Bossy Bridegroom (16 page)

When she came back, less than a minute later, he was sitting on the side of his bed.

“Oh, Michael. You’ll hurt your arm.” She rushed forward.

He looked up sheepishly, with a bit of red-cheeked temper showing. “Just help me on with my clothes, okay? I can at least be ready to go when the doctor finally shows up.”

“All right, honey. But we’re going to go slow. Let’s start with your pants. We can’t do your shirt until they’ve taken the IV out.”

A nurse came in just as Jeanie helped Michael stand.

“You should be in bed.” The nurse drew Jeanie’s attention.

“We’re being careful.”

“When’s the doctor going to show up?” Michael barked the question.

Jeanie wished she had a leash—and maybe a muzzle.

The nurse scowled and hurried out.

The doctor showed up only a few minutes later. “You haven’t been released yet, Mr. Davidson.”

“I know. I’m just getting ready to go as soon as you do release me.” But from Michael’s tone, Jeanie knew he was leaving.

The doctor seemed to know it, too. He ordered the nurse to remove Michael’s IV, and while the nurse worked in quiet disapproval, the doctor signed some papers and wrote out two prescriptions.

“One for pain, one an antibiotic.” He issued warnings and instructions that Jeanie tried to pay attention to as Michael headed out the door. “Wait for a wheelchair and for your wife to bring the car around.”

Michael was gone.

The doctor shook his head. “He’s in a lot of pain, Mrs. Davidson. It’s going to make him grouchy.”

“You think?” Jeanie rolled her eyes. “I’ve got to go. He’s liable to fall on his face.”

She rushed after Michael, glad Buffy had managed to park the truck close to the hospital, because Michael wasn’t waiting for her to drive up or for a wheelchair to roll him out.

She got to the door just in time to unlock the passenger’s side for her stubborn husband.

He squinted at her.

“Don’t even think about saying you’ll drive.”

With a huff of disgust, he climbed in and sat, leaning back against the seat as if he were in agony. He barked orders at her as she pulled out of the hospital parking lot then threw a minor fit when she pulled into a drugstore drive-through to fill his prescriptions.

“The pain pills make me dizzy. I don’t want them.”

“Well, what about the antibiotic? If you get an infection in those cuts or that surgical wound, you’ll be twice as long healing. The doctor said you can start moving around as soon as possible. We’ll hire someone to help with the cabins. You can give orders, just like when you were a contractor. You’ll get everything done in time.”

Michael gave her a furious look, but he didn’t yell. Their gaze held, and to her surprise, Michael looked away first.

“I’m sorry, Jeanie.” He put his hand on his head, touching the back and grimacing. “I’ve got a goose egg back there. My ribs are killing me. The head and rib injuries hurt worse than the broken arm. I’m taking it all out on you. I know that’s not fair. I’ll probably bite your head off ten times in the next few days. I just feel like my control is really fragile right now. But I’ll try and keep things together.”

Jeanie’s fear ebbed as he spoke. “I’ll try and be patient.”

“Thanks.” Michael shifted to reach for his seat belt and stifled a groan of pain. Jeanie quickly gave the perscription to the woman at the pharmacy drive-thru window. Michael sat in a quiet, cranky pool of a sulk while she got his medicine. With some wheedling, she even managed to get him to take the pills.

He must have felt awful or he’d never have agreed to it.

With a fair amount of backseat driving, they were out of town. And soon Michael was dozing in his seat. Jeanie sighed with relief to have him unconscious.

Not a good sign.

“Can you get me a refill of coffee?”

Michael snapped his fingers, and Jeanie bit her bottom lip at his crankiness. Poor Michael was hurting terribly. He had insisted on coming to work today. The day after he was released from the hospital. He’d tried to come in yesterday, but Jeanie had refused to bring him, and since the day was half over, she’d prevailed—barely.

Jeanie exchanged a worried glance with Glynna who was cooking up her usual delicious lunch menu, then rushed to Michael with the coffee, afraid he’d get up, serve himself, and then collapse. It was quiet at the Buffalo Café at the moment. The breakfast rush was over; the ten o’clock coffee crowd hadn’t arrived. It was one of those rare moments when the café was empty. And it wouldn’t last long.

