Finding Mikayla Page 7

  “Yeah, just tired from the race,” I reply. “And I’m thinking that was probably a bad idea, what with your possible brain injury and all.” I raise my eyebrows, scolding him.

  He simply shrugs his shoulders at me as we dismount the horses and lead them over to the water. I explain the aquifer to Mitch and show him how we have directed a supply of fresh water into the heart of camp. We pass by a few of the soldiers stationed along the back perimeter and I stop to introduce Mitch to them.

  After giving Sassy and Rose time to recover from our race, we go over our plan to explore the southeast stretch of camp that houses the crops. Mitch helps me re-mount Sassy and then effortlessly mounts Rose as I watch his strong arms pull him up and over the top of her.

  We settle into a steady pace as we zig-zag our way through the different farming areas that encompass the largest part of the camp’s acreage.

  Suddenly, Sassy gets spooked, rising up on her hind legs, dislodging me from the stirrups and throwing me backwards onto the ground. I wince as I fall onto my right ankle and I’m instantly sure that I’ve caused some damage to it.

  “Shit!” Mitch calls out, watching me in horror as he quickly jumps off Rose. He runs over to where I came to rest in the mound of dirt that tried, unsuccessfully, to break my fall. On his way to me, he spots the culprit that sent Sassy running for the hills. “Looks like a Southern Diamondback—extremely poisonous. I hope the horse didn’t get bit.” He looks around and finds a large stick and expertly drives it through the head of the rattlesnake. Then he walks towards me, eyes on my now swollen ankle that I have removed from my boot.

  He crouches down next to me and leans over to try and take my foot into his hands. I raise a brow at him and say, “I’m the doctor here, you know. I’m perfectly capable of tending to my own injury.”

  “Right.” He rolls his eyes. “You do know what they say about doctors, don’t you?” he asks.

  “What, that they are the worst patients?”

  He laughs. “Okay, that, too. But I was talking about the fact that they say you should never self-diagnose.”

  “It’s no big deal, just a strain,” I run my hand over the now tender flesh on my ankle. “Alright, maybe a sprain. But definitely not broken.”

  “Stubborn woman,” he murmurs under his breath. He stares me down, then he holds out his hands and says, “Whenever you are ready for me to have a look.”

  I raise my leg in acquiescence and he carefully takes it into his lap. He runs his hands up and down my calf, and he gently palpates the bones in my foot and ankle. His touch is surprisingly light and slow as he thoughtfully regards my injury. His eyes snap up to mine and I wonder if he can feel the electricity that seems to be running from his fingers all the way up my legs and into my stomach, causing me to shiver involuntarily.

  He lightly places my foot back down while smiling to himself. He turns his head, surveying our surroundings and then he stands up and proceeds to remove his shirt.

  Huh? What the hell? If he thinks I’m going to be a quick romp in the field, he had better think again. Just because I felt a spark when he touched me, doesn’t mean I want him. I’d probably feel a spark being touched by any man after all this time. But, then John’s face quickly flashes through my mind and I know that is not the case. No, not just any man makes my insides melt. Still, just because my body has some kind of unintentional reaction to him, I don’t have to act on it. I won’t act on it. I straighten my back and gather my courage to tell him, “Mitch, I don’t know what you think you’re—”

  The sound of the tearing fabric of his shirt cuts me off and I stop mid-sentence as I watch him rip his t-shirt into even strips. When I realize that he has removed his shirt to make a wrap for my ankle and not to seduce me in this field, I feel more than a little bit stupid. Really, Mikayla? I can’t believe that for a minute I thought he was coming on to me. He said that he thought someone might be out there for him, so why would he all of a sudden set his sights on me? I need to get out of my own head and back into reality.

  I try not to watch the way his biceps and ab muscles flex every time he tears another strip from his shirt. Then I try not to feel anything when he lifts my leg into his lap and gently, yet securely, wraps the pieces of fabric around my ankle. As a doctor, I can’t help being a little awestruck over his quick and resourceful thinking. I imagine that comes from being a combat medic and always having to make do with what you have.

