If Briar was hoping for a quiet first day, it wasn’t to
be. Thirty minutes before their first appointment, the
door to the unit buzzed open.
Four guards entered the room escorting three inmates in
full restraints, hands bound in front of them. Murphy
quickly patted them down, checking for any hidden
weapons. The chains clinked at their wrists as they
walked.
She stood up from the desk where she and Dr. Walker had
been reviewing the files of the incoming patients,
already making notes and potential diagnoses based on
Josiah’s assessments. They were hoping to see all the
inmates Josiah had scheduled for today and maybe some
additional cases, too. After glancing through the wait
list and reviewing some of the inmates’ complaints, Briar
and Dr. Walker had exchanged looks. It was alarming how
many of these men were walking around untreated with
conditions that would have put them in the hospital in
the real world. In fact, she suspected Dr. Walker was
going to recommend immediate hospital transport for one
or two of them.
The room suddenly seemed to shrink at the arrival of
these menacing men in restraints. Dr. Walker and Josiah
moved forward, directing the guards where to place the
inmates, but her limbs froze. A dull beat started in her
ears as she surveyed them. She couldn’t move.
Two of the inmates were riddled with tattoos. They were
scary looking men, ink covering every inch of their arms,
necks, and faces. Her stomach churned. They were the type
of men she would have crossed the street to avoid.
One of the convicts bled profusely from the mouth and
nose, thick crimson dripping onto his white uniform. The
other one hop-walked, supported by two corrections
officers. Even though the tattooed pair were injured and
it was her job to extend care, she couldn’t stop the
small shudder from rolling through her.
Yet even as alarming as those two skinheads appeared, it
was the third man that gave her the greatest pause . . .
who made her heart stutter and then kick into a hard
hammer that shouted: Stay away, stay away, stay away.
He was tattoo-free, as far as she could tell anyway, but
that left the immense size of him and the harshness of
his features to focus upon. His jaw looked like it could
break granite, and his mouth was an unsmiling slash,
bracketed by two short lines that could have possibly
been dimples or smile grooves. Except she was certain
that he never smiled.
A three-inch bloody gash at the corner of his forehead
only added to the severity of his appearance. On someone
else, it might have made him look weaker, but not this
guy. He looked like a warrior unfazed and ready to plunge
back into battle. She knew plenty of women were drawn to
his type. A bloodied Viking. The Tarzan that dragged Jane
into his hut and quickly made her forget that she was a
good civilized woman. Raw and seething with power. He
radiated danger. The edgy guy with intense, deep-set eyes
and a shadow of stubble covering his square jaw. She
could almost imagine brushing her fingers across that
jaw. Almost. If she were crazy and into felons.
He stood a few inches over six feet, towering over
everyone else in the unit. Even the guards, fully armed
and so very competent-looking in their uniforms, seemed
diminished beside him. She eyed the cuffs at his wrists,
worrying if they were enough, if they would hold him.
“These beds here are fine.” Josiah waved at three gray-
blanketed beds. They were side by side, the heads butting
one side of cinder-block wall.
The ink-free inmate made a move toward one of the beds,
but a guard stopped him, his baton arcing through the air
with a hiss and whacking him across the flat of his
stomach.
It was no gentle blow, and Briar flinched. Everything
inside her rebelled at the ease with which the guard
delivered the hit. And, if she were honest with herself,
the ease with which the inmate accepted it.
She had been so careful to construct a life free of
violence. Violent people. Violent situations. She led a
safe life. At least as much as she could control.
The inmate didn’t even blink an eye. He merely stopped
and turned a dead-eyed stare on the guard smirking back
at him.
That same guard—his name tag read Chester—addressed
Josiah: “I wouldn’t stick these two anywhere near
Callaghan. He might decide to finish the fight.” He
nodded at the inmate he’d just struck with his baton.
Callaghan. He held himself still, seemingly patient, but
tension radiated off him. He reminded her of a jungle cat
on one of those nature shows, ready to spring at any
moment.
“Yeah. Not a good idea,” Chester added, idly tapping his
baton against his thigh.
