she didn't trust him not to make a grab for her. "I'm going to get you an ice pack," she said instead. She turned on her heel and walked resolutely toward the kitchen. "Do not move from that couch. I'll be right back."

  "Care to do some more looking when you get back?" Charlie called after her.

  Dylan paused in the kitchen doorway. She took a deep breath, summoning all her self-control, then turned around. "I want you to keep that leg iced and elevated." She was a machine reading off an internal script. "Barring trips to the bathroom, I want you to stay where you are for the rest of the night if you can. I'm going to grab you a blanket and pillow to help you get situated before I go."

  "I don't need help getting situated," Charlie growled. Ironically, he chose that moment to reach down and adjust the front of his pants. Dylan knew she shouldn't smile or take any sort of pleasure in seeing the state she had left him in. Anyone else might feel sorry for what they had done. She certainly felt sorry for pushing the boundaries of ethical behavior with Charlie, but she couldn't honestly say she felt bad for leaving him sexually frustrated. She was just as frustrated, even if his physical symptoms were more…obvious.

  "Hang tight," she advised him. She moved out of view of the main room; as she left, she heard his groan and the unmistakable sound of six and a half feet of quarterback toppling back into the couch.

  Be as cold as the ice pack, Dylan, she thought as she pulled open Charlie's freezer. Cold as the ice pack. And when you get home…you'll have earned yourself a hot date with a cold, cold shower.

  Too bad the hot date she really wanted was with her hunky, fully-erect patient in the other room. Time to put some professional distance between herself and Charlie Wild. If she couldn't banish this attraction to him, then she would have to suppress it.

  Easier said than done.

  4

  Charlie

  "Quit looking at me like that," Dylan whispered ferociously.

  "Like what?" Charlie asked. He knew exactly what she meant; he just wanted to hear her say it.

  Dylan sighed and leaned back from her office desk, pushing her hair out of her eyes. He still remembered the way it had felt, wrapped around his fingers the night before. He liked the way the dark, voluminous waves framed her face but couldn't help imagining how things might be different the next time if she kept it secured in a ponytail. He could wrap it around his fist, steering the movements of her head. He imagined her kneeling down between his legs, that scowling, curvaceous mouth wrapped around his…

  "You're doing it again," Dylan hissed.

  He imagined her bent beneath him. He imagined watching the perspiration roll down the exquisite, shuddering shoulders, her ponytail fisted in his hand as he positioned himself behind her…

  "Charlie!"

  Charlie started in his chair. Like most furniture at the hospital, the seat was several sizes too small for him; the legs seemed ready to buckle beneath his weight at any moment, and letting his doctor scare the hell out of him wasn't improving his chances of staying upright.

  Dylan seemed to have buckled legs on her mind as well. "Mr. Wild," she overcorrected herself, "I would appreciate it if you…if I could keep your attention for more than a minute to talk about your progress at our facility."

  "'Mr. Wild,'" Charlie repeated, easing back and crossing his arms. "See, I'm not sure I like that."

  Dylan lowered her eyes pointedly. "You don't?"

  God dammit. He didn't need to look down to know that he had managed to pop a raging erection while entertaining his ponytail fantasies about Dylan. He decided to own it, like he owned most things about himself. He kept his arms crossed and grinned at her.

  "Would you like to take a moment to adjust?" she offered.

  "I'd like to take you out to dinner," he counteroffered instead. "A real one this time. Not that the Tin Horseshoe isn't quaint, but why don't you and I plan something more metropolitan for this weekend? Dallas. Fort Worth. Austin. You name the restaurant, and my name'll get us in."

  He liked the way her eyes flirted with looking at his package and the way she had to master herself each time. He liked the way Dylan Rose did anything. He even liked the way she tapped her pen rapidly in his presence, like tiny machine gun fire she had no control over. She crossed and then re-crossed her legs. Charlie edged his own legs open a bit wider.

  "You've been doing good," she blurted. She clenched her eyes shut. "Well. You've been doing well."

  "So why don't I get a gold star?" Charlie inquired.

  He didn't know what it was about a star that triggered her, but Dylan rose abruptly from behind her chair. She leaned forward, and Charlie's eyes dropped immediately to her cleavage.

  "Charlie, if you're doing everything I've told you to do with the expectation of earning a date, then as your doctor, I feel it's my duty to tell you you're shit out of luck!" Dylan snapped. She cut a quick glance to the closed door, like she thought there might be listening ears on the other side.

