Can't Take My Eyes Off You Page 7

  “You don’t care! None of you.” His fists bunched, and he took a step toward her, then blanched and sagged back against the exam table.

  “Mr. Slocombe, you need to calm down.” Despite the fact that her heart was thundering, Miranda kept her voice calm and matter-of-fact as she approached him. “Let me help you back up.”

  He jerked his shoulder out of her touch and shoved himself back onto the exam table. “Ain’t nobody out there cares about somebody like me. I didn’t do nothing to deserve this. I did my job, never caused trouble. Got hurt. And then the factory went and moved to Mexico. How’s a man supposed to survive after that?”

  The door opened without preamble and Keisha stuck her head in, Delaney right behind. “Everything okay in here?”

  Miranda held up a hand so they’d stay where they were. “Everything’s fine. Mr. Slocombe is just a little upset. Give us a few minutes, okay?”

  Keisha looked like she wanted to argue. “We’ll be right outside if you need anything.” She shut the door.

  Ralph’s shoulders slumped, and he dropped his head into his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. The pain about drives me out of my mind.”

  “I understand.” Miranda pulled the stool back and sat down. “Let’s talk about what we can do to get you through the next week and a half.”

  He was calmer by the time he left, and Miranda was already wishing for a cupcake from Sweet Magnolias to take the edge off. She hated when she couldn’t help people. The morning continued to roll, with patient after patient, mostly keeping her too busy to dwell on Ralph Slocombe or anything else.

  Because her throat was beginning to ache on top of the exhaustion, as soon as Miranda had a moment to breathe, she gave herself a strep test and left it to process as she moved on to the next patient on her list. As she was escorting Winnie Tolleson back for her regular blood work, Ethan strode through the door. He was in full cop mode this morning, large-and-in-charge in the uniform that had never looked quite so good to her. His eyes warmed at the sight of her.

  A burst of pleasure and nerves wiped away the suck of the morning and had Miranda waving Delaney over. “Can you go ahead and get Mrs. Tolleson settled in the back for her blood draw?”

  Catching sight of Ethan in the waiting room, thumbs hooked in his duty belt, Delaney hesitated. What was that about? General nerves around cops? With her history, Miranda couldn’t blame her for that, but Ethan wasn’t a part of that past. Maybe she did have a thing for him, too.

  “Delaney?”

  The girl blinked, shaking her head in apology and offering a smile. “Sure thing, Dr. Campbell.” Tucking a hand beneath the elderly woman’s arm, she began the slow trek down the hall. “Miss Winnie, how have you been doing these last couple of weeks?”

  Assured her patient was taken care of for the moment, she adopted a casual stance. “Morning, Chief. What can we do for you?”

  He inclined his head in that Old West nod she found so appealing. “Doc. Had some business to tend to, so thought I’d drop by.”

  Was that cross speak? Was she the business or had something happened last night? “Oh? Did our mutual friend have problems getting home?”

  “No. Ended up being quiet.”

  Quiet was good, she supposed, in a no-news-is-good-news kind of way. Which meant he had to be here for her. Miranda relaxed.

  From behind the counter, the phone rang. “Dr. Campbell’s office, hold please.” Obviously, Shelby wasn’t planning on missing a thing.

  Miranda tipped her head toward the hall. “You want to come back?” At least the break room would provide a modicum of privacy.

  “Can’t stay, and you’re clearly busy. I just wanted to see if you were free for dinner tonight.”

  Painfully aware of all the ears—staff and patient—suddenly tuned in to her answer, Miranda grimaced. “I’m on at the ER tonight.”

  His brows drew down in confusion. “Thought you already did your rotation this month.”

  “I did.” She resisted the urge to look down at his ass. “But I picked up this shift to help out one of the other doctors in town. What about Friday night?”

  “Can’t. I’m on duty again. Don’t want to get called out in the middle of anything.”

  Nothing in his tone was remotely salacious, but Miranda couldn’t help imagining the possibilities of what “anything” could mean. She liked all of them. “Saturday?”

