pulled her thoughts away from the vulnerable nerve he’d accidentally struck and played along, faking a grin with her tease. “You have no idea. She’s going to make you cry like a baby.”
His smile was equally slight, but it was a start. And it reminded her of where she should make him focus. Sobering, she reached for his hand but didn’t touch him, a request, open palms. “Can I see it?”
Okay, that might’ve been a test.
She’d been rejected more times in her life than any person ought to be—it wasn’t anything new to her—but the second she’d found out that he was a doctor he’d become her partner in dealing with this and keeping Mira out of it. She needed him to actually connect with her and be her partner in it. And a good person didn’t abandon her partner when he was hurting.
When he placed his large, bloody-knuckled hand in hers, her relief was so keen she had to fight the urge to squeeze and wind her fingers in his. He didn’t shun her. Recoiling was about something else. He didn’t find her lacking.
Nice skin, and considering she hadn’t had any male contact since she’d come back from Peru it wasn’t surprising that she wanted to relish the contact a little bit.
She forced herself to examine his knuckles before he caught on, paying careful attention to the cracked and rapidly swelling skin. “Can you move your fingers for me?”
He made a small sound as he got his fingers going, but his fingers moved smoothly at the knuckle, despite the swelling. “Well, we both know that it’s an old wives’ tale that you can’t move something that’s broken. Can’t know for sure that it’s not, but it looks good. Sorry, have to do this …”
Still holding his injured hand for support, she stroked her fingers over the abused skin, just firmly enough to feel the structure. She knew it hurt, he stopped breathing until she stopped touching it. “Don’t think it’s broken. Everything feels intact. Could be some hairline fracture, though. Guess we’ll have to take a wait-and-see approach on this, along with poor Chelsea’s toes.”
Breathing resumed, and he pulled his hand back, nodding. “I don’t think it’s broken either, but I’m a fan of X-ray …”
“Come on. Let’s get this cleaned up, then we’ll get Chelsea’s medicine into her, and I’ll go and tell Mira what’s going on so she can join the fun later. While the storm is here, you two will keep watch over our patient guests in shifts so she can have time with Jack and you can have some rest. Welcome to your first rotation at Silver Pass Blizzard Clinic, Dr. Graves.”
“Time with Jack?” he asked, as she turned toward the door.
Ellory fished the keys from her coat pocket, unlocked the door and stepped inside, flipping on one set of lights as she went. “The past six months have been really hard for Mira, not that she’d admit it to anyone. Her fiancé was a louse. They broke up and the universe rewarded her for choosing to take care of herself.”
“Jack from the avalanche, or do you mean her reward is having to do jack-all?”
Ellory peered at him. “Have you never heard the name Jack before?”
“I have and I’ve met a guest called Jack. But it’s also a noun or an adjective.” He followed her into the clinic. “Your manner of speaking is unusual. I’m looking for landmarks.”
She decided not to comment on that—he didn’t seem like a big talker and she had jobs before her. She talked strangely. She dressed wrong. Blah-blah-blah.
“I’ve been making notes of the supplies I took to the lobby. We’ll just write down whatever we need, I’ll go tell Mira and you can get the medicine for Chelsea. We should probably start charts for everyone too, but since your hand looks like hell, you tell me what you want it to say and I’ll do the writing.”
Anson followed her, enjoying the floral wake. The tropical scent reminded him she’d said something about Peru earlier. “Were you on a medical mission before you came here?”
She unlocked the drug cabinet and opened the doors, then flipped on a light above it and pointed at the bottles to direct his attention. “Medical mission? Oh, no. You mean in Peru. No, I was at a …” She looked sidelong at him, her expression growing wary. “I was at an ayahuasca retreat.”
The word was familiar somehow, but between the pain in his hand, the pain in his shoulder and the headache he’d been nursing since he’d decided to turn the group around he couldn’t place it. “I know I should know what that is, but it’s eluding me.”
“It’s a place you go to have …” She stumbled along, clearly hedging and not really wanting to tell him.
People who avoided a direct answer had something to hide, either because it embarrassed them or they expected disapproval. Which was when he remembered what ayahuasca was. “Ayahuasca is a hallucinogen, isn’t it?”
Her sigh confirmed it. “It’s not like LSD or hard drugs. It’s a herbal and natural way of expanding your consciousness. I went there for a spirit quest under the care of a shaman—someone who knows about use of the plant and how to make the decoction properly. Someone who could help me understand everything I needed to know beforehand. And before you say anything, I’m not a drug user. I don’t smoke anything. I only drink alcohol once a year—champagne on New Year’s with Mirry. And nothing else remotely dodgy the rest of the year.” As she spoke, her volume increased, along with the tension between her brows. “My body is a freaking temple, Judgy McGravedigger.”
Anson lifted both hands, trying to put the brakes on the situation before she got really angry. Obviously he’d hit a nerve, she’d gone from quiet and somewhat babbly to angry because he’d called it a hallucinogen. “I’m not judging, but I am curious. And I agree your body is a temple.”
Smooth.
When she turned back to her task he focused on the cabinet again and the array of medicines, and changed the subject. “Well stocked.”
She went with it and didn’t comment on his completely unacceptable remark about her body. “Mirry’s a planner. She likes to be prepared for anything. She’s always been good like that, never lets anyone down.” A clipboard hung inside the cabinet, but where he’d expected to see an inventory sheet had been clipped a single piece of notebook paper, a list of supplies in a scrolling, extravagant script. She picked it up and began writing again.
Mirry? Always been?
Ellory wasn’t a nurse …
Sister? “Are you Ellory Dupris?” Anson put the two names together as he plucked one bottle of antibiotics from the shelf and set it on her clipboard so she could get a good look at the spelling and dose of medication.
“Ellory Du …? Oh, no. My name is Ellory Star.”
She scribbled down the medicine then put the bottle into a little plastic basket. “You look for any other medicines, I’m going to get the supplies to clean your knuckles up.” Before she headed away she turned back to him with a little pinch between her brows. “I’m sorry I made fun of your name. It wasn’t nice. But in my defense it’s kind of a terrible name. You should change it. Pick something more positive.”
Pick something? “You picked Star, didn’t you?”
“Yep.”
Okay … He’d think about that later. “You do work here, though.”
“Licensed massage therapist, which is my primary occupation, I guess. I’ve completed training and passed boards to be a physiotherapy assistant in Texas, but I haven’t done any office work on it or taken boards here. The closest I came was a mission where the leader had back trouble and I helped her with the daily exercises her actual treatment prescribed … helped her handle being out in the field,” she answered, fishing a badge from under her sweater and answering the question that he’d been working toward.
Anticipating. She really