The Devil Inside (3 page)

Hell. He was clinging by his fingertips here.

She held out a couple of pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “It’s time for your next dose,” she said, helping him to a semi-upright position. As she leaned over him, her chest brushed against his arm. He tightened his jaw for reasons other than the pain coursing through him.

She tipped the pills into his palm, but he shook his head.

“I’m okay.” He hoped she couldn’t see the sheen of sweat on his brow that proved he was a liar.

She pursed her lips, obviously not fooled. She set the medicine down on the nightstand, within easy reach. “Your call.”

He closed his eyes, willing the room to stop swimming.

She sat down next to him, careful not to jostle the bed. Lifted one eyelid, then the other, which was kind of weird. “What year is it?”

“What?”

“How about the president? Do you know who’s president now?”

There was that scent again, something sweet and fresh, like fresh-baked vanilla cookies. God, she smelled good. He captured her hand with his and tugged gently. “Stop asking foolish questions and come back to bed.”

She didn’t move. She didn’t say a word. But her tension level spiked off the charts.

“What is it?” He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “Come on, baby.”

“I’m not your baby, Cody.” She tugged her hand from his and stood. “And I haven’t been in your bed for thirteen years.”

Thirteen years? He stared at her.

“Not that you were particularly happy to find me there. Booted me right quick. You were pretty insistent on that.”

He’d kicked her out of bed? Was he insane?

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” She shook her head. “Do you remember getting thrown off the bull? The ambulance ride? Hospital? Anything?”

“I’m a little confused,” he admitted.

“Please tell me you remember signing the release papers…”

He probably looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“Crap.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I knew I should have stayed away. The rodeo is nothing but trouble.” She glared at him. “And that goes double for you, Cody Ringo Shaw.”

Oh, shit. Nobody knew his middle name except family and… “Sam?” No wonder she sounded familiar, looked familiar.

Hell, even smelled familiar.

“Got it in one,” she said dryly. “You’re good.”

Cody struggled to sit up, gasping as pain hit him from all over. Damn, he was in worse shape than he thought.

“Sam, I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “Forget it.”

“Why am I—”

She cut him off. “Rodeo accident. You’re on bed rest for the next seventy-two hours. After that, who knows?”

Bed rest? “Here?”

“Yep.” Sarcasm lurked behind the terse reply. “Lucky me.”

Shoulders set, she stalked out of the room.

Lucky? Cody fell back against his pillows. It seemed his luck had just run out.

Chapter Three

Sam walked into her living room and sat down on the couch, willing her legs to stop trembling. She’d been right. This was a bad, bad mistake.

Cody had passed out as soon as she’d gotten him re-settled in bed, clearly exhausted by the trauma he’d been through. She’d had so little time to prepare for her unexpected guest, she hadn’t even been able to make up the extra room for him. Didn’t make much difference, though. She had a feeling she would have put him in the more comfortable room anyway.

Part of her had hoped the hospital would keep him overnight for observation, but as soon as he’d been checked out for internal injuries and stabilized, he was ready for release. And there was really no other place for him to go.

But to finally have Cody Shaw in her bed…

Especially dressed—or undressed—the way he was right now. The clothes he’d been wearing during the ride had been unsalvageable, so they’d discharged him in a pair of running shorts and a windbreaker borrowed from one of the orderlies. Now all he had on was the shorts.

She’d have killed for that back in high school. Now, she couldn’t wait to have him gone.

He was just so—big. Stubborn. Male. The sort of man who wouldn’t follow doctor’s orders without a struggle along the way.

And the way he’d held her hand, coaxing her back to bed. He hadn’t been rough, or overpowering. She could deal with demanding or forceful. But tempting? Inviting?

She had a sinking feeling it would be much harder to deal with that.

The phone rang and she jumped, glancing at the clock. Even without looking at caller ID, she knew who it was. Only one person would call this late at night.

Before it rang again she grabbed it, hoping the noise hadn’t woken him. “Hello,” she said in a low voice.

“Tell me you don’t have a strange man living in your apartment.”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Roberta down at the hospital said you took an injured cowboy home. Are you insane?”

