two years scrolled through his mind. “I suppose it is.”
Sarah owed him, and he would gladly take this as payback. He wasn’t about to let go of her. And that had nothing to do with how good having her close felt. He caught a whiff of her floral-scented shampoo. Or how good she smelled. Nothing at all.
That afternoon, Sarah gripped the edge of the hospital blanket. She stared at Dr. Marshall, wondering if she’d misunderstood him. She sure hoped so. “Don’t you mean an independent discharge?”
“An independent discharge is not going to happen.” Dr. Marshall looked like a grandfather, rather than one of Seattle’s top surgeons, with his silver-wire-frame glasses and thinning gray hair, but the man was turning out to be the devil in disguise. “You are unable to care for yourself. Your discharge planner and orthopedist agree.”
She hadn’t been waiting all afternoon full of hope only to hear this. “That’s…silly.”
Cullen, who leaned against the far wall near the window, gave a blink-and-you’d-miss-it shake of his head.
Her fingers tightened on the fabric, nearly poking through the thin material. She didn’t like being so aware of Cullen’s every movement. Her senses had become heightened where he was concerned. She’d wondered if he felt the same way. Now she knew.
No!
Frustration tensed her muscles, making her abdomen hurt more. Disappointment ping-ponged through her. They’d shared lovely walks though the hospital, holding hands like high-school sweethearts. She’d assumed Cullen would support her independent-discharge request, but he hadn’t. He didn’t want her returning to her apartment in Bellingham to stay by herself.
“Nothing about this is silly,” Dr. Marshall said. “You are lucky to be alive.”
“Damn lucky,” Cullen murmured.
She didn’t feel that way. Nothing but bad luck could have put her at the crater rim when a steam blast occurred, something that hadn’t happened on Mount Baker in nearly four decades. Now she was stuck in the hospital with only her soon-to-be ex-husband for company when she needed to be at the institute figuring out if the event was a precursor to an eruption or just the volcano letting off steam as it had done in 1975. “Silly was the wrong word to use, but I’m not an invalid. I’m getting around better.”
Dr. Marshall gave her the once-over. “There’s a big difference between walking the hallways and being capable of caring for yourself.”
“You overdid it this morning,” Cullen added, as if dumping a carton of salt onto her wounds helped matters.
“I know I have a way to go in my recovery.” She would be doing fine once the pain of her incision and ribs lessened. The throbbing in her head, too. “But I don’t need a nursemaid.”
A knowing glance passed between Dr. Marshall and Cullen.
Sarah bit the inside of her cheek.
“No one is suggesting a nursemaid. But I agree with Dr. Marshall. You’re right-handed.” Cullen’s gaze dropped to her cast. “Dressing yourself, doing anything with your left hand, is going to take some adjustment. Not to mention your sutures and ribs. You’ll need assistance doing most everyday things. There will also be limitations on lifting and driving.”
Maybe she shouldn’t have expected Cullen to take her side. But even with his lack of support now, she had no regrets. Bringing up a divorce was better than waiting around for him to do it. And he would have. People always walked away. He would walk away from her once she was out of the hospital, leaving her alone. Again.
The sinking feeling in her stomach turned into a black hole, sucking her hope down into it.
No, she couldn’t give in and admit defeat. The institute relied upon her expertise. Others had been looking at the data since the steam blast, but volcanic seismology was her specialty. She couldn’t let people down. It wasn’t as if she had anything else in her life but her work. She glanced at Cullen, then looked away. “I don’t care if it hurts. I’ll figure out a way. I need to get back to the institute. I have a job to do.”
“Is your current health and your long-term health outlook worth risking for your job?” Dr. Marshall asked.
Sarah raised her chin. “If it means determining how to predict a volcanic eruption, then yes. It’s worth it.”
A muscle ticked at Cullen’s jaw. “If you return to the institute too soon, you won’t be doing them or yourself any favors.”
She saw his point, even if she didn’t like it. “I’ll be careful.”
“What does your job entail, Sarah?” Dr. Marshall asked.
“Analyzing data.”
“After she climbs Mount Baker to gather it,” Cullen added. “Or am I wrong about that, Dr. Purcell?”
Of course he wasn’t wrong. From his smug grin he knew it, too. That was why he’d used her title. “I can send a team up to download the data.”
Maybe that would appease him—rather, Dr. Marshall.
“Are you able to work remotely from home?” Dr. Marshall asked.
Sarah would rather be at the institute, but she would take what she could get. “Telecommuting is an option. I have internet access in my apartment.”
Dr. Marshall looked her straight in the eyes. “Is there someone who can stay at your apartment and care for you?”
Sarah’s heart slammed against her chest so loudly she was sure the entire floor of the hospital could hear the boom-boom-boom. Even though she knew the answer to his question, she mentally ran through the list of coworkers at the institute. Most would be happy to drop off food or pick up her mail, but asking one to stay with her would be too much. She couldn’t impose on any of them like that.
She’d never had a close friend, a bestie or BFF she could count on no matter what. Her life had been too transitory, shuttled between her parents and moving frequently, to develop that kind of bond with anyone. Not unless you counted Cullen. She couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to either one of them.
She chewed on her lower lip. “I could hire someone.”
“Home care is a possibility,” Dr. Marshall said.
Fantastic. Except her studio apartment was tiny. The floor was the only extra place to sleep, the bathroom the only privacy. She hated to admit it, but home care wouldn’t work.
“If Sarah’s in Bellingham, nothing will keep her from going to the institute or heading up the mountain if she feels it’s necessary,” Cullen said matter-of-factly.
She opened her mouth to contradict him, but stopped herself. What he said was true.
“You know I’m right,” he said.
It annoyed her that he knew her so well.
“Is that true?” Dr. Marshall asked her.
She tried to shrug, but a pain shot through her. “Possibly.”
Cullen laughed. The rich sound pierced her heart. One of Cupid’s arrows had turned traitorous. “A one-hundred-percent possibility.”
No sense denying it. He’d had her number a long time ago.
Dr. Marshall gave her a patronizing smile, as if she were a five-year-old patient who would appreciate princess stickers rather than a grown adult who wanted him to work out her discharge. “My first choice in cases involving a head injury, however minor, is home care by family members, but Dr. Gray has explained your situation.”
Sarah assumed Dr. Marshall meant their marriage, since Cullen was the closest thing to family she had. She wasn’t an orphan. Her parents were alive, but they’d chosen their spouses over her years ago. “I’m on my own.”
“That