Rebel Doc on Her Doorstep
Author
Lucy Ryder
Reads
19,1K
Chapters
13
Chapter One
DR. PAIGE CARLYLE jolted awake from her first decent sleep in over a week. One minute she was dreaming about lying on the deck of a sleek boat while a hot captain rubbed oil all over her body, the next...nightmare city.
Frozen with fright, Paige strained for the noise that had awakened her. Vaguely aware that her heart was pounding like that of an overexcited kid pigging out on Halloween candy, she held her breath until... There, she thought when the sound came again. There it is. A heavy thud followed by...cursing?
In the darkness her eyes widened and her heart rate doubled, banging against her ribs like it was practicing for a world heavyweight title.
You have got to be kidding me!
An intruder?
What the heck had happened to the Chamber of Commerce’s pledge that crime was non-existent in Port St. John’s? What about her landlord’s blithe assurances that she could sleep with her doors unlocked?
Yeah, right, she snorted. Try telling that to her intruder.
A large male intruder by the sounds of it.
Had she locked the front door? The sliding French doors leading to the deck? Dammit, she couldn’t remember. But she’d been in the seaside town eight months and hadn’t developed any reckless habits of leaving everything unlocked, so she was almost certain she had.
But “almost” wasn’t certain enough, she told herself frantically. Not when a woman’s worst nightmare was about to unfold. Oh, God. Not when she didn’t have a weapon to defend herself with.
Why hadn’t she just stayed in the city where everyone locked themselves behind thick doors and deadbolts? Yeah, and while she was at it, why hadn’t she just robbed a bank to pay for med school instead of signing her life away on a scholarship?
If she had she wouldn’t be here now. Instead of paying off her debt, she’d be working as a pediatrician. Probably from behind bars but, what the heck, at least she wouldn’t be—
Black dots began to appear in her vision and she realized she was still holding her breath. Expelling it on a quiet rush, Paige tossed back the covers and eased to the edge of the bed, searching in the dark for her cellphone.
It wasn’t there and for one panicked moment she couldn’t remember where she’d left it... Instead, her hand came into contact with a heavy flashlight she’d used a few nights earlier when they’d had a blackout.
Okay. Weapon? Check.
Nerve? Oh, boy.
With the heavy weight in her hand, her head cleared enough to recall the brotherly advice she’d received over the years. But actually doing it was a far cry from practicing on three hulking males who thought it hysterically funny to simply put a big hand on her head and hold her an arm’s length away while she “practiced” taking them down.
Bolstered by the fact that she knew a few badass moves and could totally defend herself—she hoped—Paige breathed in and out a few times then headed for the door. She carefully poked her head into the passage, swallowing a squeak of terror when she heard a crash and another round of inventive cursing.
Gulping, she slapped a hand over her galloping heart before it crashed right through her ribs and went tearing off down the stairs, probably to escape out the front door.
Oh, yeah. She was totally kicking this badass thing.
But that was okay, she thought, lifting the flashlight like a baseball bat and giving it a practice swing. The flashlight could probably crush a skull or break a kneecap. Maybe. Probably...in the hands of someone weighing more than one twenty-five soaking wet...but it was all she had.
Tiptoeing to the landing, Paige peered over the railing where light from a nearby streetlamp shone through the stained-glass door inset, illuminating the entrance like a church. She hoped it wasn’t a sign that she was about to sing with the angels.
Squaring her shoulders, Paige descended the stairs, bare feet silent on the treads, muscles tensed in preparation for a quick getaway through the front door, and...rolled her eyes.
Look at her, all brave and fierce.
If her brothers could see her now they’d probably die laughing. Or disown her.
There was another loud thud and a couple of beats later a round of pithy curses. Huffing out a breath that disturbed tendrils of wild bed hair, Paige tightened her grip on the flashlight and reached for the landline phone mounted on the wall. She heard the voice of the 911 operator in her ear asking about her emergency and it took a few seconds to realize the intruder was moving again.
Towards her.
Eek.
She caught a brief glimpse of a huge black shadow, arm outstretched like the walking dead, and before she could stop herself she opened her mouth and let rip with a scream worthy of a B-grade slasher flick.
The hulk stopped, swayed for a second before shoving out a hand to steady himself against the wall. A deep voice snarled, “What the—? Who the hell are you?”