“Most likely.” She stood and wandered into the kitchen for a glass of wine, holding the phone between her shoulder and ear as she rooted through the cabinet. Maybe a little drink would help her to relax enough to finally fall asleep. “And Roberta could get in trouble for divulging confidential information about a patient.”

“If he’s in your home he’s no longer her patient.”

“Maybe not, but he’s mine.” She opened the fridge and took out a bottle of wine. “It’s Cody Shaw, Mom.”

Dead silence followed her statement. She held the phone out and looked at it briefly. “Mom, are you still there?”

“Yes.” Over the line she could hear her mother clearing her throat. “Cody Shaw. That’s a name I haven’t heard in ages.”

She poured a glass, stuck the wine bottle back in the fridge and headed back into the darkened living room. “It’s been a long time,” she agreed.

“Does his mother know?”

“What? That he was injured, or that I’m taking care of him?” Sam swirled her wineglass in a circle, watching the pale liquid cling to the sides and then slip back down. “Yes, his family’s been notified.”

His mom and dad, that is. No Mrs. Cody Shaw in the wings.

Not that his marital status mattered to her. At all.

“I see.”

She took a long sip. “Maybe you should give her a call. I know you and Norma were close. Before.”

Another throat-clearing. “That was a long time ago.”

A lifetime. And considering how everyone had dropped them after her father’s death, it shouldn’t surprise her that her mom wasn’t exactly jumping with joy at the thought of talking to her former friend again.

“So how are you doing?” It was a transparent attempt to change the subject. Unfortunately for Sam, it didn’t work.

“I still don’t like it.”

Sam sighed. “You don’t like what, Mom?”

“The fact that you’ve got a bullrider in your apartment.”

She winced.

“Especially this bullrider.”

“He’s an old friend, Mom. And everything was handled appropriately.”

“Does Dr. Miller know that you were in love with him?”

“With Dr. Miller?”

“Samantha Jane!”

She blew out a frustrated breath. “I had a crush on Cody thirteen years ago. It’s over. Done with. Not an issue.”

“Right.”

“Have a little faith, okay, Mom?” She took another sip of wine. “I’m an adult, and a professional. I’m very capable of separating the personal—from years ago, I might add—from the requirements of my job. Yes, this is a little unusual, but I’ll be working in my capacity as a health care professional. He’s only here because he needs someone to monitor his recovery until he’s well enough to travel again. And believe me, he’ll be chomping at the bit to get out of here. I’m in no danger.”

“If you say so.”

Sam shook her head. “I should go.”

“Be careful.”

“All right.”

“And I’ll see you soon.”

“Mom—” she started, but was interrupted by the dial tone.

The last thing she needed was her mother hovering over the scene, trying to protect her from whatever dangers she saw lurking. But twenty-eight years of helicopter parenting was a hard habit to break.

Come to think of it, Mom had been a worrier about everyone in her life for as long as Sam could remember. That had been one of the reasons she and Dad had struggled.

A daredevil and a worrywart did not a healthy marriage make.

Sam checked her watch and swallowed the last of the wine. She still didn't feel particularly tired, but she should go check on her patient one more time before heading to bed.

If she could just remember to think of him in that context, everything would be fine.

He was awake when she entered the room, his gaze following her warily as she crossed to the bed.

“How are you feeling?”

His forehead creased. “Like a bull landed on top of me.”

“So you’re starting to remember,” she said, lifting one eyelid and then the other. “Still some residual effects of the concussion. Are you ready for your medication now?”

“No, thank you.” He winced as she probed the back of his head. “Damn, that hurts.”

“Of course it does,” she said, checking his pulse. “It wouldn’t if you took your medication.”

“I don’t want to be out of it.”

“Oh, like you might forget where you are and who I am?”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“Forget it.” She reached for the blanket covering him.

“Hey, whoa!” He grabbed at the covers with his uninjured hand. “What are you doing?”

She snorted a laugh. “Yeah, like I’m gonna take advantage of you. Give me a break.”

“I’m not dressed.”

