Page 40 of Engaging with Her Enemy

The doctor walked into the waiting room. His eyes tracked to Becky, grimaced, before focusing on Cameron. “Is there anyone of relation to Mr. Stokes?” He glanced sideways at Becky again. That's right. He should be nervous. The jerk that wouldn't give her an update on Hudson's status the first two times he walked outside.

“Well...” Cameron glanced at Becky again.

She stepped away from Eliza. Cameron took a step closer, maybe to restrain her, but she held up her hand.

“I'm his wife.”

The wrinkles on the doctor's forehead deepened. “Wife?”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat and shifted. “Yes, I'm his wife.”

He looked around the room. No one said anything different, even Cameron kept his goody-two-shoes mouth shut. “Alright. I'll go with that, I suppose. Might be safer that way, regardless. Mrs. Stokes,” he said, emphasizing her name, “the bullet skimmed over a minor artery.”

“Is he going to be alright?” He had to be. He'd survived so much.

“Yes. I believe so. I didn't see any nerve damage. The surgery repaired everything.”

Cameron's arm came around her shoulders, and she realized she was silently crying. Shit. She never cried and hated it. She wiped her face. “When do I get to see him?”

The doctor's eyes softened. “In a couple hours. Once he wakes up, I'll be sure to tell him that hiswifewill be here to see him.”

Becky let out a small laugh as it hit her. “He'll never let me live this down.”

The doctor winked. “I wouldn't either.”

14

Not only did he wake-up in a hospital for a second time in his life, but now Hudson had a wife. It had to be Becky. No long, lost lovers tracking him down. The nurse had announced with some humor that his wife had made quite a scene in the waiting area with both the Deputies from the small town over an hour away.

And two of the nurses cut their shift short, having left to avoid the angry woman.

And the janitor had put an “Out of Order” sign on the coffee machine after he’d cleaned up the second cup she’d thrown.

He glanced down at the bandage. At least he wasn't completely immobilized. He wiggled his fingers. Shit. Fire shot through his arm. He growled with the pain.

His nurse, a curvy girl around twenty-five he'd guess, with bright blue eyes and white-blond hair laid a pain button across his lap. “Now, don't try to be manly and not use it, honey.”

He'd not used those pain meds since being in the hospital with his leg. Never again. “I'll take something else, please.” He tossed the button over the bed rail. “Not that.”

She took the button away with a frown wrinkling her forehead. “Fine. I'll see what the doctor wants to give you.” She held up a cup of water. “Do you want a sip?”

He licked his lips and took the water. “Yes, thank you. Can you find me a toothbrush?”

She laughed and walked out of the room to return a moment later. “Looking your best for your wife. That's nice.” She helped him brush his teeth before handing him another cup of water.

After draining the second glass, he felt like a different person. “Where's my leg?”

Her smile froze in place. She waved her hand. “Right here, behind the table next to your bed. But you really shouldn't—”

“Can you hand it to me?”

“You don't need to get up.”

“I asked you to hand it to me.” He tried to sit up, grimacing through the pain. The awkwardness of pushing up in the bed with his arm brought him back to the same place as the first time he'd awoken after surgery. Trapped. God, he hated that feeling.

“See, you need to lay back and relax. Let your body heal.”

“I want my prosthetic. Now.” His head fell back to the pillow, sweat popping out in beads along his forehead. Crap, this sucked.

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