His Texas Runaway. Stella BagwellЧитать онлайн книгу.
pointless as she suddenly flopped face-forward onto the steering wheel.
Recognizing she’d fainted, Chandler jerked on the door handle, only to discover it was locked. Without hesitation, he reached through the open window and released the latch.
Once the door swung wide, he leaned in and touched her shoulder. When she failed to respond, he felt for a pulse at the base of her neck. The faint, rapid thump wasn’t ideal, but at least her heart was beating.
Carefully, he eased her head away from the wheel and touched a hand to her face. Beneath his palm, the soft skin felt clammy.
He was trying to decide whether to call an ambulance or carry her into the clinic, when she suddenly began to rouse.
“Ooh.” She groaned and looked up at him. “Where...am I?”
“You’re in Wickenburg. You’re in your car,” he calmly informed her. “Have you been ill?”
While Chandler waited for her to answer, his gaze dropped to the very pregnant belly touching the bottom of the steering wheel. Oh, damn. If she was a mare, he’d predict she wasn’t far away from foaling.
Her brow furrowed with confusion. “No. I haven’t been sick. I’ve been driving for a long time. If I could just trouble you for a drink of water—that’s all I need.”
He eased her shoulder back against the seat. “Don’t try to move,” he ordered. “I’ll be right back.”
Chandler hurriedly unlocked the heavy glass door on the front of the building and returned to the car. By then, she was sitting up straight and wiping a hand over her face.
“Let me help you into the clinic,” he said. “Or if you think the baby is coming, I’ll drive you to the hospital.”
The hand on her face instantly fell to her belly. “Oh, I don’t need a hospital. The baby isn’t coming.” She looked up at him. “I—I’m sorry to bother you. I got swimmy-headed and thought I’d better rest before I drove on. I can make it now.”
Her face was as pale as the moon rising over the distant hill behind him. She wasn’t in any shape to drive ten feet, much less a mile and a half, he decided.
He extended his hand out to her and ordered, “I’m not so sure. Take my hand and squeeze it.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Don’t worry. I’m a doctor. My name is Chandler Hollister and I own this veterinary clinic where you’ve parked.”
“Oh. You’re an animal doctor.”
He couldn’t help grinning. “I’ve been known to doctor a few humans from time to time. After all, we’re mostly two-legged animals.”
“Uh... I suppose.” She hesitated a moment, then finally placed her hand in his. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Hollister. I’m Roslyn DuBose.
Her fingers managed to fold around his, but he likened the touch to the gentle closing of a butterfly’s wings. “Is that the most you can squeeze, Roslyn?”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m rather tired.”
He didn’t wait for her to say more. He leaned in closer and ordered, “Put your arms around my neck.”
“Listen, Doctor, if this is another of your tests, I’m—”
“It’s not a test. Put your arms around my neck. I’m going to carry you into the clinic.”
“Oh, but I can walk,” she protested. “Just give me a hand.”
“You can walk later. Right now, do as I say.”
To his relief, she followed his orders and he lifted her out of the car and into his arms.
As he started toward the clinic with her, Trey came jogging up to them.
“What the hell, Doc? She’s not a cat!”
“Far from it,” he told his assistant. “Go down to my office and make sure the couch is cleaned off. This young lady needs a few minutes of rest.”
“Right. I got it.”
At the entrance, the tall, lanky blond held the door open long enough for Chandler to step inside with his armload, then he sped down the hallway ahead of them.
By the time Chandler reached his private office, Trey had cleared the couch of clutter and propped a pillow at one end.
“Is she about to have the baby?” Trey asked as he stood to one side, watching anxiously as Chandler placed his latest patient on the couch. “Should I call the ambulance?”
Chandler carefully positioned the pillow beneath her head. “No. And no. Not yet, anyway,” he told Trey. “Right now, I need a bottle of water from the fridge.”
Trey fetched him the water, then Chandler squatted down at her side, quickly twisted off the lid and tilted the bottle to her lips.
“Drink, Ms. DuBose,” he prompted. “It will help revive you.”
She wrapped a hand around the bottle and drank thirstily. Once she had her fill, she said, “I’m so sorry about this. I don’t want to be a bother to either of you.”
“Don’t worry.” Chandler tried to reassure her with a gentle smile. “We’re used to putting in overtime.”
She leaned her head back against the pillow and drew in a long breath. “This is all my fault. I’ve been driving all day and haven’t taken a break since I passed through Flagstaff.”
“You’re trying to get to your destination tonight?” Chandler’s gaze roamed her face. He was an expert at gauging an animal’s accurate age, especially horses. But humans were a different matter. Especially women. If he had to guess Ms. DuBose’s age, the best he could narrow it down to was somewhere between twenty and twenty-five.
She had warm brown eyes that reminded him of toffee candy. Light brown hair fringed her forehead and waved gently to the tops of her shoulders. At the moment, her dusky pink lips were parted just enough to show the edges of very white teeth. Altogether, she was very lovely.
“I was only trying to reach Wickenburg tonight,” she answered. “I, uh, planned to stay a couple of days here before I traveled on to... California.”
She seemed hesitant about adding the last bit of information, but that was understandable, Chandler thought. He and Trey were total strangers to her.
“Good idea. You obviously need to rest.” He walked over to a row of cabinets and pulled a blood-pressure cuff from a drawer, then plucked a stethoscope from the pocket of a lab coat hanging from a hall tree. “Let me see how you’re ticking and then you might try to eat something.”
She pointed to the blood-pressure cuff. “That’s the kind you use on people. I must really be disoriented. I thought you said this was an animal clinic.”
“Don’t worry, miss,” Trey said. “Sometimes folks that bring in their animals keel over themselves. Doc takes care of them, too.”
Her expression skeptical, she said, “Oh. I guess it’s my good fortune I stopped here.”
“More like Trey’s good fortune,” Chandler said, as he once again squatted next to the couch and reached for Roslyn’s arm. “He likes rescuing damsels in distress.”
Trey’s face reddened. “Oh, Doc, that’s not so and you know it.”
Chandler wrapped the cuff around her slender arm and pumped it tight. She remained quiet as he noted the numbers, but he could feel her gaze wandering over his face.
He figured he looked like hell to her and smelled even worse. Long before daylight this morning he’d been called out on an emergency and hadn’t taken time to shave. Since then he’d waded through cow and horse manure, tromped through pigpens