So Callaghan was the reason the other two looked the way
they did. Did he start the fight? As soon as the thought
entered her head, she shoved it out. It didn’t matter. It
didn’t make him any less culpable if he didn’t start it.
He was a convict. God knew what horrible thing he had
done to land himself in this place. Not a good idea was
the perfect sum of him.
“Okay.” Josiah nodded and turned in a half circle. He
waved at the bed in the far corner near the desk. “That
one, then.”
Nodding, Chester escorted Callaghan to the bed. The
inmate sank down on it, still without uttering a sound.
Not even a flicker of discomfort crossed his granite
features.
Dr. Walker immediately started examining the whimpering
skinhead with the hurt knee. Josiah squared off in front
of the other skinhead, guiding him onto the bed. The
doctor met her gaze and gestured to Callaghan. “You want
to look at him, Nurse Davis? I’ll clean up this one’s
face.”
Hovering behind the desk, she was closest to Callaghan,
so it made sense for her to examine him. But she
hesitated, her feet rooted to the spot. He exuded danger,
a threat she was reluctant to approach.
Chester rounded the foot of the bed, inching closer to
where she stood. “It’s all right, miss.” He tucked his
thumbs into his gun belt and puffed out his chest. “I’m
here.”
She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes.
Callaghan turned his head to look at her for the first
time, and it was like being pinned in the cross- hairs.
Her lungs constricted, the air trapped there as he stared
at her. She felt stripped of her skin. Like he was seeing
inside her, assessing, weighing and measuring her. She
had to resist hunching her shoulders and looking away.
The deep blue of his gaze was hard and flat. It reminded
her of the cobalt glass her grandmother had collected.
For years the little vases and bottles sat in Nana’s
windowsill, catching the morning sunlight. They had
always mesmerized Briar. She’d felt safe in that kitchen,
her legs swinging from her chair, not quite grazing the
floor as she ate her breakfast. Not like she felt here.
Callaghan’s top lip curled faintly in a knowing smirk,
and she felt exposed. As though he knew all she had been
thinking. Every low thought of him. Every fearful notion
she had. Just as quickly as it appeared, the smirk
vanished and his lips flattened, covering up his straight
white teeth again.
Chester’s voice snapped her to attention. “I can stay
here and keep an eye on him, miss.” He grinned at her
with a cocky tilt of his head. “Make sure he don’t give
you no problem.”
Her gaze flicked to Dr. Walker and Josiah, already
attending to their patients. The other guards, with the
exception of Chester, were leaving the room.
She squared her shoulders. She had signed on for this. No
wimping out now.
“That’s not necessary.” She’d worked hard to put herself
through college and become a nurse. She was a
professional. It was her duty to care for the sick—not
judge them.
She rounded the desk and grabbed some gloves from a box
on a standing rolling tray of medical supplies. “You can
go now, officer.”
His cocky smile slipped slightly. He nodded slowly. He
glanced at Murphy, awake from his nap and standing
somewhat more attentively near the door. “Right, then.
Don’t hesitate to hit the panic button if you—”
“I won’t. Thank you.”
Chester’s chest lifted on a breath. He walked over to
Callaghan and tapped him on the shoulder with his baton.
“Behave yourself, boy. I’ll be back to fetch you later.”
She watched the officer swagger off, the resemblance to
her father uncanny. Not his appearance. It was his
posturing. Her father was that same good old boy. On the
surface he acted so good-natured and courteous. Everyone
loved and admired him, the gentleman looking out for the
fairer sex, when behind doors he liked to use them for
his personal punching bag.
Shaking off those ugly memories, Briar moved on leaden
feet, dragging the rolling tray of supplies with her and
stopping in front of where Callaghan sat on the edge of
the mattress.
Even sitting before her, in full restraints, he seemed .
. . big. Intimidating in a way that he shouldn’t be. He
made her feel small. At five feet seven and a size
twelve, that sensation had never plagued her. Besides, he
was a prisoner. He lacked all freedom. Freedom to hurt
her being paramount. That should take away his aura of
power.
It should, but it didn’t.
She eyed the gash on his forehead. “That’s a nasty cut.
What happened?” she asked before she could rethink the
question. It was just habit. The thing she asked when she
sat down with every patient. In this case, for a split
second she simply forgot that he was not every patient.