Jeanie ran one hand along Michael’s shoulders. “Here you go. Can I get you a cinnamon roll or something?” Maybe a shot of sugar would give him enough energy to keep him from sliding off his chair.

Michael looked up from his laptop, where a bookkeeping program filled the screen. Dark circles underlined his eyes, his complexion too pale. “No.”

“We’ve got plenty of people to fill in the lunch shift, and Glynna can handle things until then. Let me take you home.”

“No!”

Jeanie jumped at his sharp tone. She saw Glynna lean down to look out of the kitchen window behind the counter that lined the south side of the dining room, her brow furrowed with worry.

He raised his good hand. His other was strapped to his chest with a sling. “I’m sorry. I just need to get these figures balanced before Jake comes in. He’s going to help me find people to finish the work.”

“Can you believe they finished the footbridge?” Jeanie looked out of the big front window and saw a beautifully framed view of the rope bridge, now in place across Cold Creek.

Michael caught her hand. “There are great people in this town. You were right about them being generous and me asking too much of them. I threatened Bucky to keep him from forming a cabin-raising party to finish the place while I’m hurt.”

“I heard you threaten the man.” The sound of a buzz saw droned from near the creek. “You’ll notice it didn’t work.”

“He claims he just wanted to use his new saw. It’s his day off, so he’s cutting lumber.”

“Bucky does love his power tools.” Jeanie smiled, refilled Michael’s cup, poured one for herself—she was exhausted from being up all night with Michael, who had awakened, moaning in pain, time after time—and then slid into the chair beside her poor battered husband.

Jeanie could hear hammering in the background, and she knew there was more going on than sawing. Michael had to know, too. It only emphasized how exhausted he must be that he didn’t go out to watch the proceedings.

“I just need another couple of hours with these books. I’ll set up a budget for hiring people—and I’m going to use local labor if at all possible. I’ll create cabin blueprints—I was working from notes, but a crew will need the details laid out.”

Jeanie sighed. “Jake can handle this. You know it. He helped with several of the other cabins. If he decides he needs a blueprint—which he won’t—he can make one himself.”

“Jeanie!” Michael’s eyes left his spreadsheet, and he glared at her. A look that years ago would have sent her “Yes, Michael”-ing and “No, Michael”-ing.

But she was made of sterner stuff now.

She also knew he was so tired and hurt that he wasn’t fully responsible for his actions.

Glynna came out of the kitchen wiping her hands, her mouth in a tight line. “Is there a problem?”

Jeanie shook her head. “We’re fine.” She turned back to Michael. “You need two hours, even though you’re near collapse? Fine. I’m giving you two hours. That’s it. No excuses. After that, if you don’t let me take you home to get some rest, I’m calling the ambulance again and having you hauled home strapped to a gurney.”

Michael’s fury faded to a grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

She leaned over and kissed him on the unbandaged side of his forehead. “Good boy.”

Michael snickered as he turned back to the figures.

“I’ve got to get out there, Jeanie. Don’t touch my laptop. You’ll mess it up. And don’t even think of doing the café accounts. It’ll take me longer to fix it than if I just do it myself.”

“I’ll leave it alone, honey.” Jeanie came back to the table where Buffy sat next to Emily. Emily cradled her little son in her arms.

Through the window, Jeanie saw Michael waving his good arm. She’d kept him quiet for nearly four days, mostly because he had a wicked headache. Now he couldn’t do things himself, but he could order his crew around.

Their wedding day had come and gone without notice—or a wedding. Jeanie had ached when she realized Michael had forgotten to renew their vows but found the energy to oversee the cabin construction.

As Jeanie slid into her chair, Emily looked up from Logan.

Buffy set her coffee cup aside. “What’s going on with you and Michael?”