“And I don’t really care.” At his dubious look she laughed again. “I’m an EMT, you dolt. Why else do you think they let you go home with me?”

“Oh.” A slow flush rose up his neck. “Got it.”

She shifted the blanket to expose his leg. “Just need to check your knee.” Shaking her head, she added, “Damn, that’s a bad sprain.”

“Doesn’t feel so good from this end, either. What exactly is wrong with me?”

She ticked the injuries off on her fingers. “A dislocated shoulder, a class three concussion—and, by the way, you were pretty lucky. Any more time unconscious, and you’d have been airlifted to Harborview. A sprained knee, major bruising from a close encounter with the bull’s head and hooves, and numerous cuts and contusions. No internal injuries, or you’d still be in the hospital. As it is, you’re bad enough off to need observation for the next few days, and can’t leave the area until your knee and shoulder are healed enough to let you drive. So for the time being, we’re stuck with each other.”

“Well, shit.”

She nodded. “Thought you might feel that way.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the help,” he said, wincing as he shifted against the pillows. “It’s just…”

“I know.” Satisfied that he was doing as well as could be expected, Sam pulled the blanket up again and stepped back. “Your meds and a glass of water are right here, if you want to wait until I’m gone to take them. I won’t doubt your masculinity if you follow doctor’s orders.”

“I hate pills.”

“Tough, cowboy. Studies show that your body heals faster if you stay on schedule with your pain meds. So if you want to get out of here, take the damn pills.”

“I don’t take medication. Period.”

Sam shook her head. “I can’t force them down your throat. But just understand I’m not happy about it.”

“Noted.” Cody closed his eyes. “I’m not trying to be difficult, Sam.”

Right.
Sam bit back a sarcastic laugh. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll be back in about three hours to check on you.”

“Almost as much fun as the hospital,” he grumbled, his eyes still squeezed shut.

Sam rolled her eyes. “But so much quieter.” She reached out a hand to brush the hair out of his eyes, but pulled back just in time. Better to keep the physical contact to a minimum.

He opened his mouth, probably to argue, when the phone rang. Sam glanced at her watch, surprised that someone besides her mother was calling this late. She picked it up and said hello. Covering the mouthpiece with her hand, she handed it to Cody. “It’s for you,” she whispered.

“Hello?” He tried to struggle to a more upright position, but quickly fell back against his pillows, panting for breath. “Hey, Mr. DeLong,” he said, trying to keep his voice even.

Sam’s mouth tightened as she lifted him slightly, rearranging the pillows for him. Of course. He wouldn't have been able to call until after the night events were over and everyone had left the grounds.

Cody smiled his thanks as he listened to the caller. “I appreciate it.” He paused. “Yeah, you too.” Then he clicked off the phone and handed it to Sam, eyes closed once again. “Thanks.”

“I’ll see you in a while.” She put the phone down and made her escape.

The living room was dark when she walked in. She turned on the lamp and sat down on the couch, brooding.

She’d already been in a pissy mood, and it hadn’t improved much once she’d realized that the caller was on the rodeo board, calling to check up on Cody.

It was a nice gesture, she knew. Part of the tight-knit rodeo culture, to take care of their own.

She just still resented that they hadn’t been so inclined after her father had died.

True, his death had been a shock for his fellow rodeo contestants. That still didn’t explain the absolute lack of contact after her father’s death. Not one phone call, not one visitor. No rodeo friends even made it to the funeral. It had been like her father had never existed—and, by extension, neither had Sam and her mother.

Being around Cody had reminded her just how much she’d loved the rodeo as a kid. But the combination of losing her adored father, and the whole support network at the same time, had really soured her on the whole rodeo culture.

She could objectively appreciate the support Cody was getting now. But deep inside, the rejection from so many years ago still stung.

Every muscle in his body ached. Some more than others.

Cody shifted gingerly, wishing he could find at least one position that was slightly comfortable.

Not an easy task with a body that had been pummeled from head to toe by one angry bull.

In all his years on the pro circuit, he couldn’t remember such a frightening ride. The bull seemed to be bigger, meaner, more out of control than any he’d drawn in the past. And he was now living with the fallout.