Driven by Fire (7 page)

“You don’t look any too good yourself, Ryder. Bring that girl in and I’ll see what I can do for the both of you.”

He expected more of an argument from Jenny, but she’d stopped fighting, and he carried her into the shack and straight into the small surgery Doc had set up, placing her on the examining table with great care. She immediately tried to scramble off.

“You’ve been hurt too,” she said as he calmly placed her back on the table and held her there.

“Then stop making things worse by fighting me. If Dr. Gentry thought I needed to be seen to first she’d tell you. Now sit still and shut up.”

“I was never very good at that.”

“Your father should have whipped your ass when you were young.”

“He did,” she said in a flat voice, one that hinted at troubles that were none of his business.

Doc came into the room before he had time to respond. “Now let’s see here what’s going on with that leg,” the old woman said, wearing a spotless white apron. “Matthew, honey, get that girl a pillow for her head. You just lie back, and let Doc Gentry take care of you and you’ll be right as rain.”

The old woman’s voice was soft and crooning, almost hypnotic, working her magic, and it was no surprise that Parker lay back on the examining table, a pillow tucked beneath her head, as Doc began to cut away at the jeans. She started to protest, then she must have remembered they weren’t her jeans, and she closed her eyes.

“That’s right, baby,” Doc crooned. “Just relax. I know just how to take care of you.”

Ryder had every intention of keeping out of Parker’s way, pain in the butt that she was, but apparently Dr. Gentry had other ideas. “Come and hold her hands, Matthew. Make yourself useful.”

“I don’t . . .” Jenny began.

“I’ll tell you what you need,” Doc said sternly, and Jenny subsided.

Ryder came forward and took her unwilling hands in his. He knew he must look just as battered and soot-stained as she was. Her hands were small in his big paws, he thought grimly, but he had no doubt hers could be lethal. He’d learned long ago never to underestimate women. His side still hurt from her pulled punch.

He turned his attention to Doc. “Can you take a look at her head when you’re finished with her leg? She caught a bullet graze a few hours ago, and I cleaned it up as best I could, but it could use your expert eyes.”

“Don’t waste your flattery on me, boy. I can see that piss-poor bandage. I’ll get to it after I’ve seen to you.”

“I’m fine,” he said in a flat voice, his hands tightening on Jenny’s.

“Don’t you be telling me my business!” she snapped, though her hands were gentle on Jenny’s leg. “Now hold on tight, baby, and it’ll all be over in a minute.”

Jenny obediently shut her eyes, though she made no effort to let go of his hands, and he had no intention of releasing her. He had his back to Doc, focusing on Jenny’s pale face, trying to distract himself. She looked like she was in pain.

He heard the beginning of a rip, could feel the tug as it shuddered through her entire body, and Doc pulled out the shard of wood with a sound of triumph. Parker let out a shriek, tears of pain filling her eyes without warning. She quickly blinked them away. For a moment their eyes met, held.

It took him a moment to realize he was rubbing his thumbs across the backs of her hands in an unconscious, soothing gesture. She tried to let go of him, not needing any crutch, in particular the help of her worst enemy, but she couldn’t seem to let go. And he couldn’t seem to release her.

“Ouch!” she said weakly.

“Won’t be much more,” the old woman said in a soft voice. “I just have to make sure I got all the splinters out of the wound before I dress it. Out of my way, boy.” She elbowed Ryder to one side. He released Jenny’s hand, one of them, but she clung to the other. He made no attempt to pull it free.

“Now let’s have a look at that head wound,” Dr. Gentry said. “Woo-hoo, that was one close call! I take it the bullet was meant for you?” She turned to Ryder.

“I don’t think so. Somebody blew up her house a few hours later. That’s why we’re here.”

“You don’t say,” Doc mused. “I’ll change the dressing after I look after you.”

“I’m fine . . .”

“Cut it out, Ryder. I got eyes—I know when someone’s hurting,” Doc said briefly. She leaned over Parker. “You think you can sit up? I got you stitched up all nice and clean but I can’t give you anything for the pain until I check your head, and I have to make sure Ryder isn’t going to drop dead on me.”

Jenny pushed herself up to a seated position, still looking slightly dazed. “Oh, I’m fine,” she protested.

“I’ve never seen so many ‘fine’ people show up in my infirmary,” Doc Gentry said sarcastically. “Ryder, help her into the wicker rocking chair. She can watch while I deal with you, and that way I can keep an eye on the both of you.”

The last thing he wanted was Jenny’s watchful eyes, but then he didn’t really have a choice. He scooped her up, trying not to flinch as she struggled against his left side, and dumped her into the ancient chair by the table, a chair that had held countless worried mothers over the decades.

“That’s right. Now take off your clothes and get up on that gurney.”

He gave Doc Gentry a stern look. “You know I’m not going to do that.”

“Never seen you worried about modesty before. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before, though I do admit you’re a sight prettier than most.”

“Never had an audience before,” he said in a cool, low voice that must have carried straight to Jenny’s ears. He glanced at her, but her eyes were closed, and perversely he snapped out her name. “Parker!”

