Instant Gratification

tray.

“Ah, come on, the fresh air’s good for you.” He sounded as if he could barely talk. “How about a rock climb, or getting on a mountain bike?”

She understood the appeal of the area, she really did. It was just that in her world, which she was chomping at the bit to get back to, she didn’t have time for such things. “Let’s focus on your injuries.”

He let loose a slow, bad boy smile, weakened by pain, but still potently sexy. “I’ll be fine.”

Everything Stone did was slow and sexy. Slow and sexy, slow and easy, and so laid-back she’d often thought he needed to be checked for a pulse.

But not by her. The Wilders were gorgeous, and gorgeously dangerous to female hearts across the land, so yeah, he affected her, but she was a big girl and could resist. There’d be no giving into any smiles, charming or otherwise, thank you very much. Moving to the sink, she began to wash up, no dallying for her.

She had enough going on here trying to keep the clinic up and running and her father on the path of rehabilitation as required by his medical condition-not an easy feat given that the man apparently thought he was still twenty-one instead of sixty-one, hiking and fishing daily at his remote cabin.

After seeing him only a handful of times in all her life, Emma had seen him more in the past two months than she’d ever planned on. But he still hadn’t bounced back, and that worried her. She wanted him well and thriving.

And back at work, so she could go home, and back to her work.

Unfortunately, she didn’t seem any closer to that than she’d been two months ago. Out of necessity, she’d taken on the additional pressure of handling his books, which were in bad shape, with invoices and reports tossed haphazardly in files in some random system that made absolutely no sense. Apparently her father accepted cash, credit cards, and if she was looking at things correctly, casseroles. Casseroles. He had a freezer full of them, and twice this week alone, someone had brought her new ones instead of money when they’d needed services rendered.

Casseroles.

Her father had laughed at her concern, saying a single man enjoyed a home cooked meal once in awhile.

Well, he could eat one every day for a month and still have leftovers.

So could she, for that matter. Yeah, she probably wouldn’t starve to death, though she couldn’t vouch for the condition of her arteries after all the heavy cuisine.

She dried her hands, grabbed some sterile water and the antiseptic, and headed toward her patient, who was clearly hurting big-time. Stone was lying on the examination table, eyes and mouth strained in spite of his attempt at a relaxed air.

With sympathy, she started with the gash through his left eyebrow, squirting the water over it, gently washing the blood free of the wound, probing, until he hissed out a pained breath.

“Easy, Doc.”

She was being easy. It was her job to be easy. “This is going to have to be stitched.”

TJ nodded.

“No, thanks.” Stone spoke lightly enough, but his words came through his teeth now, as if he was barely holding it together. “Seriously, just point me in the direction of those Band-Aids.”

“Seriously?” she mocked lightly. “Band-Aids aren’t going to do it.” She stepped in and blocked him from attempting to get up when TJ might have let him. Her hands were on his shoulders, which were tense and strained belying his easy-going nature. “We need to sterilize, scrape, x-ray, and then assess, Stone. No way around it.”

“That was a mouthful.” He flashed another one of those potent Wilder smiles. “How about we just slow down, relax, maybe take a deep breath. I’m just a little scrapped up, that’s all.”

“You need stitches,” TJ told him. “And you know it.” Inside his pocket, his cell phone began to vibrate. He pulled it out, took one look at the ID and shot Stone an annoyed glance. “You forwarded all the office calls to my cell.”

“It was your turn.”

“No, it’s your turn. It’s always your turn.”

“Exactly,” Stone said. “Take the call, it might be important. Maybe it’s a client, his pockets flush with cash coming our way. Or maybe it’s just another woman dumping your sorry ass.” Gritting his teeth, he lay back, looking pale and clammy. “Yeah, that might be fun. Put it on speaker.”

“It can wait,” TJ insisted. “I need to make sure you behave for the pretty doctor.”

“Just get the damn phone. I’ll behave.”

TJ looked at Emma. He’d been clearly antagonizing his brother in order to distract Stone. Sweet. Level-headed. Yeah, TJ was definitely her favorite Wilder. “I’ve got him. It’s fine.”

TJ looked doubtful. “He’s a handful.”

“I mastered in handfuls.”

TJ laughed appreciatively, and Stone sighed. “I’m right here.”

Emma hadn’t stopped examining Stone during this exchange. She’d found no other head injuries, which was good. He did have a nasty bruise along his jaw, the first of many she suspected, but nothing life threatening. “He’s not in any immediate danger,” she assured TJ, then slanted a look at Stone when he muttered something beneath his breath about the damned Band-Aids. “Unless I sew his mouth shut.”

TJ nodded in amused sympathy, and with worry still in his eyes left the room to answer his phone.

“I thought he’d never leave.”

Emma ignored him and went to work on his shirt, which was a short-sleeved performance jersey. Staring at the hem, she lifted it up over a set of defined abs.

Here he was void of mud but not blood. He’d obviously tumbled along either asphalt or dirt, because he was covered in road rash. It had to hurt like hell.

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and she raised her gaze to his. California surfer meets angel, she thought. It was the killer combo of that easygoing air and gorgeousness. Maybe also that light brown hair, streaked gold by the sun, wind-tousled and wild and inviting enough that a woman would want to run her fingers through it. Maybe it was his strong, lean, unshaved jaw. Or maybe it was his fathomless green eyes that made a person-or in this case, one grumpy doctor-feel as if he could see her soul.

And the way he looked at her.

Yeah. It was most definitely that, and she knew right then and there-as if she hadn’t already known-that he was trouble.

Crazy, big, bad trouble.

“No need to fuss,” he told her. “I heal fast.”

She could believe that. His body was in prime shape, sinewy and hard. Given what he did for a living-play basically-she knew that body wasn’t gym-made but the real deal, born of actual outdoor activity. She got to his ribs and he winced. “Did you fall?”

“Falling is a way of life for a guy like me.”

“A guy like you?”

He sucked in a hard breath as she probed her way over his torso. “Yeah. A mountain bum.”

He was long and lean, not an extra ounce of fat on him, so she had no trouble accessing the ribs. Unfortunately, she had to use her fingers, and as she did, his flat, ridged belly rose and fell with his agitated breathing. “Stone?”

He opened his eyes.

“Tell me what happened,” she said, looking at his pupils, which were the same size and reactive.

“It’s complicated.”

She’d been born here, but raised in New York by a tough-as-nails woman who’d taken no bullshit. As a result, Emma had either heard or seen it all, and nothing surprised her. Nothing. “I think I can handle it.”

He let out another hard breath when she pressed on his ribs. “It’s all a little fuzzy.”

She frowned and eyed the bump on his head again. “Fuzzy? Are you dizzy? Spots?”

“No.”

She checked his pupils again. “You can’t remember what happened?”