  You need to get laid. He was smart enough not to speak the thought. "I make my own luck," he said aloud. "And I don't wait around for someone else's rules to align with what I want."

  "You need to start getting serious about this," Dylan continued. "This
is your career on the line. You know that. I need you to push yourself harder for something other than a date."

  "Don't tell me I don't know how to push myself, Doc," Charlie said coldly.

  "You certainly know how to push," Dylan countered.

  "You would know."

  Her face colored. She glanced down quickly, her thick lashes kissing her cheeks as if she could wish her blush away. So, she wasn't as far out of his reach as she wanted herself to be.

  Now it was Charlie's turn to glance over at the door. What were the chances of someone walking in on them in the next five, ten, fifteen minutes? How much could he get away with in that amount of time?

  He thought he could get away with just enough.

  "Charlie." Dylan said his name again. A warning. "We need to talk about the very real possibility that your—"

  "Charlie Wild! Charlie Wild!"

  Someone ran down the hallway shouting his name. Charlie was used to hearing his name chanted and repeated, but it felt out of place in Lockhart Bend. He looked at Dylan to confirm he hadn't imagined it before rising out of his chair and following her to the door. They both poked their heads out into the hall.

  "Nicholas!" A Critical Care nurse shouted after her charge. "Nicholas, no running in the halls! Mr. Wild is right here!"

  Charlie stepped out into the hallway and waved to his tiny, overexcited friend. Nicholas rushed back to him; Charlie lowered himself down gingerly to one knee and held out his arms. He knew a hug when he saw one coming. Nicholas threw himself against Charlie's chest. Charlie wrapped his arms around the little boy gingerly and boomed a laugh.

  "Whoa! Slow down, dude! What's up?" he asked.

  "The games arrived!" Nicholas exclaimed excitedly. "Can I show you? Can I show you what they brought?"

  "What games?" Dylan stood back with the Critical Care nurse, watching the scene unfold with an incredulous look on her face. "What who brought?"

  Nicholas gave an ecstatic giggle. He turned to look at Dylan, before glancing away shyly. "She's pretty," he whispered into Charlie's ear.

  "Tell me about it," Charlie said. He raised his eyes to Dylan and noted her exasperated smile.

  “Come now!” Nicholas said quickly. He grabbed Charlie's enormous hand in his and yanked with all his might. Charlie rose slowly and followed him away from the office toward the Critical Care wing. The two women trailed behind them.

  At first, Charlie wasn't a hundred percent certain that Nicholas had led him to the right wing. He had only been by the Critical Care once before, and Lockhart Bend's facility was fairly big despite the diminutive town that housed it.

  Now, he barely recognized the ward. Boys and girls and wheelchair-bound elderly gathered around the pile of boxes stacked in the hall, the electronics companies’ names emblazoned across the cardboard. A couple boxes had been opened from impatience, and nurses and patients swapped game controllers back and forth between them. Charlie realized ordering the wireless systems had been a good idea. Many of the patients, regardless of age, were hooked to oxygen tubes, IVs, and feeders, and additional cords would have only gotten in the way.

  Nicholas detached from Charlie when a few of his fellow patients called over to him. He ran to join them as they ripped into a game system box.

  "What…is all this?" Dylan gasped.

  "The TVs and game systems arrived early this morning," Nicholas' nurse said in wonder. "And so did a crew to install them, though they've only gotten one up and running so far."

  Charlie turned, grinning, to gauge Dylan's response to all this. Her mouth hung open, and she blinked so rapidly he couldn't decide whether she was caught in a state of disbelief or disapproval. It was a cute look, in either case.

  "You like it? I purchased one for every room." He gestured to where Nicholas sat with his buddies on a single bed, their identical bald heads all crowded over the instruction manual for the console. "Nicholas told me that out of everything he's been through since he got diagnosed, he found boredom at the hospital to be the worst. I figured I'd bring a little entertainment into everyone's lives. It's what a guy like me is good for, right?"

  "This is wonderful." Dylan's eyes shimmered faintly, but she didn't cry. She gazed at the tableau of laughing boys and girls. "I've never seen them so…you got one for every room? Are you serious?"

  "Just for this ward."

  "For the entire ward?"

  Charlie shrugged. "For once, I wanted to do the responsible thing and hold back. Do a trial run. I figured you of all people would approve of my restraint."