She let out another shriek and reacted by heaving the heavy flashlight at him. She heard it connect solidly, he gave a soft grunt, and the next second toppled. Just like a giant redwood. Whomp! Landing hard enough to shake the earth.
For several long moments he didn’t move and neither did Paige as the flashlight spun in crazy circles on the wooden floor. The impact must have switched it on and with each rotation its beam briefly illuminated the man lying face down on her entrance floor.
Just like a corpse on TV.
When he remained motionless, Paige grabbed the flashlight mid-spin and trained the beam on him, ready to whack him if he so much as twitched.
Beam wobbling in her sweaty grasp, she edged closer and gingerly stretched out a leg to poke him with her foot. He gave a low groan and she jumped back, a strangled squeak catching in her throat.
After a minute of nothing but Paige’s ragged breathing, she prodded him a bit harder. Okay, so it was more of a kick but she needed to make sure he wasn’t lulling her into a false sense of security before grabbing her and giving her a coronary before she turned thirty.
When he didn’t move or make any more creepy sounds, she leaned a little closer...and... Holy cow...sucked in a shocked breath.
He was gorgeous.
At least what she could see of him under all the scrapes and bruises. She didn’t know what she’d expected an intruder to look like, but yeesh, gorgeous wasn’t it.
Damn. What a waste of man candy.
Had she...?
Her heart skipped a couple of beats until she saw that his right hand and arm was encased in a cast. Exhaling in a gusty whoosh, she decided that no way had she done all that. Besides, she was five-five and he was...over six feet...and solid looking. Big enough to squash her like a bug if she hadn’t panicked and thrown the flashlight at him.
He was all hard angles and masculine power, with the face of a warrior angel...fierce and awesome male beauty relaxed in...
Paige gulped.
Oh gosh, she thought a little hysterically, had she just killed the hottest guy in the northern hemisphere? A guy who looked like he’d gone a couple of rounds with the Exterminator and survived. Only to be felled by a...a—
Reality finally hit her and she sagged against the wall, a shaky laugh escaping. It was filled with more than a little hysteria because... Wow. She’d done it. She’d totally taken out the bad guy.
In her head she did a little victory dance. She was awesome! Who’s the girl? Who’s the—?
From down a long tunnel she heard a tinny voice telling her to remain calm, that the police were on their way. Baffled, Paige looked around and noticed the receiver hanging from the wall unit by a long spiral cord. And blinked.
Oh. Right—911.
Eyes locked on the hot guy, she fumbled the receiver with shaking hands and lifted it to her ear, managing to whack herself on the cheek in the process.
“Ouch.”
“Hello, ma’am. Ma’am, can you hear me? The police are on their way. Are you hurt?”
Blinking back tears that were most likely from fear and the massive doses of adrenaline still pumping through her system, Paige managed to croak out, “N-no, I’m n-not hurt. But I’m p-pretty sure I just k-k-killed the hot guy.”
Her breath escaped in a loud whoosh. A seriously hot guy came willingly into her house and what did she do? She killed him, that’s what, she thought with a splutter of hysterical laughter. Frankie was going to disown her.
* * *
Dr. Tyler Reese swam up through thick layers of consciousness aware of a vicious pounding in his head. Having recently become familiar with the sensation, he let out a rough groan, thinking he was back in the ER after his accident.
A low husky voice ordered him not to move but he disregarded it and lifted a hand to his head before recalling that his arm was encased in a cast from elbow to knuckles. And the move had him sucking in a sharp breath of agony that had nothing to do with his headache.
“I told you not to move,” the voice said, sounding a little exasperated. “And use the other hand before you give yourself another bruise. But I warn you. Try anything funny, and it’s lights out.”
His head pounded harder and a burning pain radiated out from his shoulder. He knew without being told he’d dislocated it—especially as the pain was accompanied by the almost overwhelming urge to toss his cookies.
Wasn’t that just freaking peachy? Another damn injury to add to the ones he’d recently acquired.
“What the—?” he slurred, prying open his lids and blinking up into the faces swimming a couple of inches above him. Faces that looked remarkably like...faeries? He blinked again and two momentarily became one.
Yep. A freaking crazy-haired faerie. Although what the hell one was doing almost cross-eyed half an inch from his face was something he wasn’t ready to contemplate.
He narrowed his gaze until his vision cleared, revealing a faerie that was more likely to grace the pages of a graphic novel than a children’s bedtime story book—which meant he was hallucinating and his mild concussion had just been bumped up to serious head trauma.