  “Saturday I can do. I’ve got a thing for a fair chunk of the day, but I’ll be free in time for dinner.”

  “Dinner then,” she agreed.

  He flashed that slow, molasses smile. “It’s a date.”

  A date. A real, honest-to-God date, with an interesting, attractive man. This new year was starting to look up. “We should probably swap numbers so we can sort out the details without an audience.”

  The smile turned faintly sheepish as he glanced around the waiting room and caught everybody staring. “I’ve got yours.”

  Oh right. From the report he’d taken about the vandalism of her Jeep.

  He pulled out his phone and tapped a few buttons. From inside the pocket of her lab coat, her own phone vibrated.

  “There, now you’ve got mine.”

  For some reason, the idea of it made her giddy as a teenage girl. “Saturday, then.”

  “Saturday. Later, Doc.” With one last look in her direction—he was totally checking out her legs—Ethan turned on heel and left.

  The moment the door shut behind him, the entire office crooned, “Oooooooo,” like a bunch of middle schoolers.

  “Oh, shut up and get back to work,” Miranda groused. But she couldn’t hold back her own grin as she grabbed the next chart and headed down the hall. She detoured to the lab to check on her strep test.

  Positive.

  Miranda wanted to thunk her head against the lab counter. She did not have time for this shit. A Rocephrin shot should knock it out. Sticking her head out in the hall, she looked for her nurse. But Keisha was back with Winnie Tolleson. Shelby was on the phone. That left Delaney. She could walk the girl through a shot.

  “Delaney.”

  “What do you need?”

  Anxiety skittered over the girl’s face as Miranda shut the door. “I need you to give me a shot.”

  “You what now?”

  “I just tested positive for strep and there is no way in hell I’m missing that date. I need an antibiotic shot, and I can’t very well give myself one in my own ass. You are the only one with free hands at the moment. Don’t worry, I can walk you through it.” Moving quickly, she pulled out the necessary supplies and prepped the syringe.

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s just a shot.” Stripping off her lab coat, Miranda unzipped her pants and tugged down so her hip was exposed. “Go ahead and swab it with an alcohol wipe.”

  Hesitating only a moment, Delaney did as asked. Miranda handed her the syringe. “It’s going in the meaty part of the hip.”

  Delaney eyed the expanse of skin and cringed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t.” And if she did, well, small price to pay not to be knocked on her ass by strep for the next week.

  Miranda coached her through the procedure, impressed when she barely felt a prick. “Now, slowly press the plunger in.”

  Delaney did as she was told, delivering the antibiotics with minimal burn. She disposed of the syringe and slapped on the cotton ball and Bandaid combo as if she’d been doing it for years.”

  “Well done. You’ve got good, steady hands. I hardly felt a thing.”

  “First timer’s luck, I guess.”

  “That’s not usually a thing. You’ve got a knack. You ever think about going back to school for something in the medical field?”

  Delaney shrugged. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought much about going back to school at all yet.”

  “Something to keep in mind. Thanks. My glimmer of a possible love life thanks you.”

  She laughed. “You know that mea
ns you have to share details of your date.”

  Miranda narrowed her eyes but smiled. “We’ll see.”

  Since he’d taken the job as Chief of Police back in November, Ethan had rarely had a night off. Their department was small, encompassing only himself, four officers, a day-time dispatcher, and a night-time dispatcher. There were a couple of reserve officers who were brought in from time to time, but, in general, small-town policing meant he was rarely truly off duty. That wasn’t all that different from his time with the Marshals. He’d lived his life prepared to be called out on a warrant at the drop of a hat.

  But tonight he’d been looking forward to something else. A step in the direction of having that life Clay kept bugging him about. The fact that postponing dinner with Miranda until Saturday had made him twitchy and restless was a sign that he had a long damned way to go before he effectively transitioned.

  Maybe he should call Clay, see if they could move up their rescheduled jam session. Or maybe he should just pick up his guitar and give his fingers a workout before Sunday to make sure he could still back up the claims he’d made.

