Heat Wave Box Set: Volumes I-III Page 10

  “By the way, the club is back in town. They’ll probably be in tonight, so be prepared.”

  I lifted several glasses from the crate. “What kind of club? Like a poker or bingo club?”

  His rolling laugh fit the jolly elf appearance too. “Hell’s Horsemen,” he said.

  I blinked at him. “All right. Are they arriving on horseback?”

  “Yep, steel horses. Hell’s Horsemen are a local motorcycle club. They’ve been up north on club business. My nephew, Ryker, is the president, so they come here a lot when they’re in town. They tip well, and they draw a big crowd of ladies.” He winked and walked out of the room.

  Chapter 2

  The last glass had been stacked just as a thunderous sound outside rattled the counter. One glass fell to the ground and bounced off of the rubber mat, before rolling under the counter. I stooped down to fish it out from its hiding spot. The front door opened and shut.

  “We’re not open yet,” I called from my crouched position. I managed to snag the runaway glass with my fingertips, and rolled it toward me. I straightened and the glass dropped again. This time, missing the rubber mat completely and shattering on the hardwood floor.

  The man standing in the center of the saloon was well over six feet tall and with a shoulder span to match his height. One of his pale green eyes was swollen shut, and a deep cut hovered above it. The side of his face was swollen black and blue, but none of his facial injuries were as alarming and the stain of blood on the side of his ripped shirt. It looked fresh and still flowing.

  “Where the fuck is Gordy?” he asked and then dropped to his knees.

  I raced to the office door. “Gordy! Need you up front.”

  I raced back out to the front of the saloon. The man was sitting on his knees, hunched over with his hands resting on his thighs.

  “Good god, Ryker,” Gordy huffed from behind. “What the hell happened?”

  The man lifted his face and peered up at Gordy with his one open eye. “Stopped off at the wrong watering hole in Hartville.” He smiled weakly, obviously before remembering the gash on his bottom lip. He reached up to touch the deep cut. His knuckles were bruised and swollen. “Fuck that hurts.”

  “Where’s everyone else?” Gordy asked.

  “I left earlier than them. I needed to get some stuff done down here.” Every word from his swollen mouth seemed like a chore.

  Gordy motioned for me to take his other arm and, with some effort, we helped him to his feet. Gordy saw the wound on his side for the first time. “Christ, son, you’re a bloody mess.”

  “Yeah, but I left a bigger one back in Hartville.”

  “Ryker, you didn’t ride all the way here from Hartville like this? That’s a good two hundred miles,” Gordy said.

  “The company jet forgot to pick me up. And trust me, it wasn’t a good two hundred miles.”

  “Let’s get him to the office,” Gordy said.

  Weak and wavering as he was, taking him the short distance to the office was no easy task. He dropped his arm around my shoulders. My knees gave way at first as if bags of cement had been dropped on top of me.

  Sliding through the narrow office doorway with our giant haul was not an easy task, but, with some maneuvering and a great deal of grunting, more from the caregivers than the patient, we got him to the couch. Ryker dropped onto it as if he no longer had a skeleton to support himself.

  “I’ll get the first aid kit,” Gordy said.

  My expression must have shown my shock that he had a first aid kit in the saloon.

  “Trust me, it comes in handy around this place,” Gordy explained. He pointed down at his nephew, who looked even worse after the journey to the office couch. “Especially with this guy hanging around.”

  “If I wasn’t feeling like shit, Gordo, I’d protest that last statement.” Ryker closed his eyes and leaned his head back. In the dim light of the office, he looked young, mid-twenties maybe. Even with the bruises, cuts and swollen eye, it was easy to see that he was extremely handsome. Not the boy next door type but the type whose sex-appeal would be too hard to pinpoint because it came at you from every direction.

  “Gordy,” I said, “I spent summers between college semesters as a camp counselor. I’ve been well-trained in first aid.”

  “You are such a gold mine, Emerie. Is there anything you can’t do?” he laughed.

