to comfort his patients, and once he got started, it was too late for them to back out? “I’m scared.”
“Don’t be.” He peeled the gloves from his hands and dropped them in the trash before spinning back to her. “Like I mentioned, I’m a great seamstress.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. I grew up surrounded by strong women who felt it was their duty to teach me how to sew. I can make one hell of a pillow.” He smiled—not with just his mouth but with his entire face. Even his golden eyes seemed to be smiling. As much as Riki had wanted to dart from the building just moments ago, he was making her want to stay.
She met his gaze. “You’re not like other doctors I’ve seen.”
“Should I take that as a compliment?” he asked, his brow arched.
“Yes.”
“Good. You had me worried. Okay,” he said, standing. “I’ll have the nurse come in to prep you, and we’ll get started. It won’t take much time at all.”
She squeezed her hands together on her lap. “Okay.”
“Don’t look so concerned. I haven’t lost a patient yet.” He winked and left the room.
Riki laughed to herself. If he was this unconcerned, maybe it would be okay for her to let go of some of her fear.
Thirty minutes later, Dr. Hart was sporting special magnification goggles and stitching up her wound. There was a little pressure, but that was it. Tom Petty played in the background. When he’d come back in after the nurse left, he’d asked if she was okay with classic rock. “I work better with music in the background,” he’d said.
“I love classic rock,” she’d replied. If there was ever a sign that things would be okay, this was it. Her dad had introduced her to the Eagles, Bruce Springsteen, Fleetwood Mac—all the greats. It was almost like he was here with her now.
“Favorite classic song?” he asked as he worked.
She was positioned on her side with her hair tucked into a glorified shower cap and couldn’t see his face, but it sounded like he was smiling. “Too many to count.”
“Okay. Top three.”
She wanted to smile, but she held it in. “‘Beast of Burden,’ ‘Gold Dust Woman,’ and ‘Sister Golden Hair.’”
He blew out a low whistle. “‘Sister Golden Hair.’ Now, that’s one I haven’t heard in ages. I’m with you on ‘Beast of Burden.’ One of The Stones’ best. Are you an expert skier who was showing off on the mountain when you crashed?”
“God, no. I wish.”
“What happened?”
She told him about the group being fired up to start big and how she had been scared. He listened intently, or at least it seemed that way to her. “And then a nice man helped me down, since I couldn’t find my boyfriend. I still haven’t reached him.”
“Did you try again? He’s probably worried. I know I would be.”
“I’ve called three times,” she said quietly.
“Do you think he lost his phone on the mountain?”
She bit her lip. That hadn’t occurred to her. What if his phone was buried in snow? It wasn’t like he could borrow someone’s and call her. No one memorized phone numbers anymore. “Maybe?” She clung to the idea, because the thought of Chris not caring hurt more than she could’ve imagined. Even though she wasn’t 100 percent sure where their relationship was headed, it was important to know he cared. The fact that he wasn’t there for her when she needed him most was making her feel a little crazy.
Dr. Hart patted her arm. “We’re done. You can sit up now.”
“That wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined.”
“It’s going to be sore. Expect some swelling, but it’ll heal nicely. You’ll need to get the stitches removed in ten days.”
“Okay. Do I just go to my regular doctor for that?”
“Yep. I’m guessing you’re not staying here that long.”
“No.” She touched a hand to her neck. “Can I see it?”
He took a hand mirror from the counter near the sink. “Here you go.”
She stared at her reflection. Mascara was smeared beneath her eyes. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, and the two-inch gash in her neck was held together with black thread, making it look like spiders were crawling along her skin. “Frankenstein’s monster,” she said in a strangled voice. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry, but she forced a laugh. “If there’s a snow-queen pageant up here today, I’m thinking I’m a shoo-in for the winner.”
“You’d get my vote. That’s one beautiful bit of wound care. Whoever sewed you up has