Gloves? Really?
Yes.
Wearing them would give her a measure of protection that had nothing to do with disease and everything to do with self-preservation. She glanced into his face. Would he know the reason?
Yep. It was there in the brow that lifted a quarter of a centimeter.
Forget it. She wouldn’t let him know how terrified she was of touching him or how taking her son’s hand from his had twisted her heart and left it raw and vulnerable.
She stopped in front of him and tilted her head to meet his gaze. ‘Where does it hurt?’
‘Seriously?’
‘No more games, Mark. You could have broken something.’
His cocky smile disappeared and something dark and scary passed through his eyes. ‘Did I, Sam? Break something?’
For the longest moment she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t tear her gaze from his. No one ever called her Sam.
No one, except Mark.
And she had the distinct impression the broken thing he was asking about had nothing to do with his hand and everything to do with her. No, that couldn’t be right. He hadn’t cared one iota about the damage he’d caused when he’d taken off without so much as a ‘Why?’.
She shook her head, but had to avert her eyes as she did. ‘Let me see your hand.’
He held it out, and she winced at the long diagonal stripe of discoloration already showing up just below his metacarpophalangeal joints. He must have had his hand wrapped around the frame of the door when she’d leaned against it. ‘Wiggle your fingers.’
He obliged, and Sammi watched for a reaction as he curled his fingers into a loose fist and released them. Only there was no reaction. ‘It doesn’t hurt?’
‘It was slammed in a door. What do you think?’
The amused sarcasm was back in place. She decided not to rise to the bait this time. ‘Palm up.’
It was only when he turned his hand over that she realized she was avoiding touching him. But she was going to have to eventually. She’d have to X-ray his hand at the very least.
Suck it up, Sammi.
Sliding her fingertips beneath the back of his hand and desperately wishing she’d gone for the gloves after all, she tested the swelling on his palm with her thumb. ‘I don’t think anything is broken, but I do want to take an X-ray.’
She glanced up, surprised to find a muscle tic in his jaw. ‘That bad?’ she asked.
‘You have no idea.’
‘Hmm…’ She looked closer at his hand, turning it gently. Maybe there was more damage than she’d thought. ‘Follow me.’
Leading him into the tiny X-ray room, she fitted him with a lead apron, forbidding herself from thinking about exactly what she was protecting. She lined up his hand on the table and used the flexible arm on the X-ray tube to pull it down over the injured area, glad to be able to keep her mind on the job. ‘I should be able to get this all on one frame, but if not, we’ll take a couple more. Hold still for a second.’
She went into the control booth and took the first film, then rejoined him, swinging the tube away from his hand. ‘All done. Let’s see what we’ve got.’ A thought occurred to her as she pressed buttons on the computer to call up the image. ‘Why did you come to the clinic anyway? Are you sick?’
The correct X-ray flashed up, and Sammi zeroed in on the injured portion, not seeing any obvious breaks. Before she could heave a sigh of relief, though, several areas of calcification on his middle phalanges caught her attention. Fractures. Each apparently healed and running across his hand in a line. If not for the location of the bruise from where she’d slammed the door, Sammi would swear she was looking at his current injury. Except these were old. Already fused together.
As she stared, trying to work out how he could have broken a succession of bones like that, Mark’s voice came through. ‘I’m not sick. I came by to tell you I’m…’
His voice faded away as her eyes met his, horrified realization sweeping through her chest. ‘Oh, my God, Mark. Did your father do this to you?’
CHAPTER THREE
IT TOOK a second or two for Sammi’s words to filter through his head and another few to register the horror in her eyes. How had she…?
His gaze went to the X-ray still displayed on the computer screen, and he knew what she’d seen. Hell, the days of his father’s anger were long gone, replaced by things that were a whole lot worse. And the last thing he wanted now was her—or anyone’s—pity. ‘Is the damn thing broken or not?’
‘Not this time, but—’
‘That’s all I needed to hear.’ He did not want to relive the moment when reining in his temper—and being too stubborn to run—had resulted in a steel-toed boot crunching down on his hand, snapping four of the teenage bones with little effort. Sammi had asked about his father once in high school, and he’d blown her off—just like he had everyone. ‘As I was saying, I came by because I’m flying some customers back to Anchorage this afternoon. I thought I’d see if the clinic needed me to pick up any supplies from Alaska Regional while I’m there. I didn’t realize… I thought today was Hannah’s day to work.’
He swore at himself the second the words had left his mouth. There was no reason to let her know he’d been avoiding her or that the need to stay as far away from her as possible had grown since enduring Blake’s wedding. He’d caught a glimpse of what his life could’ve been like had things been different. If he’d given Sammi that ring.
But he hadn’t.
So he’d keep doing what had worked for him over the past eight years: put one foot in front of the other. No reason to think it wouldn’t keep on working. In fact, he was due for his weekly trip to the local watering hole. Since he was going to Anchorage anyway, he could kill two birds with one stone. And hopefully stave off the nightmares, which had come back with a vengeance after holding Toby’s hand that evening in church.
‘Hannah went to Akutan for the day. I offered to fill in for her.’ Sammi’s words were accompanied by a tilt of her chin, but he could swear a tiny glimmer of hurt appeared in her eyes before it winked back out.
He swore silently. This was exactly why he needed to stay away from her at all costs. She could knot his insides into a big ball of guilt without even trying. ‘Right. So, can you think of anything you—the clinic, that is—needs?’
She stood to her feet. ‘Nope. I—and the clinic—have everything we could possibly need.’
Well, that certainly put him in his place. Sammi had just let him know, in no uncertain terms, that the last thing she needed was him.
The state ferry chugged through the dark waters of the Gulf of Alaska, the rumble of its engines sending subtle vibrations along the length of the vessel. The noise was familiar, comforting. She’d made the trip from Unalaska to Anchorage hundreds of times over the years—the intricate tangle of the Alaska Marine Highway routes burned into her subconscious.
Elbows propped against the railing, Sammi glanced down at Toby. ‘Are you cold?’ Worried that the chilled air might irritate his bronchial tubes, her gloved hand went to the pocket of her down jacket for the hundredth time, making sure the precious inhaler was within close reach. It was one of the reasons she always reserved a cabin onboard for the two-day trip—despite the extra cost—rather than pitch a tent on the deck like other travelers often did. Especially as the summer air gave way to the frigid gusts of late fall.
‘I like being out here.’ Toby’s words were muffled by the scarf Sammi had draped across his nose and mouth in an effort to keep the air as warm as possible.