At his silence, she lowered her gaze from his forehead to
his eyes. Her lungs tightened again as she fell into a
sea of cobalt. She resented that—that he should have such
stunning eyes reminiscent of a part of her childhood that
was pure and untainted.
“Do you know where you are, honey?” The deep rumble of
his voice felt like gravel rolling over her skin, and she
blinked, confused by the question—and irritated by the
“honey” designation. It was an endearment, but something
in the way he said it made it feel like an insult.
“Of course I know where I am,” she answered.
“Then you can probably guess what happened to me.”
She flushed. “I’m sure it was a fight, but I was looking
for more specifics.” She dragged her gaze away and picked
a cotton swab off the tray. Dousing it in astringent, she
faced him again. She was careful to keep her attention
trained to his wound and not his face—not those eyes.
Dabbing the swab against his forehead, she fought to keep
her stare from dipping down. Wiping away the blood, she
could see he was going to need sutures and said as much.
“Dr. Walker is going to want to take a look at this.”
A glance over her shoulder revealed Dr. Walker still
examining the inmate with the injured knee. From his
concerned expression, she knew he would send the man out
to Radiology to get his leg X-rayed.
When she turned back to Callaghan, she found his
unswerving gaze trained on her face. Her cheeks caught
fire and she knew she was tomato red.
She sucked in a breath and shivered, rebelling at the
idea that she was actually this close to an obviously
dangerous criminal. Close enough to note the dark rings
circling his irises. So close she could count the
eyelashes framing his eyes. Dark lashes far too lush for
any man to rightly possess. She held her breath, frozen
for a long moment. Pinned beneath his scrutiny, watching
him watch her, detecting the direction of his gaze, every
inch of her face his eyes touched. Her eyes, nose, mouth,
and hair. He missed nothing.
She tore her gaze away and finished cleaning his wound
with unsteady hands. She reached for the butterfly
strips, deciding to use them until Dr. Walker was able to
suture. He didn’t move as she carefully applied the
strips.
Finished, she stood back, stripping off her gloves. “Why
don’t you rest back on the bed until the doctor can
examine you?”
He stood up from the bed, presumably to center himself on
the mattress, but the action brought him closer to her.
She felt draped in his shadow, the great height and
breadth of him falling over her like a blanket. The male
scent of him filled her nostrils.
Briar stepped back quickly. Too quickly. She bumped the
standing tray and sent it rolling several feet with a
loud whir.
She chased after the tray, catching it with fumbling
hands, then positioned it near the bed again, her hands
trembling. You’re a professional, Briar. Act like one.
He watched her with flinty eyes as he sank back down on
the bed. She felt ten kinds of idiot. He was in steel
restraints. There was an armed corrections officer twenty
feet away. Cameras in every corner. A panic button six
feet away. Relax, relax, relax. Do what you would do with
any other patient.
He started to ease himself back on the mattress, and she
couldn’t help notice the slowness with which he moved. A
wince passed over his face. It was so swift she almost
missed it.
She stepped forward, forgetting her own nerves in the
face of his pain. “What else is bothering you?”
He shook his head as he fully reclined on the bed, the
pillow beneath his head, the white cotton stark against
his dark cropped hair.
“You’re moving slowly simply because of your head wound?”
she pressed, unconvinced.
“I’m fine.”
He was lying. She immediately knew that this big guy of
few words was withholding something.
“Let me take a look . . .” She moved forward and began
running her hands up his arms and over his shoulders.
Beneath his shirt his muscles reacted and tensed,
tightening under her questing fingers. It was a clinical
examination. She had performed it countless times before,
testing for injuries. Even if she wasn’t oblivious to the
hard cut of his body, she noted it all dispassionately,
for the most part, keeping her inspection to cool
observation. He was all lean lines and hollows. Not an
inch of fat or softness anywhere on him.
She watched his face carefully, trying to detect if her
touch hurt him anywhere. He held himself still,
expression impassive. She gently probed his muscled pecs,
skimming with her palms and then pressing down with the
tips of her fingers. When she reached his left rib cage,
the wince returned for a brief second before he masked
it.