Realizing he was scowling up at her, she gave a startled squeak and scuttled out of sight—too fast to see if she had any wings. The sudden move made him dizzy so he closed his eyes to prevent a brain aneurysm and gave a silent snarl.
Great. Just freaking perfect. His life officially sucked. He’d escaped an aggressive drunk intent on mowing him down only to be felled by a pint-sized attacker intent on splitting his head open like a watermelon.
What the hell had he done to deserve this?
His musings were interrupted by a soft sound of throat-clearing and a shaky but peremptory, “Hey.”
He cracked open an eye and mulled over the fact that she was still there, and couldn’t decide if it was good or very bad. Good that he wasn’t hallucinating and bad because...yep, there was still a wild-haired, wide-eyed faerie staring at him like he’d crash-landed in her flower patch.
Then he spotted the flashlight raised ready to bean him if he so much as twitched and he decided that if he was hallucinating she would be dressed in gossamer wisps, not a huge ratty old USMC T-shirt, looking fierce and crazy and ready to inflict more pain.
His heavy sigh emerged as a low groan. So much for that fantasy. He’d finally lost his mind if the sight of this wild exotic creature made him want to smile when he had absolutely nothing to smile about. His surgical career might very well be over thanks to a drunk who’d sideswiped him, leaving him with broken carpals and ulna in his dominant hand, along with damaged ligaments.
Suddenly his well-ordered life had been invaded by a horde of women eager to take care of him and to escape the chaos he’d packed a bag and headed for the one place on the planet he’d been happy—his father’s house on the Olympic Peninsula.
It had been an impulsive decision but Ty wanted to be alone. What better place than his childhood getaway in Port St. John’s? He’d spent summers here escaping from the rigidly stifling atmosphere of his mother’s house until he’d turned eighteen. Maybe he should have called first, but his battery had died and, frankly, it hadn’t even occurred to him that Henry Chapman wouldn’t be home.
Or that he’d be attacked by a wild faerie commando barely reaching his chin. It was humiliating, dammit. He just hoped his friends never found out or he’d never live it down.
And another thing—what the hell was this creature doing in his father’s house?
He pushed up with his good arm, intending to demand answers, and promptly froze when pain had him sucking in an agonized breath. Sweat popped out on his forehead and he was forced to sag embarrassingly against the nearest wall to breathe past the nausea.
“Who...are...you?” he gritted out in a voice guaranteed to send hospital staff running. “And what the hell did you throw at me?”
The faerie arched her brow at him as though he was a grumpy adolescent who’d momentarily forgotten his manners. “You first,” she said, with only a hint of a quiver in her voice.
It both irritated and earned his reluctant admiration because it took guts to hold off a guy almost a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier with nothing but a firm little chin, a steely-eyed stare and a flashlight. All while dressed in nothing but a huge, faded T-shirt and a kick-ass attitude.
That mouth—wide, lush and soft—was another matter altogether. A mouth like that gave a man ideas. Ideas that would probably earn him another concussion.
“That way we can get the introductions out of the way before I inflict any more pain on you,” her mouth said, completely destroying the fantasy forming in his head.
He squinted at her silently for a couple of beats before looking pointedly at the flashlight. “Thinking of giving me concussion?” He gave a hard laugh. “Hate to rain on your parade, babe, but some idiot already beat you to it.”
“No,” she said, gesturing to his shoulder with a jerk of her chin. “I’m going to reset your shoulder, babe. You dislocated it when you took a header into the floor.”
Her tone suggested he was an idiot, which irritated the hell out of him enough that he tersely pointed out, “Which I wouldn’t have done if you hadn’t tried to split my skull open like a watermelon.”
“Which I wouldn’t have done if you hadn’t broken into my house and scared me half to death,” she retorted just as shortly, visibly relaxing when they heard a car screeching to a stop outside. Car doors slammed and there was the sound of boots thudding up the stairs, then a brisk knock at the door.
“The cops?” he demanded, outraged. “You called the damn cops?” He knew he was being unfair, but the whole situation was surreal, taking him back to the last time he’d been in this Washington seaside town, beaten up and in trouble with the cops because he and his buddies had thought they had something to prove in a bar filled with local roughnecks.