  “How does that feel? It’s not too tight, is it?” he asks me when he’s finished.

  I shake my head at him. Little does he know that while he was wrapping my ankle and I was trying to ignore the erotic sensations shooting up my leg, I looked around to see where Sassy may have ended up. I became acutely aware that in her absence, considering my current state, that Mitch and I just might be riding back together on Rose. And the thought completely renders me speechless.

  Minutes later, after Mitch retrieves Rose from her unexpected feast on some of the nearby crops, he is helping me up into the front part of the saddle. “You’re small enough that we can both use the same saddle,” he says. “It’ll be more comfortable than one of us trying to ride bareback.”

  All I can think is, God, I hate it when I’m right.

  When he bends down to grab my boot off the ground, I gasp when I see his naked back. There are about a dozen long, thin, crisscrossed scars spanning his broad shoulder blades and extending to the bottom of his rib cage.

  He must hear my reaction because he stands up and twists his head around so I can see the huge smile on his face. “See something you like, Mikayla?”

  “Uh . . . no, it’s not that. I mean, I wasn’t ogling your ass if that’s what you think. I was um . . .” I don’t want to make him feel self-conscious about the scars, but I also don’t want him misunderstanding my reaction. “What happened to your back, Mitch?”

  He wrinkles his brow at me, clearly confused by my question. “What do you mean?”

  My face pales when I realize that he has no idea about the scars on him. That must mean they happened within the past few years. But they are well healed—so much so that Holly and I missed them when we did our quick visual exam in the dim light when he was brought into the clinic. However, here in the bright sunlight, they are easy to see.

  It dawns on me that maybe this is why his memory hasn’t returned yet. He could be suppressing the memory of a horrible event that happened to him. If I tell him about the scars, will it trigger his memory? And if so, what will happen?

  “Mikayla?” He gets my attention again. “What’s on my back? Tell me,” he demands. “You look just like you did the other day when you realized I had amnesia.” He stretches his arms around himself as far as they will go and runs his hands down one of the raised scars. “What is that?” His wide eyes appeal to me for answers.

  “Mitch, you have several long scars across your back.” He turns around to give me a better look. “They are all well healed and appear to be at least a year or two old.”

  He narrows his eyes, still feeling around, twisting his arms to get more of a reach. “What do you think happened to me?”

  I search my mind for possible answers. “I don’t really know. Maybe you were in a fight. I suppose it could have been an animal attack. Or . . .” I bite the inside of my cheek to suppress a smile.

  “Or what, Mikayla?” he asks, looking slightly worried.

  I try hard to keep a straight face when I say, “Or you were into some pretty kinky shit, Matheson. You know, whips, cattails, canes . . . everything one can find in a ‘red room of pain’.”

  “In a what room of what?” He playfully swats my thigh. “I think you read too much for your own good, doctor.”

  At least we’re both laughing again. Between my ankle and his scars, I wasn’t sure that would happen.

  I tell him that Sassy will most likely find her way back to the stable on her own so he ties my boot onto the girth ring and expertly hoists himself up onto Rose’s back. “Let�
�s head back and get you fitted for some crutches then,” he says.

  As he settles into position behind me, I can feel the heat radiating off his thighs as they press around the outside of my legs. I reach for the reigns at the same time as Mitch does and his hands fall onto the top of mine. We both pull back and he says, “Sorry, you go.”

  “No, that’s okay, you can do it,” I tell him. I figure it’s safer this way . . . physically . . . emotionally. If he’s holding onto the reigns, he won’t have to hold onto me. But when he reaches around me again to take hold of them, I realize he has no other option but to rest his forearms on my thighs.

  Mitch turns Rose around and brings her to a slow walk. Much slower than before, presumably to keep my ankle from getting too jostled around.

  As we leisurely make our way back, I become increasingly aware of his bare chest pressing against my back, his legs capturing mine, and his hot breath caressing my ear when he speaks. He tells me about his dad who is a dentist and his mom who’s a school teacher. His older brother, Mark, followed in his dad’s footsteps and he and his dental hygienist wife went on to have three adorable girls including a set of seven-year-old twins. The tone of his voice tells me that he is sad speaking of them, but I urge him to continue and I listen intently, hanging on every word, trying to distract myself from the sensations flowing through my body.