  "Imagine you. Responsible." Dylan gave a laugh at the word, but it wasn't cruel. It was genuine, and the purity of the sound made Charlie feel encouraged.

  "Admit it." He leaned sideways to murmur into Dylan's ear. "You kind of want to kiss me right now."

  "Oh, I definitely do."

  Her whispered answer took him by surprise. He had teased her with the full expectation of having his efforts thrown back in his face. Now, his teasing seemed that much more weighted in hindsight.

  Because Dylan wasn't teasing back.

  She wouldn't look at him. Not right away. Once she had put some distance between herself and her words, her shoulders rose in a deep breath, and she tipped her head back. Their eyes met. Charlie found himself helplessly drawn in. He wanted to slide a hand across the fragile bones of her exposed neck from behind. He wanted to master the jut of that stubborn chin; he wanted to watch her eyes flutter shut as she gave over to the guidance of his hand. His arm was already half-raised by the time the pair of lips he watched parted themselves to speak.

  "How did you pay for this?" Her green eyes searched his. "Out of your own pocket?"

  "Er," Charlie said. "About that…"

  5

  Dylan

  "Dr. Rose, please tell the board that this is someone's idea of a joke!"

  Dylan winced beneath her supervisor's words and wished she could take it back. Any show of weakness and these people would eat her alive. At least Charlie appeared to be feeling some sympathy for her. He sat further forward in his chair than she had ever seen him before, and he looked ready to leap up and come to her defense at any moment.

  As well he should! This whole debacle was entirely his fault. When would it be his turn to stand up and get grilled?

  "Tell me they're rentals," the hospital head interrupted Dylan's direct supervisor. "At least tell me that much."

  "Nope!" A pair of glasses from the financial department quickly put up his hand. "The flat screens and gaming systems were all purchased using the donation intended for Sports Medicine."

  All eyes turned to look at her accusingly, while Dylan's eyes burned into the closed-lipped Austin celebrity staring at the far wall. What was that about wanting to do the 'responsible' thing, Charlie?

  She could murder the quarterback. Well, maybe not in a fair fight, but she was willing to sink to inconceivable lows at this point. A drop of arsenic in his protein powder, maybe, or…

  God, how often does the thought of murder cross my mind in this room? Dylan thought as she glanced around herself. Out loud, she said, "Pardon me, but I need a moment to process…"

  "There's nothing more to process." Charlie rose from his chair. His immediate command of the room was obvious, and Dylan would have felt instant relief at having him stand now if she didn't so desperately want him six feet under in an unmarked grave. "Dr. Rose had nothing to do with this, and I think we all know that. And she won't be the scapegoat for my mistakes. She didn't whisper in my ear and convince me to do this, if that's what you're thinking. I spoke to the other Teamsters, and we all decided as a team to reroute the donation to Critical Care to pay for the TVs."

  "But why, Charlie?" Smitty demanded. "We already told the public that money was going to the Sports Medicine Department!"

  "What? The optics suddenly don't look good enough for you, Smitty?" Charlie demanded. "You think a bunch of smiling sick kids won't play well? Think showing the reality of that underfunded Crit
ical Care ward is going to make people uncomfortable?"

  "We'll fundraise," Dylan blurted. All eyes turned back toward her, and she soldiered on valiantly. "We'll hold a fundraiser for the hospital—sooner rather than later, while Charlie's stunt is still fresh. We'll aim to take in the missing money for Sports Med, and any additional donations we get will go directly to Critical Care now that awareness has been raised."

  "That's not a bad plan," the hospital head said. "I'll get our event planners working on it immediately. Mr. Smith," she said to Smitty, "expect our communications and PR staff to be in touch with your team in the next few hours. I want to get out ahead of this and spin it to our best advantage. So long as Mr. Wild agrees to make a personal appearance and be our main spokesperson on this, I don't see how we can't split resources and all come away happy."

  "You pissed at me?" Charlie asked her as the rest of the boardroom disbanded. Dylan tried to escape into the hallway so she could lock herself in her office and tear paper to vent her frustration, but he snagged her arm before she could so much as make it a foot from the door.

  "I'm not pissed." She lied through her teeth, but whether or not she was angry at him wasn't the point right now. She strained, closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath. When she opened them again, Charlie was gazing down at her in amusement. "Charlie," she began again, "I agree with the hospital head. This can be a good thing. Not just for Lockhart General and all the kids in the Critical Care ward, but for you. Have you ever thought about devoting your time to more projects like this?"