THREE
ELLORY HAD READ about frostbite treatment so she could anticipate Dr. Graves’s needs for that, but she had no idea what his other needs were. She’d kind of pegged the search and rescue team as attracting the kind of adrenaline fiends in it for the thrill, but Anson looked almost as devastated by returning empty-handed as Chelsea had.
With the bandage applied, she switched off the hot plate, scooted it out of the way and stood. What came next? She didn’t know, but certainly there would be something she would need to do, and being on her feet would help her react that much faster.
“They still hurt, I know,” Anson said to the woman, looking at the toes now hidden by the gauze, the patch of yellow skin surrounded by angry redness hidden. “But most of this might not even be frostbite. The yellow area is, but the good news is that we got to it in good time and it’s very unlikely to leave any lasting damage. I won’t be able to tell for a couple of days if it’s frostbite or the lesser version, which you all have on your fingers and toes … frostnip. We’re going to treat yours as if you have frostbite, just to be safe. I’ll see what kind of antibiotics Dr. Dupris has in her inventory, and some pain medication.”
Good news. She’d take whatever kind of win they could get.
Anson asked the standard allergy questions, got whatever info he needed, and nodded once to Ellory—a kind of do it nod. She had been promoted: triage to assistant, or nurse … or whatever that position was.
“I can check with Mira. Which antibiotic do you need?” If she had to, she could no doubt find in Mira’s books which kind of antibiotic was good for skin infections, but she’d rather he tell her. She wasn’t a doctor. Not by a long stretch. But she knew enough to know that antibiotics were a tricky lot—some worked for everything, some worked best for specific things, and these days a frightening amount were resistant to stuff they used to be awesome at fighting.
“I’m sure she’s got some of the broad-spectrum ones, but I don’t know how well the drug cabinet is stocked for anything obscure.” For some reason she wanted him to think well of her, and she felt more competent even saying the words “broad spectrum.” Like proving to him she wasn’t a complete idiot was important. Probably something to do with the lecture she’d gotten about her clothes …
She didn’t even know the man, had never seen him before today, but as he spoke she became aware of something else: there was a rawness about him she couldn’t name. Something in that raspy timbre that resonated feelings primal and violent.
He rattled off a few medication names that sounded like gibberish to her, and she didn’t ask him to repeat himself, just hoped she could remember them when she came face-to-face with a wall of gibberish-sounding drug names.
Then she’d come back here and keep an eye on the good doctor with the terrible name, because alarm bells were ringing in her head.
Chelsea suffered the whole situation with more dignity than Ellory could’ve mustered, and directed the conversation back to what she really wanted to talk about. “If I got frostbite in the mine and I wasn’t in the snow, Jude’s going to have it for sure, isn’t he?”
“Nothing is ever certain.” Ellory said it too quickly. It sounded like a platitude. She shook her head and tried again with better words. “You can’t compare your situation to his for a couple of reasons: women don’t hold heat as well as men do, and your boots are different. Even if they are the same brand, the fit will be different. If his have more room inside than yours they’ll hold heat better. If he’s taken shelter in a smaller space than you did, like Anson … Dr. Anson … was saying, he could just be warmer …”
Anson pulled out the footrests on the wheelchair and carefully positioned Chelsea’s feet on the metal tray. “Find a pillow for her.”
Ellory knew he was speaking to her, even though he didn’t look at her. She hurried to the main desk and the office behind, where she knew she’d find some. When she presented him with two slender pillows from the office, he put one under Chelsea’s feet and rose. “Would you like the other pillow to sit on?”
“Yes.” She made as if to rise and Anson put his hands out to stop her. “No walking. No standing. When you need to go to the bathroom, someone’s going to have to go with you. Right now, I’ve got you. Luckily, you weigh about as much as a can of beans …” He caught her under the arms and lifted. Ellory slid the pillow beneath and then stood back as he returned Chelsea to her seat, lifting a brow pointedly at him when she saw his shoulder catch again and a wave she could actually name cross his handsome features: pain. His shoulder definitely hurt.
She really had to stop thinking about how hot he was. It wasn’t helping at all. It wasn’t breaking her resolution to think that the untouchable doctor rescue guy was hot, but it might lead her to other thoughts. It also wasn’t her fault that his eyes looked like moss growing on the north side of a tree … deep, earthy green blending to brown. Was that hazel or still green if she looked …?
He was staring at her. It took a couple of nervous heartbeats for her to realize that it wasn’t because he was a mind-reader.
Oh, yeah, she’d made the Ahh, your shoulder does hurt face at him. Because it did. He’d made the pain face, she’d made the ahh face, and now he was making the scowl face.
He didn’t know she was sexually harassing him in her mind.
While she was trying to decide what she was supposed to be thinking, the man pivoted and walked straight through the archway leading to the rest of the resort.
Where was he going?
Crap.
She should have gone after the medicine by now.
He was going to disturb Mira, maybe make her leave the love nest and come down here.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes, Chelsea,” she babbled, and rushed after him in a flurry of flowing skirts and jingling bracelets, but she was too late to see which direction he’d headed. The elevators all sat on the bottom floor, where she was.
The man was a ninja. A cranky, frosty ninja.
Ducking into the stairwell, Ellory tilted her head to listen, hoping he wasn’t outside earshot. The plush carpeting that blanketed the hallways and stairs made it hard to tell which way he’d gone. “Anson?” Tentative call unanswered, she stepped back into the hallway.
Okay, so he didn’t go upstairs by any means, he wasn’t heading for Mira and Jack’s suite.
Mira’s office? He did want antibiotics for Chelsea. She turned to the right, the shorter hallway, gathered her skirts to her knees so they’d stop the damned swirling, and ran. No yelling. Yelling disturbed people. And every single person in the lodge, except for maybe the two upstairs sheltered from all this information overload in their love nest, were disturbed enough with the current situation.
One turn and then another, she reached the final hallway just in time to see Anson reach the end and turn toward the wall outside the clinic.
Before she could call out to him, he reared back and slammed his fist through the drywall.
The loud slam and cracking sound stunned her into staring for a couple of seconds. Long enough for the pain to reach his brain and make him pull his hand out of the hole while the other gripped his poor shoulder. If it hadn’t hurt before he’d done that …
“You broke the wall,” she muttered as she trotted forward, no longer running. She was not at all sure how to respond to this masculine and aggressive display. She didn’t know anyone who hit walls when they were upset. Generally, she kept company with people who avoided violence. “I have the keys to Mira’s office, we can get whatever you need for Chelsea. I’ve been keeping an inventory of supplies.”
He finally turned to look at her and she saw it again—he wasn’t just upset. She saw desolate, blind torture in his hollow eyes. It robbed her of any ability to speak.
Whatever