  Rose stumbles on a bed of rocks and Mitch’s hand instinctively presses against my stomach. His large hand lands on the strip of exposed flesh between my jeans and top, holding me tightly against him, sending what feels like a shot of adrenaline straight into my heart. I wonder briefly if he felt it, too. He lets out a long, hot breath that trickles down my neck as his hand lingers longer than necessary before he removes it.

  When we finally reach the stables I find myself feeling sad. I tell myself that it’s because of my leg, because I’m destined to hobble around on crutches all week. I close my eyes and shake off the little voice in my head that tells me it’s because when I get off this horse, I will re-enter reality. That because the man sitting behind me—the man who is absentmindedly rubbing his pinky along the inseam of my jeans—has made me feel more alive today than I’ve ever felt in my twenty-seven years.

  Chapter Eight

  I lie in bed this morning, having only gotten a few fleeting hours of sleep. My mind was too busy thinking about the man across the hall and what possibilities lie therein. I didn’t even realize how lonely I was until Mitch showed up. Yesterday . . . this whole week in fact, my loneliness was alleviated simply by being around him. He seems to fill a void that I didn’t know was there—or maybe I just refused to acknowledge its existence.

  I don’t think I misread his cues. The way he touched my leg as he examined it . . . the way his eyes followed my lips when I spoke . . . the brief caress of my skin when his hand was on my belly.

  Does he want more than just a friendship? Do I? I’m so confused. The lines are all blurred now. What is allowed? When do we give up hope? Hope of Mitch’s memory returning. Hope of Jeff coming back to me.

  I’m not ready to give up yet. But, I’m not rolling over to die, either. I know no one would fault me for moving on. But the real question is—would I be able to live with myself?

  “Kaykay, up.” Little hands tug on my sheets as Rachel tries to climb up on my bed.

  I reach over and pull her up so she can lie next to me. She snuggles into me as I lie on my side and I realize how comforting it is to have this tiny human pressed against me. Fine auburn hairs are tickling my face as I breathe in the sweet smell of her.

  Moments later, her mom comes into my room with an apology. “Sorry, Kay. I hope she didn’t wake you.”

  “Are you kidding?” I say to Amanda while smiling at her precious little girl. “This is the best way to wake up. I wasn’t actually sleeping anyway. I didn’t do much but lie here all night.”

  “Your ankle is really hurting you, huh?”

  “Mmm . . . something like that,” I mumble.

  Holly sticks her head into my room and says with a big grin, “Kay, someone is at the door for you.”

  I don’t even have to ask who it is. I know he must be eager to start work today. “Tell him I’ll be out in a minute.”

  I emerge from my room a few minutes later, hobbling on crutches while trying to put on my backpack. Mitch walks over and takes the pack from me, swinging it up onto his shoulder.

  “Thanks,” I say, turning away from him so he doesn’t get a shot of my morning breath. “Uh . . . I need to shower and brush my teeth on the way.”

  He holds up his own backpack. “Me too, I’ll walk you over. How’s the ankle? Did it keep you up last night?”

  “Not so much,” I say. My eyes wander over to Amanda, who is looking at me suspiciously while sitting at the table with Rachel and Holly as all of them silently watch our exchange. “Uh, Holly, you coming?”

  “I’ll catch up with you at the clinic. You kids go on ahead,” she says, flashing us an award-winning smile. I give her my ‘I know what you’re up to’ stare before Mitch and I walk out the door.

  ~ ~ ~

  Thirty minutes later, Mitch and I open up the clinic and check the whiteboard on the door for messages. I explain that people can make an appointment by using it, or they can leave any of the medical staff a message.

