Gently he pushed up first one eyelid, then the other. Pupils okay, a good sign. Her eyes were large and deep blue. Probably one of her best assets, Sean thought absently.
Dampening a sterile gauze pad with alcohol, he brushed back her long black hair and cleaned the wound on her forehead. Quite deep but still just a superficial cut. He put antibiotic ointment on a clean gauze pad, placed it on the wound, then taped it in place. Next he eased off her leather jacket. As he lifted her, she moaned out loud, her face contorting as if in pain. He tossed the jacket aside. Underneath, she had on a blue sweater with designer jeans and leather flats on her sockless feet.
Her clothes weren’t off the usual racks, Sean noticed. They were expensive and in good taste. She had a gold chain around her neck that was heavy and very real. On her right hand, she wore an amethyst ring in a simple gold setting that didn’t come cheap.
Moving his hands very carefully, he trailed them over her body from her head to her toes, letting her groans tell him as much as his fingers learned. He was more doctor than man now, his experienced touch trying to ascertain the extent of her injuries. Finishing, he leaned back, studying her face.
Probably a concussion if she’d hit her head hard enough to sustain that cut, hopefully not too severe. There were some bruises forming on her face, and she might wake up to a couple of black eyes, but no other cuts visible. Her right shoulder was dislocated, her arm hanging limply at her side. Her left ankle was swollen, but didn’t appear to be broken.
Nothing too serious if the concussion wasn’t bad. He’d fixed many a dislocated shoulder in his residency days and ER rotation—painful but not life threatening.
Gently, he pulled up her sweater and saw red marks on her stomach that would surely darken into some pretty nasty bruises from where the steering wheel had slammed into her. The seat belt had kept her upper body in place, yet her right shoulder had still dislocated. Without the belt, she’d have been tossed onto the floor like a rag doll, sustaining far more serious injuries. Or her head might have smashed into that jutting tree limb.
All in all, she appeared to be one lucky lady, Sean concluded.
She didn’t look comfortable, so he settled her into the soft folds of the corduroy couch, adjusting pillows around her. Again she moaned, mumbling, and this time he could make out a word. Max. There’d been no one else in the Bronco, of that he was certain. Was Max her husband? She wore no wedding ring, but that didn’t necessarily mean she wasn’t married. Many of the nurses he worked with chose not to wear their rings, for whatever reason.
Gazing at the woman as a man and not just a doctor, Sean saw that she was beautiful with all that lush black hair, high cheekbones and thick lashes dark against her pale skin. He couldn’t help but wonder where she’d been headed in such a storm, where she was from and who if anyone was waiting for her arrival. Maybe Max? If not a husband, was he perhaps a lover she was rushing to meet?
None of his business, he decided, frowning.
He reached for the towel and gently patted her face dry, then used it to dry her hair. As he shifted her, she shivered and began shaking, probably from shock. He set his medicine bag on the floor, then went to get an afghan his mother had made. Laying the cover over her, he tucked the ends around her feet after removing her shoes.
She should wake up soon, he thought, unless he’d missed something in his somewhat hasty exam.
Returning to tend the fire, Sean put two more logs on, then hunched down and poked at the wood, working up a strong blaze. His pant legs were almost dry, but his socks were wet from padding around the cabin in the snow tracks made by his wet boots.
With one last look at his unexpected guest, he went to his bedroom for a pair of dry socks.
Pain intruded into her consciousness and made itself known. It seemed everywhere—her head, her shoulder, her ankle, her stomach. Sharp, throbbing, intense. She tried to move, but the pain stopped her. She tried to sink back into the black oblivion of sleep, but the pain pushed her awake.
Slowly, she opened her eyes. Hazy vision. Blinking, she tried to clear it. When finally she did, she recognized nothing.
She was in a large room on a couch, covered with a blue-and-white afghan. There was an oak coffee table nearby, a braided oval rug over plank flooring, dancing flames in a huge fireplace. The heat felt good for she was cold, shivering.
Where was she?
She heard a door open, footsteps. Who? Though the pain sliced through her, she sank deeper into the couch, fear causing her heart to race. Then he came into view.
She sized him up in seconds: tall, over six feet, broad shoulders, sandy hair cut short, a lean, tan unsmiling face. He wore a black turtleneck sweater over gray cords and leather moccasins. He stopped by the couch, looking down at her with blue-gray eyes filled with questions. Unable to hide the fear in her eyes, she clutched the afghan in trembling fists and stared back at him.
“Glad you’re finally awake,” he said, pulling a footstool over to the couch and sitting down.
She withdrew deeper into the cushions surrounding her. “Who are you?” she managed, her voice raspy. Her gaze did a quick circle of the cabin. “Where am I?”
“You’re in the Gray Mountains. I’m Sean Reagan and this is my cabin on Hollow Oak Road. You had an accident. Your Bronco swerved off the road and hit a couple of trees.” He watched her take that in, digest it.
“Yes, the Gray Mountains. I remember I was on my way to my family’s place on Ridgeway Road.”
He nodded, recognizing the street. “You turned about a mile too soon. Ridgeway’s just north of me.”
“It was snowing hard and I couldn’t recognize anything familiar.” Fear hadn’t left her altogether. “You…you live here alone?” Please let there be a wife, a mother, somebody.
Sean was well aware what was bothering her. He softened his expression, trying to relieve her mind. “Actually, I live in Scottsdale. I built this cabin for times when I want to get away from the city. I’m a doctor, an obstetrician.” He pointed to his bag on the floor next to the couch. “Quite legit. My office is on Scottsdale Road.”
He watched her face as she assessed that information. “I could show you my hospital I.D.” He finally smiled. “Honest, I’m not an ax murderer.”
The smile made him look less menacing, but she didn’t return it as she glanced down at the gray bag, still wary. “I thought all doctors had little black bags.”
“Not really. They come in all colors.” He shifted closer. “I’d like to examine you again, now that you’re awake.”
The startled look was back on her face. “How do you mean? You…examined me?” She had trouble thinking of this very attractive, very masculine man as a medical person.
“Please relax. I’m a doctor. And I didn’t undress you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Without waiting for her permission, he forced her eyes wider to check her pupils then took out his stethoscope and listened to her heart and lungs. Her breathing was a bit fast as was her heartbeat, probably because she was still nervous about him.
With careful fingers, he touched her shoulder and she cried out. “This is your worst injury, a dislocated shoulder. Fixable but with some discomfort.” His hand went to her ankle, examining the tender swollen flesh. “Just a sprain but you’d best stay off it for awhile.” He indicated the gauze on her forehead. “That’s a cut I’ve already cleaned and bandaged.” He tapped lightly on her stomach through the sweater. “You’ve got some bruising here, from the steering wheel. Not serious, but painful.”
Sean watched her hand snake under