“Stay perfectly still, okay?” he says gently. Then his hands are moving over me. Touching my legs, my arms, brushing my hair away from my neck and sliding his palms across my collarbone. When he moves outward to my shoulders, I wince and suck in a gasp.
“I think I broke something,” I say. “It really hurts.”
“Can you wiggle your fingers for me?” Noah asks as his hand slides down my left arm.
I do as he asks—his confidence makes it very easy to trust him at the moment—but I’m only marginally successful. I feel my fingers pressing into the snow, but they are tingly and uncomfortable, like they’ve fallen asleep from too little blood flow. On impulse, I lift my arm to look at my fingers, except…Ican’tlift my arm.
At all.
“Noah, I can’t move my arm,” I say, fighting a rising sense of panic that’s only making my nausea worse. I really,reallythink I’m going to throw up. “Can you take me to the hospital?”
“Just breathe for me, okay?” he says. “You need to keep breathing.” His hands are still on my shoulder, gently prodding, like he’s feeling for something specific.
“What Ineedis to go to the hospital,” I say. “I’m the one with medical training here. And I’m pretty sure I’ve broken something.”
“You didn’t break anything,” he says, his voice calm. “At least, I don’t think you did. But you did dislocate your shoulder.”
I don’t know why Noah would know, but as soon as the words are out of his mouth, I sense that he’s right.
He stands and shifts so he’s crouching behind me, his hands moving to my neck and back to my collarbone. “No pain through here?” he says, prodding gently. There is an efficiency to his movements that gives me pause. It does not seem like this is the first time Noah has asked these questions.
“No, I don’t think so,” I say. “My shoulder is the only thing that hurts.”
He comes back around to my side. “Can you put your good arm around me? We need to get you out of the snow.”
I do as he asks, because he’s right. I wasn’t wearing a coat, thinking it wouldn’t take long to hang the garland, and the snow has already soaked through my clothes.
“Noah, I need to go to the hospital,” I say. “If Ididdislocate my shoulder, a doctor will be able to pop it back into place.”
Noah is quiet while he scoops me into his arms and tucks me against his chest, then carries me into the house, making it look far too easy. I don’t exactly mind being in his arms, but it’s hard to really enjoy it with my shoulder throbbing so painfully.
He deposits me on the couch next to the Christmas tree with my bum shoulder facing out, then he grabs a throw pillow to put behind my head and another to prop under my feet.
“I appreciate this,” I say, wondering if my earlier words just didn’t register. “But I reallydoneed to go to the hospital.”
He sinks back onto his heels. “I’ll take you if that’s what you want to do,” he says. “But if you’re okay with it and you trust me, I think I can take care of you here.”
I narrow my eyes and study Noah’s face.
Idotrust him. But trusting that he won’t ax-murder me in my sleep while we’re sharing the farmhouse is not the same thing as trusting him to take care of my medical needs. Though I’m not opposed to the idea of him taking care of me. I maybe even like the idea. A lot. But my arm is hanging from its socket like a limp pool noodle. This feels bigger than justtaking care.
“You could pop my shoulder back into place?” I ask. “How would you know how to do that?”
He sighs and rubs a hand across his face, like it’s causing him physical pain to have this conversation. “I know how to do it because I’m a doctor.” He hesitates, storm clouds passing behind his expression. “Iusedto be a doctor. But I can do this for you. If you’ll let me.”
For a split second, I almost forget how badly my shoulder hurts.
Noah’s a doctor? That at least explains the way he was examining my body outside.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “If you—why are you?—?”
His gaze softens, and he lifts a hand to my face, his thumb brushing across my cheek. “It’s not important,” he says gently. “Will you let me help you? There’s no reason for you to sit here in pain.”
I nod and relax back onto the cushions as another wave of nausea washes over me. I close my eyes and take a steadying breath, then open them to meet Noah’s warm gaze. “Okay. I trust you.”
He nods once, then he gently adjusts my body, I assume shifting me to give him easier access to my shoulder. “Can we take this off?” he says, tugging at my sweater. It buttons down the front and I have a tank top underneath, but the question still makes me blush.
I mentally chide myself for having any kind of reaction. Noah’s a doctor, and right now, all he wants to do is…doctor me.
