Meg choked on air, face blazing afresh. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
“I know you think he’s cute.”
“Even so, I don’t do casual relationships—as you call it.” Noah didn’t either—at least, she hoped not.
Sure, she’d harbored a crush when they first met. Who wouldn’t? That first summer, when he’d appeared daily for lodgecoffee, she’d waited for him to ask her out. She’d been prepared to decline—his wedding band’s indentation still marked his finger, grief raw and visible in his eyes. Besides, she’d moved here to avoid attachment, not court it. He hadn’t asked, sparing her the refusal. Two years later, the ring mark had faded, their routine settling into a comfortable rhythm.
He knew her coffee preference—cream and two sugars; her preferred morning pastry—bear claw; and her obsession with Star Wars—original saga, of course. She knew he liked his coffee black, that he had a hiking obsession, and that his devotion to the Chicago Bears was borderline obsessive. Beyond that, he remained locked territory that she’d been content to leave unexplored. Until seven days ago, when she’d insisted he visit her office for his back injury. That encounter had cracked something open. She needed to find a way to seal it back up as soon as possible.
“I do need to see Nimue again in a few days to check her stitches.”
“Who?” Sarah rifled through files. “Last name?”
Meg winced. No file existed. She’d bent protocol because Liam had insisted it was either secret professional care or Nimue would attempt DIY superglue repair. While superglue worked for many applications, palm skin endured too much use for such crude solutions. Maybe it wasn’t life-threatening, but Meg had wanted proper cleaning and tetanus verification.
“Never mind.” She met Sarah’s gaze. “Contact Liam. Tell him I need to speak with him.”
Before Sarah could respond, the clinic door exploded inward. Noah burst through, shirt drenched in crimson.
What?Meg gasped, and coherent thought vanished. The canyon outside seemed to roar, its vastness mocking how quickly life could slip away.
“Meg! Meg!” Noah’s voice penetrated the fog—distant, then sharp. His large hand landed on her shoulder, anchoring her. “This is Heather. She needs help.”
Meg blinked once, twice, vision clearing.NotNoah’s blood. Noahwasn’tinjured. She registered the others—young girl around seven, cradled in her father’s arms, cloth pressed to her forehead, blood seeping through.
Meg drew a shuddering breath, stepping closer to examine the wound. Her voice, when she found it, emerged calm, professional. “What happened?”
Heather’s tear-streaked face peered up, voice barely audible. “The tree was first base for our kickball game, and I slipped running to it.”
“Looks like the tree won that round.” Meg forced a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll patch you up and have you back to playing ball in no time.” She gestured toward an exam room. “Sarah, prep her please. I’ll be right in.”
Stitches needed. Eight, maybe nine. Meg input details into her laptop.
“You okay?” Noah’s voice, low and close, startled her. He was still here, still bloodstained. Head wounds bled heavily, and Noah had obviously reached Heather first, absorbing the worst of it.
“Fine.” The word shot out too fast for credibility. She focused on the laptop screen, hiding her expression.
He stepped closer, hand rising as if to touch her arm before dropping to his side. “I don’t believe you.”
Meg’s fingers moved across the keyboard, typing gibberish she’d need to correct later. “How did you get involved?”
“I was walking by when she hit the tree. I think she slipped on a patch of wet grass or mud. I carried her to her father and led them here.” He moved nearer, voice softening. “Meg, talk to me.”
“That’s all I need from you.” The words emerged cold, final. She hated their harshness, but he didn’t understand. She had a child to stitch. The image of him blood-soaked had dragged her into a dark spiral, one she couldn’t navigate with him standing so close.
The door clicked shut as he left. Meg released a ragged breath. Twenty minutes earlier, she’d been wrestling with her growing feelings for Noah, wondering if she could risk opening her heart. Now, seeing blood covering him had ripped open old wounds, reminding her why she’d fled to the North Rim—to escape the agony of caring, of losing.
What kind of doctor crumbled at the sight of blood on someone they loved?
Her fingers froze on the keyboard.Loved. The word struck her, raw and undeniable. She couldn’t be in love with Noah.
Couldn’t…
Shoot.
NINE
Just past noon. Not ideal for a hike into hostile territory, but they’d rest once he got Nimue away from that bus.
