tried desperately.
Sleep was when the nightmares returned. Though his body slept physically, he never felt rested when he woke up.
The room was silent for the most part. All he could hear was the hum of traffic from the I-90. It was summer and he tried to picture the cars, RVs and campers rolling across the black tarmac toward the west into Wyoming, or north toward Montana.
Then his pulse thundered in his ears as the steady ebb and flow of traffic and city noises turned to the roar of choppers and explosions.
Sweat broke across his brow. The panic was beginning to set in. There was no way he could stop it or control it. He was drowning and couldn’t surface to breathe.
Then the screaming started and he could feel the muzzle of an automatic weapon at his temple.
A flash of light made him jump from the bed, ready to fight.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize there was anyone in here.”
Out of the foggy recesses of his brain, he remembered where he was. He wasn’t back on the front, trying to put together pieces of soldiers like he was doing some kind of horrific and demented jigsaw puzzle. He was still a surgeon, but he was at Rapid City Health Sciences Center.
“Clint, is that you? Are you okay?”
Clint snapped his head up and saw Ingrid standing in the doorway. She was still in her scrubs. There was concern etched across her face.
“What’re you doing here? You’re supposed to be at home, resting. I walked you out.” He’d seen her leave. He’d made sure she’d left.
“Just because you walked me out, it doesn’t mean anything. You’re not my boss.”
Clint tsked under his breath and closed the gap between then and scooped her up in his arms.
Ingrid screeched. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Clint didn’t answer her. He knew exactly what he was doing as he left the on-call room and began to march down the hall toward the exit.
“Clint, are you crazy? You’re half-naked,” she whispered.
Damn.
Clint stopped for a moment and glanced around. A few nurses and orderlies had stopped what they were doing to stare openmouthed. Ingrid moaned and buried her face in his neck. He could see the bloom of color in her cheeks.
Well, the cat was out of the bag and word would spread through the hospital like wildfire about who the father of Dr. Walton’s baby was.
HOW LONG HAD they been standing in the hallway? Correction, she wasn’t standing at all. She was firmly in the arms of Clint and pressed against his bare, muscular chest. Being so close to him again made her forget for a moment that now everyone would know without a shadow of a doubt who the father of her baby was.
Why else would the hot new trauma doctor be carrying around the pregnant ortho attending he’d just met?
Oh, God. Had she just thought of him as hot again?
Yep, because right now in his arms, her stupid hormones were leaping and bounding, making her crave him like he was a chocolate sundae or a big bowl of chips. Or both mixed together.
And then she realized his chest and back were covered with scars. “Oh, my God,” she whispered.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, understanding what she was looking at. He was obviously embarrassed by it, so Ingrid decided to change the subject.
“You’re half-naked and as much as I appreciate your very ripped physique, could you please put me down and we’ll find somewhere private to talk.”
Clint chuckled. “You think I’m ripped?”
“Come on. I’m serious, put me down. Now.” She squirmed, trying to force the issue. She needed to put some distance between them.
Clint set her down and she could hear the snickers of their audience. Ingrid kept her head down and hustled back into the on-call room, pacing until Clint followed her in and shut the door.
“So much for our secret,” he said.
“You think?” Her shoulder tingled from where she’d been pressed up against his body. “What did you think you were doing?”
“No, no. I’m not the one answering questions. You need to tell me why you’re back when you should be at home, resting.”
“My patient developed an infection in her leg. I have to monitor it.”
Clint cocked an eyebrow. “You’re an orthopedic surgeon—can’t the general surgeon on duty monitor your patient?”
“It’s my patient.”
“And that’s a baby you’re carrying. You should be home, getting rest.”
Damn. There was no arguing that the moment he’d said “home” and “rest,” a wave of exhaustion hit her. The room began to spin and she lifted her hand to her head to stave off a wave of dizziness that was threatening to overtake her.
“You need to sit down.” She felt Clint’s hand on her shoulder as he forced her to sit down on the cot.
“Thanks,” Ingrid murmured. “I’m not this careless. I know I need to rest more.”
“I know. You’re a surgeon, an attending. You told me. You have drive and that’s a hard thing to let go of.”
Ingrid nodded. “It is.”
She glanced over at Clint and couldn’t help but smile. There was a flutter in her belly and it wasn’t the baby kicking. It was the same feeling she’d got when she’d seen him seven months ago in that bar. Even though she’d been under the influence of Philomena’s urging and a couple of cosmos, she was still able to recall the way he’d made her body hunger.
Those deep blue eyes, which could be so intense and dark with passion. Each caress from his strong hands, the way his fingers had trailed down her spine, her legs wrapped around his waist, his lips against her neck as they’d moved as one made her want it again.
Over and over.
She shook her head, trying to expel those memories from her mind, but she doubted that would ever happen. They were permanently etched in her mind. When she looked down at the baby she was carrying, she’d be forever reminded of their time together.
Now he was a colleague and she didn’t want to date someone at work. She didn’t want there to be any more gossip than there already was.
She wasn’t going to raise a child in a loveless marriage. One that would drive him away and cause him to abandon her child, like her mother had done to her.
Other than an explosive physical connection with Clint, she didn’t know him. He was a stranger.
“I’d better go.” Ingrid wanted to put distance between the two of them. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to distract him from the blush that burned her cheeks.
“That’s a good idea.”
Ingrid stood, but as she did so her belly tightened and a horrible cramp struck her. She cried out and doubled over as she sat back down on the mattress. It was hard to catch her breath, everything felt pressurized, like she was going to explode.
“Ingrid, are you okay?”
“Braxton … Hicks … contraction.” The words came out in a staccato succession as she tried to breathe. She closed her eyes and tried to work her way through it, but she couldn’t remember her breathing technique. It was too hard to focus and she was so uncomfortable.