He’d just turned eighteen and had wanted to flex his I’m-now-officially-cool muscles. He vividly remembered standing in a jail cell while his mother had coldly and furiously berated his father for not keeping Ty on a short leash.
Yeah, right. Henry Chapman had worked all the time and as long as Ty hadn’t ended up in his ER, he’d pretty much trusted him to stay out of trouble.
That had been the last time he’d spent summers in Port St. John’s because he’d been in med school and then establishing his surgical career, but mostly because he’d been mad at Henry for not standing up to Ty’s mother. For not fighting for a relationship with his son.
It had been pretty juvenile but if his recent accident had taught him anything it was that life could be snuffed out in an instant and it was time to mend his relationship with his father.
He was distracted from his inner musings when he caught her over-the-shoulder glance that suggested his IQ was lower than a rock’s. It didn’t faze him because, let’s face it, it wasn’t the first time he’d been an idiot. He’d thought he’d outgrown his impulsive tendencies but apparently not or he’d never have hopped on the first flight into SEATAC airport and headed for the Olympic Peninsula.
He didn’t know what he’d been thinking because it hadn’t even crossed his mind that Henry Chapman would be out of town—or that his childhood sanctuary would have been invaded by a crazy faery wearing an oversized US Marine Corps T-shirt.
“Of course I called the cops,” she snorted, backing towards the door and rising onto tiptoe to peer through the stained-glass inset. “I’m not an idiot. Besides, you could be a serial killer on the run from the FBI, for all I know.”
He found himself staring at her, wondering if he’d face-planted into an alternate universe. “I think you’ve been watching way too much TV.”
“I’m a city girl,” she replied, reaching out to unlock the door. “We’re taught from the cradle to be suspicious of strangers.”
The door opened to reveal two cops, who flashed their badges as they stepped into the entrance hall, identifying themselves only as, “Police Department, ma’am.”
She waved the flashlight at Ty, her voice a little wobbly as she hit a light switch and continued to address him. “Especially strange men who break into their homes in the middle of the night.”
Ignoring her, Ty squinted up at the cops as light flooded the entrance. There was something familiar about the big guy taking in the situation with cool, assessing cop’s eyes but he couldn’t think past the headache the crazy woman had inflicted on him.
“The question here should be what the penalties are in St John’s for illegal squatting,” he growled, scowling at the way the bigger cop was now smiling at GI faerie and asking her gently if she was okay, as though he liked what he saw and wouldn’t mind getting her number before hauling Ty off to county lockup.
Yeah, right. Like that was happening.
He shifted to get to his feet but his vision swam along with his stomach, so he held up his good hand to get someone’s attention. Someone who wasn’t so damn busy flirting, that was.
“Hey,” he growled irritably, when everyone continued to ignore him. “A hand here.” They all turned, surprised by his request. Okay, so it was more of a demand, but what the hell? “When you’re done flirting, that is,” he ended snidely, hiding a smirk at the big cop’s hard look—which he returned. The younger guy grinned and GI faerie huffed out a startled laugh.
She went to shove her hair out of her face and nearly conked herself on the head with the flashlight. Ty watched her face flush as she swung away.
“I was... I was... I was just about to call for an ambulance,” she ended on a rush, clearly more than a little rattled.
“No!” he yelled, wincing when the sound echoed through his skull and everyone tensed, the cops turning, hands on weapons. He sucked in a deep breath. “No,” he repeated more calmly. “I’m fine.”
“You most definitely are not fine,” she said decisively, waving the flashlight around again. “Look at you. You’re a mess. You need a hospital.”
Insulted, he snarled, “I don’t need a damn hospital. And will someone take that damn flashlight away before she injures herself?” He waited until she slammed it down on the entrance table and turned to him, hands on her hips and eyes narrowed dangerously.
“Good. Great.” He shifted and winced. “I just need a little help, that’s all. An explanation would be even better.”
“For what?”
“Maybe we’ll start with what the hell you’re doing in my house and then move on to the unprovoked attack.”
“Unprovoked?” she squeaked in outrage. “You looked like the walking dead after my brains. What the heck was I supposed to do?” Three pairs of eyes swung her way and Ty noticed the cops’ similar expressions of male confusion. She must have too because she pushed out her lush lower lip, crossed her eyes and huffed out an exasperated breath. “For your information,” she continued primly, “this is my house.”
“No, it’s not.” And when no one moved or spoke, “Dammit, will someone tell me what the hell is going on?”