“Here?” She lightly prodded the area and a hissed breath
escaped him.
Nodding, she lifted her hands from him and stepped back.
“Will you please sit up and remove your shirt?” Her cool,
efficient tone pleased her, reaffirming that she was
business as usual. She wasn’t frightened of him. Nor did
his size, build, or above-average looks move her in any
way. Not in the least. Not at all.
He stared at her, unmoving, his jaw set at a resolute
angle. She frowned at him.
After a long moment he sat up and swung his legs over the
side, apparently deciding to oblige her request.
Thankfully, she didn’t jump out of her skin at his
movement this time. She stepped aside, giving him more
room and waiting for him to remove his shirt, keeping her
face coolly professional. A quick glance at Dr. Walker
and Josiah revealed them both conferring over the inmate
with the busted knee.
She looked back at Callaghan. He still hadn’t removed his
shirt.
“Your shirt, please.”
He glanced down at his bound hands and then looked back
at her with a cocked eyebrow. He needed help.
“Oh. Yes, of course.” Bracing herself, she stepped
forward and reached around him to grasp the hem of his
white shirt. As she leaned forward, the aroma of some
kind of industrial-strength laundry detergent seared the
inside of her nose. But beneath that overpowering odor
there was the scent of him. Male musk and a hint of clean
sweat.
Briar tugged the shirt up, her knuckles grazing the
smooth flesh of his back. He hissed a breath again.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m trying not to hurt you.”
His face was in the space beside her head, directly above
her shoulder. A shiver raced down her spine as she felt
his warm breath against her ear.
Anxious to put an end to their proximity, she became less
careful with her movements and yanked the shirt up,
pulling it over his head, the backs of her fingers
brushing the dark cropped hair that hugged his scalp. She
glimpsed a tattoo on his back, but he reclined back on
the bed before she could properly view all of it.
She stepped away then, and her mouth dried at the sight
of his body. A dragon tattoo wrapped around the side of
his torso, evidently traveling from his back, crawling
over his chiseled flesh like a living thing, its mouth
open in a fearsome snarl across the front of his rib
cage.
Here was the proof of what she had already felt. Hard
sinew. Lean muscle. His was not a body given to leisure.
Several white-ridged scars decorated his shoulders and
torso, and she couldn’t stop her eyes from dragging over
him, counting each one. He must engage in knife fights
regularly. She stopped counting at twelve.
“Looks like you visit here often,” she muttered, her hand
instinctively going to one angry-red scar slashing across
his shoulder. The moment she touched the puckered flesh,
she realized she had forgotten to put her gloves back on.
Skin to skin, his flesh was warm against her bare
fingers. Almost hot to the touch. She snatched her hand
back.
He didn’t respond, and she heard herself murmur, “Not
much of a talker, are you?”
After a moment he shrugged one shoulder and finally
answered her. “Often enough. Been here awhile.”
That single announcement rattled around inside her skull
like a loose marble. Even if he hadn’t announced it, she
knew. She sensed it. He must have done something pretty
terrible.
She swallowed the impossibly large lump in her throat,
her mind briefly touching on what some of those horrible
things could be before she stopped herself. She didn’t
want to know.
They didn’t lock people up for a long time for doing
nothing. It was the only nudge she needed to remember
what kind of man she was dealing with.
He stared blankly at her, unapologetic. There wasn’t the
faintest shame or regret in his expression over his
admission. Been here awhile. He owned it like someone
admitting to liking peaches ’n’ cream ice cream.
“Are you afraid of me, Nurse Davis?” Her skin reacted at
his faintly mocking tone, jumping alive with a thousand
goose bumps at the deep timbre of his voice. Nurse Davis.
Just the sound of her name laced with derision was enough
to jackknife her pulse. Like he knew some secret about
her.
Her gaze ate up his brutally beautiful face. And that
wasn’t right. Such beauty shouldn’t be threatening. Or
wild or dangerous. But she supposed many things were. She
thought tigers were beautiful but she wouldn’t dare touch
one. And yet here she was, touching this man.
She looked down and examined the area that had made him
wince and sucked in a gasp. The skin there was a deep red
and already starting to bruise.