  Grabbing a beer and his beloved Taylor acoustic, he headed out to the glassed-in back porch. His rental house faced a scraggly patch of woods and was, in his opinion, way too close to neighbors. He didn’t actually want to be able to see anybody else’s house or for anybody to be able to look out and see his. But it would do until he decided where he wanted to live long-term. Part of that was deciding this job was for him long-term. He’d needed to get out of the Marshal Service—that hadn’t been up for debate—but the jury was still out whether this had been the right move. For all he’d gotten tired of the city, he wasn’t sure he was small town anymore either.

  Ethan had barely set himself up on the old metal glider before his phone began to ring. Irritation prickled. Just because he hadn’t been able to spend tonight doing what he wanted didn’t mean he’d put out a call to the Universe to interrupt him. But irritation morphed quickly to pleasure when he saw Miranda’s name flash across the screen. He was smiling as he answered. “Hey there. I didn’t expect to hear from you tonight.”

  “Hey, Ethan. I’m really sorry to bother you at home on your night off.”

  The tension in her voice had him dropping his feet, sitting up straight. “That’s fine. What’s wrong?”

  “Can you come down to the ER?”

  Half a dozen forms of crisis scrolled through his mind. Violent patient. Hostage situation. Homicide. “Of course. Do I need backup?”

  “No. Nothing like that. Just you, please. And maybe stick to plainclothes instead of your uniform.”

  “What’s going on, Miranda?”

  “Rene Forbes is here.”

  Shit. “I’m on my way.”

  Ethan’s tension cranked up a couple more notches as he stepped through the sliding glass doors into the ER of Wilton Memorial Hospital. He sure as shit hadn’t planned to be here again so soon. But at least he wasn’t the one bleeding this time. The shoulder holster carrying the Glock .40 he preferred was a comforting weight beneath his jacket. Overkill maybe, but he wasn’t about to be caught unawares.

  The staff had evidently been told to watch out for him. A nurse, the same one who’d assisted Miranda last weekend, escorted him through the double doors back to the patient bays. Miranda was waiting toward the back in a little, tucked away corner, a surgical mask dangling around her neck.

  Her grim expression lightened somewhat as she caught sight of him. “Thanks for coming.”

  “How bad?” he asked softly.

  In answer, she pulled up her surgical mask, opened the curtain, and nudged him inside.

  Holy shit.

  Rene Forbes lay on the gurney, her face so bruised and battered, he wouldn’t have immediately recognized her, if not for the bright pink cast still on her wrist. One eye was swollen shut and blood had dried in a black crust along her split lip. The arm with the broken wrist was currently bound up in a sling she hadn’t been wearing at the clinic. Dislocated shoulder, he guessed. There was no possible way she could blame this on falling or walking into a door.

  Rage burst through Ethan. Harley had done this sometime after he’d left last night. Had he caught on to Ethan’s tail? Was this some kind of retaliation? A fuck you to the cops who could do nothing? Choking back his own reaction, Ethan kept his voice soft. “Rene, can you tell me what happened?”

  Her one good eye slitted open, staring him down before rolling to fix on the ceiling.

  From the corner, a gangly teenaged boy spoke up. “He just started whaling on her. No reason. He never has a reason.”

  “He always has a reason,” Rene croaked.

  “Bullshit,” the boy snarled, his long, narrow hands clenched.

  “Johnny.” Despite her injuries, Rene’s tone still carried the rebuke only a mother could manage.

  “Your father did this?” Ethan asked.

  “That bastard is no father of mine.”

  “He adopted you. Gave you his name.”

  “I’d rather have stayed a bastard.”

  Rene made a wounded sound at that.

  “That’s enough.” Miranda’s voice brooked no argument and the boy subsided. “Rene, we already talked about this when you came in for your wrist. Harley’s escalating. You aren’t safe with him.”

  “There’s nothing can be done.”

  “I can get him away from you, get him off the streets.” Ethan would relish the chance to haul the asshole in. “You just have to file charges.”

