Page 47 of Nicole's Shelter

“He’s right though,” Nicole said.

“First things first, young lady.” He barked orders at Rick as he prepared for x-ray. “Go clean up your truck. This will take some time. Supplies are in the closet by the back door.”

“Great idea,” Rick muttered when he was alone in the hallway. He hated letting Nicole out of his sight, but he had to trust Bart’s recommendation as the only viable solution for medical care. Hospitals were full of security cameras and personnel and he wouldn’t risk anyone recognizing her from the news reports.

He found the supplies and ignored the twinge of his wounded back as he cleaned the blood out of the seats.

Just as he was sending a text to update Eva, the doc called from the back door, “Get in here and be useful.”

“Yes, sir!” He hurried over, only to be stopped with a strong hand on his chest.

“Her neck isn’t broken. Her vision is gone. Temporarily, I believe, but she’s quite upset. She’s asked for you.” Clearly the doc didn’t care much for the idea. “Be positive in there or you’re out.”

“Yes, sir,” Rick repeated, smothering his temper at the doc and burying his concern for Nicole under battle-field confidence. It was standard to keep reactions to a minimum in a crisis. He knew the loss of her vision—even temporarily—must be scaring the hell out of a woman who cataloged her whole life in images.

* * *

Alone in the exam room, Nicole knew crying wouldn’t help a thing, but the tears kept rolling down her cheeks. Stupid, she thought, swiping at them with her fingers.

The doc told her it was likely a temporary condition, an opinion he’d emphasized when he explained the laceration and blunt force injury to the back of her head. He’d sounded calm and competent as he told her she just needed a bit of time.

Did they have time? She couldn’t remember anything but her desperation to get out of the car.

Now she was face down on an exam table, waiting for the topical to kick in so Doc could stitch up the gash in her scalp. The world was different without her sight. Her ears picked up details of birds outside as well as the deeper exchange of male voices nearby. Doc was probably filling in Rick. What would he think, now that she was more of a hindrance than ever? She should tell him to leave and he should actually go this time. The thought brought more tears. All she’d wanted was to get away, to make her escape alone, but now… alone wasn’t what she wanted at all.

To get her mind off that gloomy track, she took a physical inventory. The aches radiating up and down her body were mild compared to the pounding in her head. Doc said she had a concussion, and had promised her something for the pain after he stitched her up.

She heard footsteps in the hallway, surprising herself that she could discern Doc’s stride from Rick’s. Maybe she was just making it up, maybe he’d left already, maybe—

“Your friend is here, Ms. Livingston.”

“Thank you.” She couldn’t suppress the gush of relief.

“You’re taking the guy thing a bit seriously with the hair. I really will have to call you Nick now.”

She felt the smile tilt her lips and reached her hand out in the direction of his voice. When his rough palm met hers, she felt the tension across her shoulders ease. “Doc said he didn’t have to shave that much.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“You didn’t trust me that easily.”

“You didn’t mention a medical degree. And your bedside manner is lousy.” She gulped. This wasn’t the time to be thinking of Rick or beds. Or maybe it was. Her vivid memory of him at the hotel, sitting on the bed in only that towel…

“A little pressure, Ms. Livingston.”

The doctor’s voice was a welcome distraction, though she couldn’t say the same for the stitches.

“Hey,” Rick said, the smile clear in his voice, “At least we don’t have to worry about a potential death by countertop now.”

“You’re not funny,” she said, trying not to laugh. “I get a little woozy at the sight of my own blood,” she explained for the doc.

“Common condition.”

Grateful he made quick work of the process, she was surprised when he ordered them to switch places.

“Rick?” She clutched his hand. “What’s wrong?”

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