Ignoring his question, she wrapped herself in her
professional armor and ducked her head for a closer look.
“What happened here?” She shot him a warning glance.
“What happened specifically?”
He shook his head like it was nothing. “Just the usual.”
“Fists? Boots?” she pressed. As big as he was, she
couldn’t imagine a simple punch to the ribs doing this
much damage.
“The usual,” he repeated.
“It’s useful in determining the severity of your injury
if I know what exactly happened. I assure you, it’s not
for my own perverse curiosity.” She stared at him,
waiting with a lift of her eyebrows.
“Baton,” he supplied the single word.
A guard’s baton.
Frowning, she looked down at his purpling flesh and
touched him there, gently running her fingers over the
sensitive area, testing it for signs of an obvious break.
She didn’t feel a protruding bone, but she knew the only
way to know for certain would be to take an X ray. “You
should comply with the corrections officers. This kind of
abuse could result in some serious damage.”
Something flickered in his eyes. She couldn’t determine
what it was. It passed so quickly, but a frisson of
trepidation dripped through her. “Who said I didn’t
comply?” he asked.
She hesitated, her breath catching, and she didn’t know
why it should. The idea that seemingly good guys could be
not good, that they could hurt someone when it wasn’t
needed, when it wasn’t right . . . well, that shouldn’t
be an unfamiliar concept for her. Mean people came in all
shapes and sizes. She knew that better than anyone. “Are
you saying they used excessive force with you?”
He cocked his head, and for the first time his hard
expression cracked. Disgust leaked out. “Are you for
real? Where do you think you are, honey?”
Briar stiffened. “I know exactly where I am. If the
guards used excessive force, you should report them—”
“First day here and you know so much,” he murmured, his
quiet voice no less deep or menacing. She felt her eyes
widen as she realized the moment of her mistake. Her
experience was not his, but she had presumed to know
anyway. To understand. And then she dared to advise him
how to live, how to exist in this cage. “You don’t know
f**k all about this place.”
She flinched. He might as well have said f**k off. That’s
what she felt. What she heard. What she deserved
Face burning, she turned and picked up the gauze, feeling
like that stupid girl who bit off more than she could
chew. The teenager at her first party slamming back a
shot and then choking on the burn as it slogged its way
down her throat. She plucked at the tape holding the roll
of gauze together, knowing that whether Dr. Walker wanted
Callaghan to have X rays or not, he would want his ribs
wrapped. For Callaghan’s comfort if nothing else.
Mostly she just needed to do something with herself after
Callaghan’s stinging words.
Her hands were shaking as she got the tape free and began
unrolling a section. No matter how she willed them to
stop, they wouldn’t.
“Ah, what do we have here?”
Her head snapped up at the arrival of Dr. Walker. Relief
coursed through her.
Renewed with purpose, she set down the gauze, stood aside
and recounted Callaghan’s injuries, feeling in control
again. A professional. Not at all like the rebuked child
of moments ago.
The doctor sank down onto the edge of the bed and
examined the head wound first, checking Callaghan’s eyes
and asking the standard questions to determine if he had
a concussion. He treated him like any other patient.
Because that’s what he saw. A patient. He didn’t see the
caged animal she did.
Anticipating his needs, Briar busied herself gathering up
the supplies required for suturing the wound, retrieving
items from the cabinets. She was glad she had taken the
time to familiarize herself with the contents this
morning so she didn’t have to bother Josiah, who was now
on the phone arranging transport to the local hospital
for the inmate with the injured knee.
She offered Dr. Walker an anesthetic to help numb the
area before suturing. “I don’t need that,” Callaghan
said, his voice soft, but deep enough that she would have
probably heard him from outside the HSU.
Dr. Walker smiled kindly, as though he wasn’t dealing
with a dangerous convict, and accepted the syringe from
Briar. “It’s nothing to be afraid of, son. It just hurts
a moment, but you’ll be grateful for the relief once I
start sewing.”
“I don’t need it,” he repeated in that quiet, unshakable
voice.
Dr. Walker stared at him a long moment before glancing at
Briar, the hesitation clear in his eyes.
