Page 5 of Lush Curves

“Oh, no. Don’t be silly.” She stretched, and he saw how her full, lush breasts pushed up against the thin material of her uniform blouse. The blouse was cheap and a faded pink from far too many washings and it clashed with her red hair, but he didn’t give a good goddamn. She looked lovely. “People around here have more important things to worry about than a visitor’s chair, Doctor Innis.”

“Sam,” he reminded her, ushering her towards the hallway now. “Sam, please.”

“OK.” She sighed as she stepped out into the hallway, then almost immediately spun around, almost as if she expected Sarah to have woken up in the time that it had taken her to cross the room. “So… any news, Sam?”

“I’m sorry.” He leaned back against the window ledge. “Not yet.”

She nodded again, looked at her hands. They were rough hands, worn from years of dishwashing and carrying things, from being burnt and strained. Still, he wanted to reach out, take one in his own large, capable hand. He wondered if Annie was a hand-holder; decided on the whole, probably not. She didn’t look like the kind of woman who wanted her hand held throughanythingin life.

“Here,” he said now, handing her the coffee. “I thought you might need this.”

“Oh!” She looked startled again. “Thank you… how much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.” He grinned down at her from his considerable height. Annie wasn’t a little pixie, but he still towered over her. “I saw you come in early this morning, and figured that you could use it by now.”

“You ain’t wrong, doc,” she said wryly as she opened the lid, peered in. She paused. “Is that – is thatcinnamon?”

“Yep.” Sam grinned wider. “I know you love black coffee with a scoop of brown sugar and a sprinkle of cinnamon.”

She blinked up at him. “How did you – I mean… I asked Jax for a coffeeoncewhen you were in Sarah’s room, I think… how could youpossiblyremember how I like my coffee?”

Because I listen when you talk, baby. I hear every single thing that you say – and I hear most things that youdon’tsay, too.

“I’m a doctor,” he said. “And a trauma surgeon. I’mallabout noticing and remembering the details, Annie. Lives depend on it. Coffee orders, too.”

She gave a tiny laugh. “Yeah. That makes sense. I bet your brain is like a steel trap.” She took a sip of her coffee, sighed. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” He looked over at Noah and Jax, lowered his voice a bit. “How are they doing?”

She glanced over at them too, lowered her gorgeous eyes. “Well… I don’t know. Jax is – well. He’s angry. No, correction: he’s furious.” She looked up at Sam. “You saw his hand?”

“From when he tried to punch a hole through the brick wall down in the ambulance bay?” Sam asked. “Yes. Sometimes people need to express things physically, though it tends to be hell on the body when they do.”

“Yeah, no argument from me.” Annie drank some more coffee, and now she looked out the massive arched window at the vibrant early-autumn colors up on the Rockies. With a shock, she realised that Christmas was a mere three-plus months away, and she had literallyno ideaif this was going to be the first one without her daughter. She wrenched her mind away from the gloomy thoughts, reminded herself that she needed to stay positive for her children. “But he’s not doing well at all. And Noah is… well. I know that he may look like he hasn’t got a damncluewhat’s going on, but make no mistake: he knows, and I meanexactly. He and Sarah, they have this… connection. She’s always been the only person who couldreallyreach him, understand him, help him to change and cope. And he’salwaysknown things about her – things she’s thinking and feeling – that he shouldn’t or couldn’tpossiblyknow. But he does. Noah might not be great at expressing emotion… but he does feel it, and he does understand it. On some level.”

“I can tell,” Sam said. “And you? How are you, Annie?”

“Me?” She continued to stare up at the trees and mountains. “I’m fine. You know.”

“…Annie.” His deep voice was gentle.

“Yes?” Her eyes were still fixed far, far above her. “Yes, Sam?”

“Look at me.”

She shook her head.

“Why not?”

“Because.” Her voice trembled. “Because if I see the pity on your face, it’ll finish me, and I can’t fall apart. I justcan’t, because if I do, I might not be able to put myself together again.”

“No pity, I promise. Look at me. Please.”

Annie turned her head to face Sam; her eyes met his, then locked. And all she saw was kindness and something else…

Caring?

“Yes, Sam?” she asked again, more calmly.

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