Jeanie straightened, surprised. She hadn’t expected this. “Nothing. He’s doing great. We’re supposed to go to the hospital in Hot Springs Monday and have his stitches out. He might get his cast off, too. The pins and plates in his arm are supposed to work faster than normal healing.”

“I don’t mean, how is his arm? I mean, why are you letting him talk to you that way?”

“What way?”

“We’ve been in here for half an hour,” Emily said. She had a foundation of common sense that neither Jeanie nor Buffy seemed to possess. Buffy had too many of the same old wounds Jeanie had. But Emily had a great set of parents, dead now, but they’d given her solid values, a clear understanding of God, and a plentiful supply of self-esteem. When Emily had advice, Jeanie listened.

“And?” Jeanie waited.

“And Michael has been barking at you like a junkyard dog.” Emily looked at Buffy. “Is this the way he used to treat her?”

Buffy nodded. “How does he have the nerve to talk to you like that? ‘Don’t touch my laptop. Don’t even think of doing the café accounts.’ You were doing the accounts for the Golden Days Senior Center for a year before he came dragging himself in here.”

“I don’t even like bookkeeping.” Jeanie smiled. She was so glad Michael was getting better she couldn’t help the joy in her heart. She’d nearly lost him. “I know he was a little cranky this morning.”

“A little cranky? Wyatt would
never
talk to me that way.”

Jeanie patted Buffy’s arm. “I’m handling it, okay? He’s hurting and frustrated because of his arm, and he hates having to ask for help.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Buffy interrupted. “He’s asked everyone in this town to work like dogs since he moved here.”

Jeanie plowed on. “Right now he’s just a little out of control. But he’ll stop barking when he’s rested. I remember Wyatt after the buffalo stampeded his ranch. He couldn’t speak without shooting fire bolts out of his eyes for weeks.”

“That was different. We weren’t married. He’s never—”

“Buffy, will you just drop it?” Jeanie was startled by her tone. It was a whiny, querulous tone that she hadn’t used for years.

Buffy fell silent, too. Their eyes met. Jeanie looked away first.

Logan chose that moment to spit up half of his breakfast.

“I’ll get a rag from the kitchen.” Jeanie jumped up, glad for an excuse to run.

By the time they’d cleaned things up, Jake came in. “The slave driver is giving us a fifteen-minute coffee break. I’m here to warn you about the stampede.”

The coffee crowd outlasted Buffy. Jeanie breathed a sigh of relief when her little sister, who’d always been more grown-up than Jeanie, headed for home.

“Jeanie, don’t make the guys wait for a refill.” Michael leaned back in his chair, massaging his casted arm.

“I’m sorry.” She hurried around to warm up the coffee.

“And can you reset that table Emily and Buffy used so it’s ready for lunch?”

It had been thoroughly wiped after Logan’s mess, but she hadn’t put clean silverware out or replaced the paper placemats advertising Cold Creek. Michael had created them with his desktop publishing software.

She hustled to set the table. Yes, he was barking. But he had nearly died. Her heart still trembled with fear when she thought of his white face, so still, the blood flowing too fast. The helicopter. The long hours of waiting, praying. All she wanted now was to take care of him, make him happy, be a good wife who met her husband’s needs.

The work crew cleared out with a scraping of chairs and thumping boots.

Michael heaved himself to his feet. Jeanie saw him flinch with pain. He was so determined, so strong. And all hers.

God, You gave me a miracle. You showed me how much I cared. I will insist he behave better once he’s well, and I’ll bet I don’t have to. He’s just tired and frustrated. Right now I need patience. Thank You for sparing him, Lord
.

“Jeanie, stop daydreaming. We’ve got a lunch crowd that’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“I’m sorry. I was lost in thought.” She considered telling him she’d been lost in prayer, but she didn’t want him to think she was chastising him by sounding super religious.

“Yeah, right. You’re
thinking
.” He left the room, shutting the door a bit too hard.

As Jeanie watched him head for the cabins, she wished he’d let her bring him a chair outside so he could sit, but she’d offered earlier and he’d been embarrassed by it. She needed to be more sensitive to how he felt.