She shrugged. “If he doesn’t want it . . .” She let her
words fade away. As harsh as Callaghan had been to her,
she wasn’t particularly motivated to argue with him just
so he could suffer less. If he wanted pain, then he could
have it.
As soon as the uncharitable thought entered her head, she
gave it a swift kick. Her profession called for her to
offer comfort and compassion. In so short a time, this
inmate had squashed that impulse in her. It made her feel
small and ugly inside. So soon, this place was already
changing her. She didn’t like it, and right then she
vowed not to let it happen. Part of the reason she went
into nursing was because she wanted to be a good person.
Nothing like her father.
“Very well, Mr. Callaghan,” Dr. Walker declared. “I shall
endeavor to use a gentle hand, but I can’t promise it
won’t hurt.”
Callaghan blinked, his lids dropping slowly over those
blue eyes. He pulled back slightly, as if the mister
before his name had somehow thrown him, and she doubted
he had often, if ever, been extended that courtesy. At
least not while he was in prison, and as he’d made clear,
that had been a while.
Dr. Walker was good to his word, working quickly and
efficiently. She stood at his elbow, handing him whatever
he needed promptly, her gaze only straying once or twice
to Callaghan.
The man stared straight ahead, his jaw locked tight, his
expression reflecting none of his discomfort, even though
she knew it had to hurt. Was that what prison did? Killed
one’s ability to feel? The possibility left her a little
hollow inside.
“There now.” Dr. Walker slipped off his gloves. “Are you
opposed to acetaminophen?”
After a moment of hesitation, Callaghan shook his head.
Dr. Walker smiled. “Very good, then. Nurse Davis will get
that for you as well as an antibiotic cream to help with
any potential infection.” He lightly patted Callaghan on
the shoulder like he was one of the old grannies that
came to see him complaining of arthritis, and not a
hardened convict.
“What about his ribs?” Briar asked.
“Ah, that’s right. Let’s take a look.” Dr. Walker rubbed
his hands together, warming his palms before placing them
over the bruises on Callaghan’s torso. “Possibly
fractured,” he said after a moment. “Maybe only bruised.
How’s your breathing? Any trouble?” Briar offered him a
stethoscope, and the doctor placed it on both Callaghan’s
chest and his back, listening for long moments as he
directed the patient to inhale and exhale. At last he sat
down, looping the stethoscope around his neck. “Your
lungs sound strong. Considering there is little to do to
treat your ribs, I don’t think it necessary to send you
out for X rays. We’ll bind you up, though. That should
offer some comfort and help with the healing.”
Callaghan nodded once, which she supposed was
acknowledgment and thanks rolled into one. It seemed even
this hardened criminal was not immune to Dr. Walker’s
generous bedside manner. The older man pushed himself to
his feet just as the door opened.
Chester and another guard returned, entering the room in
that swaggering way of theirs. “Any of these inmates
ready?” Chester asked, his gaze falling on Callaghan,
making it clear who he really wanted.
She tried not to let the fact that the guard clearly
disliked him matter. If Chester was singling him out, it
was just further evidence that Callaghan was a problem
and probably deserving of such treatment.
“Thought we’d get them transferred to seg before our
shift ends.” He stopped and hooked his thumb in his belt,
legs braced apart. “Save the new guards coming in the
trouble.”
Dr. Walker looked bewildered, his gaze seeking out
Josiah, their interpreter in this strange new world.
Josiah pointed to the inmate with lesser injuries. “This
one can be moved, but we’ve already called transport to
take Rollins to Memorial—”
“What about Callaghan?” Chester strode closer to his bed,
his manner almost possessive.Dr. Walker blinked and
looked down at the silent inmate. Even with his stitched
forehead and his bruised torso, he looked formidable. Too
big for the cot.
Briar’s gaze dropped to his hands with the scarred
knuckles. Her stomach clenched when she noticed they were
curled into fists. Battle ready. She could almost imagine
him bursting from his handcuffs like the Hulk. Her gaze
shot to his face, locking with his eyes. Her chest
tightened. He was dangerous. She knew it. And he knew she
knew it, too.
“Him?” Dr. Walker queried. “He’s not going anywhere.”