  “Hmm . . .” I read a message from Kelly Nelson. “She’s getting close,” I say. I explain to him that Kelly is about thirty-seven weeks pregnant and has been having stronger Braxton Hicks contractions lately. “She’s a frequent flyer at the clinic. It’s her first child so she comes in every other day with questions about one thing or another. Even after Don gave her a book on pregnancy, she still needs constant reassurance.” He laughs when I tell him that she thought she was dying when she felt the baby hiccupping for the first time.

  “Have you delivered a lot of babies?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “No, not many. One during residency and one about four months ago, but it was an easy delivery. By the time Carla sent her friend to get me, she was crowning.”

  “Wow, only two deliveries?” he cocks his head at me in disbelief. “Even I’ve delivered more babies than that, Mikayla. How is it that a full-fledged doctor hasn’t had more experience than that?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say I’m a full-fledged doctor.” I shrug my shoulders and continue. “I was just finishing up my second year of residency when everything happened.”

  “That explains it then,” he says.

  “Explains what?”

  “I was thinking you must have been some kind of child prodigy, becoming a doctor so young. What are you, twenty-six?”

  “Twenty-seven,” I correct him.

  “Huh . . . me, too,” he says. “So, what specialty were you going for?”

  “Pediatric emergency medicine.”

  He nods his head at me. “Two specialties in one. Pretty hard core,” he says.

  “Yeah, well, I was kind of single-minded and solely focused back then.”

  “And now?” he asks.

  I think about our ride yesterday and all the things I’ve done over the past year that separate me from my former self. “Now I have other interests as well.” And although there was no hidden meaning to my words, I realize I was looking straight into his eyes when I said them, and I feel a heated blush sweep up my face at the unintentional insinuation.

  He holds my gaze while a smile forms on his lips. Then he says, “So, doctor, can I have the grand tour of the clinic? I want to carry my weight around here, or I’ll have Major Burnell putting my ass in a sling.”

  An hour later, we’re in the back room going through the filing system that I set up when a low voice calls out from the front, “Dr. Parker, you here?”

  Mitch and I walk out into the reception area to see Colonel Andrews helping Claire Taylor through the clinic entrance. He is holding a blood-soaked towel securely around her arm.

  Despite her injury, I notice Claire’s eyes ligh
t up when she sees Mitch behind me. She looks between Mitch and me and then whispers something to the colonel to which he nods his head.

  “Claire, what happened?” I ask, quickly making my way to her and helping her into an exam room.

  “I was slicing potatoes when someone dropped a pot on the floor behind me. The noise scared me half to death and the knife slipped and caught my arm.”

  Colonel Andrews adds, “It’s a pretty deep gash. She needs stitches.”

  “Let’s take a look,” I say. I squirt sanitizer on my hands and slowly peel back the towel covering her wound. It has stopped bleeding, but as the colonel suspected, it will need seven or eight stitches.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Claire asks. I look up at her to see that she is eyeing Mitch standing behind me.

  “Oh, sorry,” I say. “Mitch Matheson, this is Claire Taylor, my . . . uh—”

  “Friend,” Claire interrupts me, reaching out with her uninjured hand to shake his outstretched one.

  I’m not sure why she didn’t let me say that she is Jeff’s mom. I mean, yes, she is my friend, but still.

  “We’ll be right back, Claire.” I turn to Mitch and say, “I’ll show you where we keep the sterilized trays we use for minor procedures.”

  As I’m collecting the supplies we need, I watch Claire and the colonel through the glass in the exam room door. I wonder why he was the one to bring her to the clinic. I suspect he was simply eating in the mess hall when it happened and graciously offered to help her. I see Claire lean over to whisper something in his ear before he turns his head to look in our direction.

  Mitch and I return to the exam room to set up for the procedure when Colonel Andrews asks to speak with me in the hallway. I tell Mitch, “Use the iodine to clean the wound and I’ll be right back.”

  In the hall, the colonel asks me to keep a close eye on Mitch for a few weeks, having him only work my shifts so that I can assess his medical skills and figure out how he can best contribute around the clinic. “Of course,” I tell Colonel Andrews. I take a second to figure out if I’m delighted or dismayed at the thought of having Mitch constantly by my side.