His Texas Runaway. Stella BagwellЧитать онлайн книгу.
than a concrete sidewalk.
“Do I have a blood pressure, Dr. Hollister?” she asked with dry amusement.
Her soft voice pulled his attention back to her face. How would she look without the dark smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes and the tension at the corners of her mouth? Something or someone was definitely making her anxious.
“You do. Although it’s still a little low. The water should help that. Drink all you can.” He hung the stethoscope around his neck and started to rise, but at the last moment changed his mind. “Would you like for me to listen to the baby? Just to make sure he or she isn’t in distress?”
“Oh, yes. I’d be very grateful.
He positioned the stethoscope back in his ears and placed the round metal diaphragm against her belly. After listening intently at several different spots, he gave her a thumbs-up sign.
“Sounds like a healthy girl. Is that what it is?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I wanted to find out the gender the old-fashioned way. But I’ve been calling it a boy. Do you really think it’s a girl?”
“Well, my brothers say I’m an expert at predicting a foal’s gender. But that doesn’t mean you should go out and buy everything in pink.”
He walked back over to the cabinet to put away the blood-pressure cuff and stethoscope. “Trey, did you see anything in the fridge to eat? The girls usually leave their lunch leftovers.”
Trey said, “I think there’s a piece of fried chicken and one of those cartons of yogurt. That’s all.”
“That’s enough.” He glanced over his shoulder to see the woman had relaxed enough to close her eyes. Chandler motioned for Trey to follow him out of the room.
Out in the hallway, the two men made their way to a stockroom, where medical supplies were stored on shelves and in refrigerators.
As Chandler rummaged through one of the refrigerators for the food, Trey asked in a hushed voice, “What do you think about her?”
“She’s going to be okay. As far as I can tell, she’s suffering from dehydration and exhaustion.”
“No. I don’t mean medically. I mean, what is she doing here? In Wickenburg?”
Chandler shot him a droll look. “I wouldn’t know that any more than you. From what she says, she’s on her way to California. Frankly, it’s not our business.”
Trey lifted his straw hat from his head, then plopped it back down as though the action would help him think. “Well, she sure is pretty.”
“Yeah, she sure is.”
“Wonder where her husband is. The guy must be an idiot for letting her get on the road in that condition.”
“I’m not sure she has a husband.”
Trey eyes widened. “What makes you think that, Doc? Did you ask her?”
“No. I didn’t ask her. It’s just an assumption. She isn’t wearing a ring.”
“Maybe that’s because her hands are swollen and the ring is too tight. My sister’s hands stayed puffy when she was pregnant.”
“Trey, you’re watching too much TV. You’re getting the idea you’re a PI in a cowboy hat.”
“Oh, shoot, I’m just trying to figure her out,” Trey reasoned. “We don’t ever get anyone like her here at the clinic.”
Chandler placed the piece of chicken on a paper plate, then found a plastic spoon to go with the carton of yogurt. “I wouldn’t start setting my sights on her, Trey. She’ll be gone in a couple of days.”
Trey snorted. “Hell, I’m not going to be guilty of setting my sights on any woman. I can barely take care of myself. But she’s easy on the eyes. And I sorta feel bad for her. She seems kinda lost, don’t you think?”
Chandler let out a long breath. In the twelve years since he’d opened the clinic, Trey was the best assistant he’d ever had. But sometimes the man’s incessant chatter had Chandler longing for a piece of duct tape. However, this was one time Trey was voicing Chandler’s exact thoughts.
“She’ll be okay, Trey,” Chandler reiterated. “And if you’re finished with the horses, you can go on home. I can handle this. There’s no need for you to keep hanging around.”
Trey looked at him with surprise and then he grinned and winked. “I got it, Doc. You’d rather be alone with the lady. No problem. I’m out of here. Pronto. Like right now.”
Chandler hardly needed to be alone with Roslyn DuBose. Not in the way Trey was suggesting. But he did need time to make sure she was capable of leaving the clinic under her own power. “I’ll see you in the morning. At six. Remember? We have to be over to the Johnson ranch to geld his colts.”
“Six. Yeah, I’ll be here.” He screwed his hat down tighter on his head and started out the door. “You can tell me all about Ms. DuBose then.”
* * *
Roslyn pushed herself to a sitting position on the couch and glanced curiously around Dr. Hollister’s office. The room was nothing like her OB’s plush office and definitely nothing close to the luxurious suites that made up her father’s corporate law firm back in Fort Worth.
Rectangular in shape, this office had a bare concrete floor and walls of whitewashed cinderblock. A large metal desk with a leather executive chair took up most of the left-hand side of the space. Two wooden chairs sat at odd angles in front of the desk that was used for consultations, she supposed. Although, the seats were presently filled with an odd assortment of clothing and leather riding tack. To the right of her, metal cabinets and shelves were loaded with boxes of medications and other medical supplies, while straight in front of her the wall was covered with an endless number of photographs, all involving animals. Most of the images were of horses, taken either in the winners’ circle at the racetrack, or in an arena next to a trophy-presentation table. Along with the horses, there were pics of dogs, cats, raccoons and opossums.
The man clearly had an affinity for animals, she decided. And he had no need to surround himself with a lavish work area. The fact impressed her, almost as much as the gentleness of his hands and the kindness she’d found in his eyes.
She was still thinking about him when he suddenly walked through the door carrying a plate of food. As he moved toward her, she found her gaze riveted to his striking image.
He was at least an inch or two over six feet, and his shoulders were so broad they stretched the denim fabric of his Western shirt to the limit. As her eyes followed the line of pearl snaps down to a square, silver belt buckle, she noted that his lean waist was a huge contrast to the breadth of his shoulders. Long, muscular legs strained against the work-worn denim.
Lifting her gaze, she studied his rugged features, which were made up of a square chin, and a jaw, covered with dark, rusty stubble. Beneath the gray cowboy hat, his hair was dark enough to call black and lay in thick waves until it reached the back of his collar. His eyes were vivid blue, like the sky after a hard rain, and framed by thick black lashes. The effect of his gaze was disconcerting, but then, so was everything else about the man.
“I found something for you to snack on,” he said, offering her the plate. “Eat what you can. It’ll help revive you.”
“Thanks. I am rather hungry.” She picked up the chicken leg and a paper napkin from the plate and began to eat. Halfway through, she paused to glance at him. “As soon as I eat, I’ll be ready to leave. I don’t want to keep you any longer than I already have.”
He relaxed against the corner of the couch and crossed his boots out in front of him. The hems of his jeans were ragged and stained green with manure, while the pant legs were covered with dust and splotched with something dark, like blood. She didn’t have to wonder if he was a hardworking man. It was evident