  “If you want a hand-knitted sweater, you’re on your own. I have two thumbless left hands when it comes to knitting.”

  Gordy laughed. “I will make note of that.”

  Ryker opened his good eye and looked up at my face and then down at my legs. A short jean skirt and black t-shirt with Gordy’s logo on it was the female uniform. “Who’s the girl?” he asked as if he’d only just noticed me for the first time and as if I weren’t standing directly in front of him.

  Gordy looked down at him. “As far as your concerned, kiddo, she’s Florence fucking Nightingale. Now, take off that shirt before you ruin my couch. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

  “He really needs to get to an emergency room,” I suggested. Gordy waved it off.

  I looked down at Ryker for corroboration. “No hospital. Doctors ask too many fucking questions.” He peered up at me and winced as if even the slightest movement caused him pain. “I don’t like questions. Besides, I’ve got my camp counselor here to take care of my bee stings and campfire burn.”

  I looked down at him. In his current state of agony, he looked helpless for a man who looked as if he had the strength of a stallion on steroids. “I’ve got plenty to do before this place opens if you don’t want my help.”

  “My apologies. I want your help. A hot camp counselor giving first aid,” he muttered. His head seemed to be getting heavy, and it looked as if he would drift out of consciousness soon. “I’ll bet those boy campers were hurting themselves on purpose.” With that his head dropped back, and he was out.

  Chapter 3

  Gordy picked up the broken glass while I cleaned away Ryker’s dry blood and put disinfectant on the deep cuts on his face. Aside from an occasional deep moan and his good eye fluttering open for brief seconds of time, the patient was quiet and easy to work on. Unfortunately, he’d fallen asleep before taking off his shirt.

  I could hear Helen’s high-pitched voice, which meant we were about to open up. Helen was the head cocktail waitress. She never arrived more than a minute before we opened the doors. She would always come scurrying in as if in a panic because it was the first time she was ever late, a great show of oh my gosh where did the time go? drama. It was pretty comical.

  She was tying on her apron as she stepped into the office. She pinned her red hair up in a bun and her lips were covered in a heavy, glossy lipstick that matched her hair. Her blue eyes rounded. “Oh my gosh, he looks awful.” She came over and took hold of Ryker’s hand. He winced as she lifted it.

  “Hey, Helen,” Ryker said weakly without opening his eyes. “Bring me a bottle of whiskey, would ya?”

  She hurried out at a much faster pace than I’d ever seen and returned with a bottle.

  He took the bottle from her and chugged back several gulps.

  “Ryker, honey, you’ve got to stop having barroom fights.” She put her hands on her hips and sighed. “Who was she?”

  He looked up at her with one eye. “Don’t know her name, but I was defending her honor.”

  I snorted.

  He turned his face toward me without lifting his head from the couch. “Don’t believe me, eh?”

  I shrugged. “No comment. It’s just that you don’t look like the defending a woman’s honor type.”

  “How is that not a comment?” he asked drowsily.

  “I need to get to your side. Can I rip open your shirt? It’s no longer salvageable anyhow.”

 
“My pleasure,” he said. “I only wish I had the energy to enjoy having you rip off my clothes.”

  I looked up at Helen. “Tell Gordy I’ll be a few more minutes here.”

  She hesitated as if she would have liked to stick around for the shirt ripping. Then she walked out.

  The sterile gloves made it tough to get a good grasp on the shirt, but it was so soaked, the fabric came apart with one good tug. I sucked in a breath, not completely prepared for the size and depth of the gash. It ran parallel with his ribs and the hard ridges of his stomach muscles. Beneath the thick smear of blood and myriad of tattoos, he had a breath-taking build. I stared at his body just long enough to catch his attention.

  “My very beautiful nurse is speechless,” he muttered. “That can’t be good.”