Chester looked Callaghan over belligerently. “He looks
fine. All stitched up, I see. Why can’t—”
“He has a concussion and bruised, possibly fractured,
ribs. He’s not going anywhere for another twenty-four
hours. At the very least.”
Chester’s lips fell into a mutinous line. He clearly
wanted to argue, but knew better than to oppose the
doctor. Especially a doctor who was so generously
volunteering his time while they were short of staff in
the HSU.
Dr. Walker turned back around and addressed Briar, a
silent dismissal of the belligerent guard. “Why don’t you
go ahead and bind his ribs?” He glanced at the clock on
the wall and shook his head with a grimace. “Hopefully,
we can finally start on some of the appointments.” With a
sigh, he rubbed the center of his forehead. “I’d hope to
get more accomplished today. Josiah, can we go ahead and
send for the first two appointments?”
Josiah nodded and moved to the phone.
Briar lowered her head, hiding a small smile as Chester
swung around in clear displeasure at being dismissed by
the diminutive man. He barked at the inmate who was well
enough to leave. “On your feet!”
She knew Chester likely put up with all manner of abuse
day in and day out on this job, but he struck her as a
bully. She had never liked bullies.
The door buzzed open and shut as Chester and the other
guard left the room with the inmate between them.
Soon, two new guards entered the room to escort the
second inmate for transport, assisting him into a
wheelchair. Josiah and Dr. Walker moved over to
supervise, and Briar was left with Callaghan. She still
needed to bind his ribs.
She reached for the gauze and unrolled it a fraction.
Gripping it between her fingers, she faced the inmate,
her tone all business. “If you wouldn’t mind sitting up
again.”
He obliged without a word, lifting long arms corded
tightly with sinew out in front of him so she had room to
wrap his torso. She began circling the gauze around him,
leaning in and out, in and out, repeatedly. Her hands
stroked the cotton, making certain it lay smooth against
his firm flesh, without wrinkles or bunching. “It needs
to feel a little tight,” she murmured, “but let me know
if it’s too uncomfortable.”
His breath fell in a steady cadence near her ear. She
trained her gaze on his body. Not his face. Not the eyes
that she felt moving over her. Touching him like this,
being this close, she dared not look up.
Because his body was unnerving enough.
She held in a snort. Just barely. His body was
ridiculous. Honestly, there was nothing about him or this
situation that did not unnerve her. The hard wall of him
made her skin feel too tight. Too hot and itchy.
“You don’t want to be here,” he said so quietly it was
practically a whisper in her ear.
Her breath caught. Her eyes flicked to his. She couldn’t
help it. She had to take a quick peek. He was watching
her like a hawk as she worked. She pasted a brittle smile
on her face, her heart racing faster than a jackrabbit in
the face of his scrutiny. “Why do you say that? I’m here,
aren’t I?”
Was she putting out an I-don’t-want-to-be-here vibe? If
that was the case, she hoped Dr. Walker wasn’t picking up
on it. Of the eight nurses that worked under him and the
other three doctors at the practice, she was the only one
who volunteered to join him in this latest charity
project. She wanted to be essential to the doctor and the
practice. Especially since Nancy, the senior staff nurse,
was retiring next year. Briar was gunning for that
position, and she knew that having a good attitude was
crucial.
Satisfied she had wrapped enough gauze around him, she
snipped off the end and taped it into place. With a final
pat, she moved back from the bed. “I’ll get you something
for pain.”
She didn’t wait to hear if he thanked her. Eyeing the
clock on the way to the supply cabinet, she told herself
she only had a few more hours to go until she left this
place. Then another week until she had to return. A week
of normalcy. Back to her safe job with promising chances
for advancement. Her comfortable town house. Her freezer
full of Cherry Garcia and a DVD chock full of her
favorite shows. That was the life she had created. This
place didn’t fit into that life.
By the time she had to return here, Callaghan would be
gone. She probably wouldn’t have to see him again. Who
knew? Maybe they would find a full-time physician in the
next week and she and Dr. Walker wouldn’t have to come
back at all.
Glancing around the grim room with its gray walls and
gray-blanketed beds currently occupied by one fierce-
looking inmate with hard eyes that tracked her every
move, that was just fine with her.