Mystic Cowboy(7)

“Yes, ma’am.”

That wasn’t helpful. “I need to know how this happened, Mister…”

“Rebel,” he said, those hips still moving.

She was not staring like a schoolgirl at this man. “Excuse me?”

“Just Rebel, ma’am.”

A shiver ran down her spine. One more ma’am and she might swoon. “Dr. Mitchell,” she said with more force as she turned to her patient. Clarence had finished cutting the duct tape off. “And how did this happen?”

“Dirt bike,” Rebel said with a shrug. “Thinks he’s going to make the X-Games circuit.”

“Jesus, Jesse.” Tara edged ever closer to hysteria. “That’s your fresh new start? You’re going to get yourself killed!”

There was something else going on here, something that went a little deeper than the friendly compassion Tara had shown everyone else.

“Nobody’s dead yet.” Madeline kept her voice low, hoping to regain some semblance of control. “What exactly happened on the bike?”

Rebel finally stopped looking at her. She could tell, even though she had her back to him, because her neck stopped sweating. Then he was standing by her side, pointing to the splint. “He rolled it. Heard his leg sort of snap.” Tara’s face turned white as Jesse groaned, but everyone else just nodded.

“And the arm?”

“Hit the ground funny. Obviously.”

Madeline considered the situation. They only had four films left for the X-ray machine. In good conscience, she could only take two films—one for the leg, one for the shoulder. “Only two,” she said to Clarence, and he nodded. Hopefully, she’d get the shots she needed on the first try. The phone rang. “Tara.” But the young woman didn’t move. “Tara, the phone.”

“I got it,” Rebel said, moving so fast that he picked up the phone before the third ring. “Clinic.”

“Um, Clarence?” She wanted to tread carefully—first impressions and all—but she’d never worked anywhere where a patient just jumped into the fray. But Rebel wasn’t a patient, her brain noted. And was an entirely different matter. “He can’t answer the phone—can he?”

“Sorry, Doc.” Clarence wheeled the X-ray machine over to Jesse and loaded the precious film. Mentally, Madeline added film to the list, which made it the most expensive item out of all of the must-haves. “Rebel helps out some. He knows how to answer the phone, but he hasn’t learned the machine yet.”

He helped out? This was bordering on insane, but she tried to ignore that fact. Frankly, at the moment, she could use a little help. Really, was this any different from a normal day at the E.R.? The only difference was that she didn’t know everyone. She didn’t know Rebel.

Yet. She glanced back at him. She didn’t know him yet.

“Hiya, Irma,” Rebel was saying as he sat in Tara’s chair. “Yup—new doctor.” Despite her confusion, Madeline’s ears perked up. What would Fun in Cowboy Boots say about her? “Yeah, she’s a little busy right now. Jesse crashed his bike. No, really.” His eyes settled on her again, sending her temperature up a notch. God, was she imagining things, or was he interested? “She looks like a good one.”

Not imagining that. Her cheeks warmed at the compliment. If things got much hotter, she was going to officially melt.

Now Tara was crying. “What about Nelly, huh?” She was never going to take her phone away from Fun named Rebel. “You promised you’d help out with Nelly more now that you’re home, Jesse,” Tara sniveled. “How are you going to do that if you’re all busted up?”

Days of Our Lives. Madeline cut the rest of Jesse’s shirt off. That certainly isn’t any different than Ohio, she thought with a smirk. Jesse had Army tattooed on his biceps. Ah. He must be home from the Middle East.

“How about Thursday?” Rebel was saying. “Earlier would be better. I think you’ll like her.”

Okay. Yes. This was insane. Beyond certifiable. But she still had a broken bone to set. She forcibly directed all her attention to her patient. “Get him some of that Tylenol. Sorry, Jesse, but it’s all we’ve got.” Jesse nodded, his eyes watering. “Do we have enough fiberglass?” she asked Clarence. Because all signs up to this moment pointed to no.

“We don’t have fiberglass. We got a little plaster of Paris,” he said as he shifted Jesse around on the bed. “Rebel can mix it while we do this, if it’s okay with you.”

Plaster of Paris? No one used that stuff anymore. And Rebel could mix it? What the hell? She turned to look at the man in question. He whipped his hat off his head again. “I help out,” he explained, somehow managing to look both sheepish and sexy. “But only if it’s okay with you.”