  He thought I’d been rendered mute by the graveness of the injury. I went with that. It was far less embarrassing than having him know that I was admiring his physique. “It’s pretty ugly. So, I guess I’ve been raised in rank from camp counselor to nurse.”

  His long black lashes matched the color of his long hair. The pale color of his eyes, or at least the one I could see, stood in stark contrast to the dark hair and lashes. “Your name is Emerie?” He took another swig of whiskey.

  “Yes, I’m tending bar for your uncle, who I adore, I might add. Best boss I’ve ever had.” I poured some disinfectant on a large square of gauze. Voices and the jukebox rumbled from the bar area. “Doors are open.” I hesitated before pressing the gauze to his skin. “This might sting. And I really think you should get this stitched up. I can wrap it really tight until you get to a doctor. You’ll probably need some antibiotics.”

  “Emerie,” he said my name as if he was just testing out the sound of it. “I like that.” He completely ignored my medical help recommendation.

  He sucked in a breath as I smoothed the medicine soaked gauze over his blood-stained skin. Trying to be as gentle as possible around the jagged edges of the wound, I cleaned the area. The cleaner it got, the uglier the wound looked. His chest rose and fell and his breathing became short and shallow while I worked.

  He’d grown exceptionally quiet. I peered up at his face. He was watching me, not my hand or his wound. He was staring at my face. It flustered me for a second. “Was it a knife?” I asked to break the thick silence.

  “Broken beer bottle.”

  “Shit. No wonder the skin is so shredded. It’s going to be an ugly scar. I guess you’ll think twice before you take on multiple guys at once again.”

  “They were about to gang rape a girl in the alley outside the bar,” he said.

  I pressed my lips together in shame and looked up at him. He was serious. “I’m sorry. I didn’t believe you at first.”

  “I have that problem a lot.” His unflinching gaze hadn’t left my face, and I found myself hurrying to finish. Not that he made me uncomfortable, just the opposite.

  I opened a new roll of sterile gauze. “You’re big, so I’m not sure how many times I’ll be able to wrap this around you. Do you think you can sit forward?”

  He handed me the whiskey bottle. I placed it on the floor next to the couch. My small hand was lost in his and he took hold of it to help himself up. “Fuck,” he grunted, and then sucked in some deep breaths.

  “You can rest your arms on my shoulders if you’d like.” He took me up on the suggestion, and I found my face just inches from his as I pulled the gauze around his body. Another heated stretch of time passed where it seemed neither of us could find our voices or take a breath. Although, I held my breath because he had my entire physical self reacting to his nearness, even injured as he was. Surely, he was speechless strictly because of the pain.

  I finished wrapping the wound and did what I considered to be a rather impressive job considering my camp counselor days were long behind me. “There you go.” He kept his arms on my shoulders for a few seconds longer.

  He leaned back and released a long breath. “This sure beats having Gordy clean my wounds.”

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” I asked as if I’d just been pouring his drinks.

  He looked at me and his swollen lip turned up at the side. “Well there is but I don’t think it would be appropriate to ask of a camp counselor.”

  I shook my head but the blush warming my cheeks assured me that I was turned on by the prospect of helping him out with his other needs. I got up and grabbed the small pillow at the end of the couch. I placed it next to him. “Get some rest.” I stood up and stripped off my gloves.

  He looked up at me. The whiskey had started working and his lids were heavy. “Thank you . . . Emerie.”

  Chapter 4

  Gordy hadn’t over exaggerated. As the infamous Horsemen trickled into the saloon, road weary, thirsty and frankly pretty damn rowdy, the bar had filled with even more people than usual, a lot of them women, women who had their hopes dashed when they realized that Ryker was not making an appearance. Gordy and I’d had a time of it, keeping visiting hours in the office down to a minimum.

  After a long night, I was glad to see the last few customers waddle out of the bar. I wiped down the counter as Gordy swept the floor. Big feet shuffled behind me. I turned around. Ryker had one hand braced on the counter, and it seemed to take all his energy to stand. The gauze was soaked again.