She made a tsking sound at his language and turned to the cops. “If he won’t go to the hospital, you’ll have to hold him down while I do it here.” Her voice dropped and she whispered...loudly. “It’s going to hurt. We usually strap them to the bed and stick them with a bunch of needles before we try this.”
“Hold me—? Needles? Whoa, you hold it, lady. Right there.” He lifted his good hand in the universal stop gesture and dared them to come any closer. “What do you think you’re doing?”
She studied him silently for a couple of seconds before sharing a look with flirty cop. “I’m going to fix your shoulder.”
Oh, no. No way in hell.
“No offense, babe,” he snorted, gritting his teeth against the agony as he struggled to his feet. Where he completely embarrassed himself by swaying as sweat exploded from his pores. His vision swam and it took supreme self-control to stay upright. Fortunately he hadn’t eaten since the questionable airline food or he’d be totally humiliating himself. “But I’m not letting a bossy faerie commando anywhere near my shoulder.” He jerked his chin behind her. “They can help.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she snorted, stepping close now that she had two burly cops with guns at her back. “I think the bossy faerie commando is more qualified to do this.”
Yeah, right. “I doubt it.” He glared at the cop. “Flirty cop here can help me.”
“It’s Detective Petersen.” Flirty cop arched his brows and looked amused but made no move towards him. Fine. He turned to the younger cop and got a helpless shrug.
“See,” she said smugly. “They know who’s in charge here.” She patted his shoulder. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll let Detective Petersen help. And don’t worry about it,” she soothed, as if she was talking to a frightened kid. “I know what I’m doing. You won’t feel a thing.”
Ty ground his teeth together and sent her a touch me and die glare that she totally disregarded by tugging gently but firmly, clearly wanting him back on the floor.
Which was no way in hell happening. He tried to shrug her off and ended up slapping a hand against the wall when the world spun.
“It’ll be much easier this way,” she soothed in a soft husky voice that had him blinking and scowling at her again.
“Easier for whom?” he slurred woozily.
Unperturbed, she sent him a smile that was so bright and sweet it distracted him from the crafty gleam in her eyes.
“For you, of course,” she murmured, smoothing a hand down his back like he was seven and scared of the dark space under his bed. The move both irritated and pleased him, especially when flirty cop went on hard-eyed alert. Then she added, “This way you won’t get any more injuries when you pass out again and crack the floor with your head,” and his irritation became outright male insult.
“I am not going to pass...” he began, only to suck in a sharp breath when the world tilted woozily and he slid down the wall to the floor. “Okay...okay, so maybe I do need to, um...lie down.”
Clammy and panting, Ty lay on the hard floor, cursing and battling humiliation as the pint-sized tormentor ordered the two cops into position and disappeared upstairs. Dammit, this was usually his gig. If word got out he’d never live it down.
Cursing himself for thinking he could just waltz into town and everything would be okay, Ty opened his mouth to order the cops to help him up but she was back with a large towel. “Relax,” she soothed. “I can’t send you to jail like this.”
She slipped the rope towel beneath his back, under his armpit and across his chest. Completely ignoring his gritted curses, she handed the ends to the cops.
Then she planted her knee on his chest and gripped his arm above his cast. Exotic eyes locked with his, she said, “Ready?” and gave it a sharp, hard yank.
Pain exploded through him as his shoulder popped. He let out a ragged groan and lay sweating and groaning while his mini-tormentor sat back on her heels with a loud sigh of relief.
Looking pleased, she gave his chest a comforting rub and rose, affording Ty an unimpeded view of surprisingly long, shapely legs—right up to a pair of teeny boy shorts beneath the baggy T. Boy shorts that were currently hugging world-class curves.
Huh, he thought woozily. Maybe the view from here wasn’t so bad. Then from down a long tunnel he heard her instructing them to take him to the hospital and his pain fog miraculously cleared.
“No,” he said firmly, sitting up and hugging his arm to his chest, relieved that the excruciating agony was down to an almost bearable throb. “I told you, no hospital.”
“But—”
“No hospital,” he all but snarled, and was awarded with a huff of exasperation. “Besides,” he slurred, “I’m not leaving you in my dad’s house.”
No way was he telling anyone that the thought of going into a hospital made him break out in a cold sweat. He couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not when his future as a trauma surgeon looked so grim.