  Rene shook her head, biting back a moan at the movement. “I’m not filing charges. I brought this on myself. I married him and a woman’s place is with her husband.”

  “That walking sack of shit is no husband,” Johnny growled. “And you’re stupid if you think he’s going to stop just because you stay.”

  This time it was Miranda’s voice snapping like a whip. “Johnny, your mother is not stupid.”

  Something tender there, Ethan noted. It was the second time he’d seen her go off against the idea of Rene being stupid.

  “Then what do you call it?” the boy demanded.

  “Scared. And rightly so. But you’re not wrong. He’s not going to stop. Rene, please let us help you.”

  Rene swallowed, her throat working as she focused on Miranda. “How do you see this playing out?”

  “Simple. You file charges, Chief Greer arrests him, and you move out to the women’s shelter.”

  It wasn’t that simple, and Rene obviously knew it.

  “And what happens when he gets out again? Harley doesn’t give up what’s his.”

  They spent another half hour going rounds about it, but in the end, the woman stubbornly refused to press charges against her abuser. Ethan wished he was surprised, but this was par for the course.

  Unwilling to give up, Miranda slipped some information about the women’s shelter into the pocket of Rene’s purse. “Just read over it later.”

  Ethan stuck around after Rene was released and Johnny tucked her into the rusted-out Ford Escort he’d seen in the drive last night. The kid was a ticking time bomb. All that rage had to go somewhere eventually. He wondered whether the boy would implode or explode and made a mental note to see if the kid had any kind of record. Wouldn’t hurt to have his officers watching out for any changes in behavior, too.

  After checking a few other patients, Miranda managed to break away to corner him in an office. Frustration pumped off her in waves as she scooped both hands through her thick blonde hair. “What are we doing to do, Ethan? This keeps up, he’s going to kill her.”

  “She’s too afraid to act on her own.”

  “If we could just get Harley off the street for longer than twenty-four hours, I think I could manage to get her to the shelter and leave his ass. Once she’s out of that house, I think she’ll start to see.”

  Ethan wasn’t so sure. “Even if you pulled that off, it’s unlikely Rene will follow through.”

  The stubborn
jut to her chin shouldn’t have been so appealing. “I have to try. And I need you to help me. Harley is an asshole and a troublemaker. There has to be something you can haul him in on.”

  “Not so far.”

  “You’re a resourceful man, Ethan. Surely you can employ those famous Marshal skills to find out what kind of shit Harley’s involved in.”

  The idea of it sparked Ethan’s sense of the hunt, something that had been sorely missing since he’d moved to tiny town Mississippi. If he’d had any reservations about using department resources in the name of his own investigation into the man, they’d been obliterated at the sight of Rene’s bruises.

  “I promise you, if there’s anything to find, I’ll make it a priority to dig it out.” It was a devil’s bargain, one he wasn’t entirely sure he could keep. Not every piece of shit was actually involved in anything illegal. But he liked the idea of Miranda Campbell needing him for something. Her idealism and stubborn belief in people’s ability to change clashed with his own jaded cynicism, but he found himself wanting to protect that for her, for reasons he didn’t entirely understand.

  Her face relaxed a fraction. “Thanks for that.”

  Ethan could see the exhaustion weighing on her and itched to wrap her in his arms and soothe. But she was on-duty and the intercom made it clear her night was far from over, so he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I should get out of here. You’ve got work.”

  “I’ve got work,” she agreed. Walking with him toward the door, she dug up the ghost of a smile. “But I’m really looking forward to Saturday when I don’t.”

  “Me, too, Doc. Me, too.”

  Chapter 7

  Saturday dawned frigid and foggy. The wisps of white curling over the ground and around the trees as he drove out to Chester’s farm gave Ethan the illusion of solitude he’d been craving and dragged out memories of winter mornings on the ranch with his grandfather. There’d be more memories where those came from once he got to work. Temperatures would rise with the sun, and he knew he was in for a day of sweaty labor.