  “Why are you up? Do you need something?”

  He lifted his free hand and held up the whiskey bottle. “It’s dry.”

  “You need food,” I said. “And a new bandage too.”

  He shook his head. “I need another bottle.” He moved in slow motion to the register. He reached behind it for Gordy’s hidden pack of cigarettes. I held back a smile as he fiddled with the package with one hand while holding onto the counter with the other.

  He finally swallowed his pride. “Hey, doc, can you light me a smoke?”

  I put down my wet cloth and walked over to him. There it was again, the all over physical awakening as I neared him. “So, now I’ve been promoted from nurse to doctor.” I pulled out a cigarette. “Although, I don’t know what kind of doctor I am, lighting a cigarette for my patient and all.” I picked up the lighter and coughed a few times after getting it lit.

  He pinched the cigarette between his thumb and fingers and drew on it as if it was life giving air going into his lungs instead of smoke. He exhaled and his good eye squinted at me through the veil of smoke.

  “I really need to change that wrap,” I said, once again completely flustered not only by his nearness but by the way he looked at me. I had to snap myself out of my silly, blushing schoolgirl mode. “Go back into the office before you fall face first onto the floor. I’ll be right there.”

  He shook his head. “You’ve done enough work tonight. I’m racking up a big doctor’s bill that I might have to pay in installments,” he said suggestively. Of course, it seemed almost everything he said sounded suggestive. Might just have been because even with bruises and cuts, he oozed sex, dirty, wild, mind-blowing sex. It flowed off of him in waves, and he seemed to know it. He gazed down at me for another moment before sticking the cigarette in his mouth and shuffling back to the office.

  Chapter 5

  “Ryker, how are you doing?” Gordy had one of those voices that carried across a room. I was busy taking a quick wine inventory before opening for the night. Gordy was in his office making phone calls. I hated to admit it, but the second I heard him say his nephew’s name, my ear tilted that direction. It had been a week since I’d tended to Ryker’s bruises and gashes. I could only assume he’d been at home healing up from his fight. The rest of his club had been in every night, entertaining themselves, and a crowd of women followed them in each evening. I’d heard them bring up Ryker hundreds of times, but I hadn’t seen him since that first night.

  The sultry temperatures outside coupled with t
he huge crush of people inside had made every night of work exhausting, but I was happy. I was enjoying this job far more than I’d expected to.

  I finished tallying the wine bottles.

  The front door opened. “We’re not open,” I called from behind the wine shelf. I peered around the bottles.

  Ryker obviously had his own key. Just like the first time I’d seen him, he was standing in the center of the room, only now both eyes were open, his bruises had faded some and his t-shirt lacked the ugly blood stain. He lifted up a red rose.

  I smiled. “You look quite a bit better than the first time I saw you.”

  “Thanks to my doctor.” He strolled across the floor. He looked bigger, without his shoulders and back being hunched over in agony. I took the rose from his fingers and pressed it to my nose. It had obviously been yanked off of a rose bush on the way to the bar.

  “You shouldn’t have.” I filled a glass with water and dropped the rose inside.

  “I know. I’m a giver, what can I say?”

  “Glad to see you looking so good,” I said. This was an understatement. I’d seen, even beneath the layers of swelling, that he was extraordinarily handsome, but now, healed up, he was nothing short of breathtaking. Or heartbreaking, I reminded myself before I sank back into my schoolgirl crush mode again.

  Ryker walked around the counter, grabbed a glass and filled it with beer.

  “Is it still blazing hot out there?” I asked.

  “Not as bad as it was. Or maybe I’m just feeling much better.” He gulped back the beer and plunked the glass down on the counter. He leaned against the bar and watched me while I sliced up lemons.

  “Do you have someone?”

  A laugh shot from my lips at the unexpected and blunt question. I ran the knife through the lemon. He was waiting for an answer. “Nope, just me. Sometimes facing the world alone is easier.”