Her eyes flew open, and she looked blessedly cranky beneath the soot and blood. “What?”

“Don’t fall asleep. We haven’t ruled out a concussion.”

“You probably would have left me alone in my house if it hadn’t exploded.” Her voice was querulous. “Where was the worry about my concussion then?”

“Who said I was going to leave you?”

That shut her up. She slouched into the protesting rocker, for all the world like a grumpy teenager, and the relief that filled him was out of proportion. He didn’t bother to examine it too closely. He didn’t want her hurt on his watch. Not anymore. Not until he had his answers.

Chapter Seven

She really didn’t want to be here, Jenny thought, keeping her eyes determinedly open. She’d been hoping to avoid watching her nemesis take off his shirt, so now she was simply going to have to hope he was pale and flabby, or covered with a thick pelt, because there was no denying that Matthew Ryder, super spy, was one hell of a good-looking man. Even a possible concussion and the loss of her house couldn’t dull that knowledge, and she didn’t need that kind of distraction.

Maybe she just needed to think about something else. Damn it, she wasn’t in shock, but just a hint of denial, and if looking at Ryder would distract her, then she’d damn well look. And fantasize if she felt like it. It wasn’t as if he’d ever know. He disliked and distrusted her, and as far as he knew the feeling was mutual. There was nothing dangerous in taking inventory of a good-looking sex object.

He was starting to peel off his bloodstained T-shirt, and she got a flash of tanned, flat stomach. She braced herself.

“Oh, for mercy’s sake,” the old woman snapped. “Let go of it and I’ll cut it off.”

“No, thank you.” He was still struggling to get the shirt off, and the more stomach she saw the more bothered she felt, until she saw the blood. How badly was he hurt? “I don’t intend to go home shirtless,” he grumbled.

“And what makes you think I’m too old to have gentlemen callers who might leave clothes behind?” Dr. Gentry demanded, affronted.

“Doc, you have no use for gentlemen,” he said. “You like bad boys.”

“Which is why I put up with you,” she said, advancing on him with a pair of blunt-tipped scissors, and Jenny could tell by the blood o
n them that they’d been used to cut off her pant leg to expose her wounded calf. For some reason her stomach lurched, but she controlled it, determined to appear unmoved.

In a moment the ruins of the black T-shirt were on the floor and Jenny’s errant lust had vanished. To hell with his chiseled abs and golden skin—he had a long gash across his back that was oozing blood and ugly bruises on his shoulders.

“My, my, you two are a pair,” the doctor said. “What happened—a house fall on you?”

“So to speak,” Ryder said in an even voice, as if he weren’t having a nasty wound across his back being cleaned with the same incredibly painful stuff Doctor Gentry had used on her. He didn’t even blink. “I told you her house blew up.”

“And she escaped with a piece of wood stuck in her leg while your back looks like it landed directly on you.”

“Like the Wicked Witch of the West,” Ryder said dryly. “I’m sure that’s what Ms. Parker was thinking.”

Heat flooded Jenny’s face. That was exactly what she’d been thinking. “Of course not,” she protested weakly.

“What’d you do—throw yourself over her body to protect her?” Dr. Gentry scrubbed at his back with a little more energy, and finally he winced. She shook her head. “Of course you did. Always got to be the hero.” She stepped back to survey the wound, which was still oozing blood. “I’ve got some Krazy glue to fix that.”

“Krazy glue?” Jenny echoed, horrified.

“She’s talking about surgical glue,” Ryder said irritably. “Don’t take her at face value—she was top of her class at . . .”

“Long time ago,” Dr. Gentry said, her leathery brown face creased with amusement as she turned to Jenny. “And then I’ll perform a voodoo rite. You can spare some of your blood, can’t you?”

Jenny froze in horror for a nanosecond, then realized she was being teased. She leaned back again in the creaking chair. “Want a piece of my brain too?”

“Depends on how much you got to spare.”

“Stop teasing her, Doc,” Ryder said, holding very still while she applied the ointment. “You don’t want to offend a member of the Gauthier clan.”

Dr. Gentry looked unimpressed as she glanced back at Jenny. “What’s your name, child?”

“Jenny Parker.”

“Jennifer Parker, Esquire, née Gauthier. She doesn’t take after her brothers or her father. She is a hopeless do-gooder. She’s the one who wants to be a hero.” Ryder’s voice was a lazy drawl, and Jenny did her best to keep her expression blank. He knew about her brothers—of course he did. But did he know exactly what they did? Exactly what Billy had done, and how she had covered for him?

“I’m surprised she didn’t wrestle you to be on top, then,” the old woman said. “Get down and get yourself an ice pack for those shoulders. I want to look at your girlfriend’s head wound.”

“I’m not his girlfriend!”

“She’s not . . . !”

The protests came out simultaneously and vigorously, and Dr. Gentry ignore them both. “Why is it”—she inquired of no one in particular—“that young people are so stupid?”

“Neither of us is young, Doc,” Ryder said, sliding down from the table with his pantherlike grace. “She’s twenty-eight and I’m a hell of a lot older.”

“You’re thirty-seven, boy. And I notice you don’t deny you’re stupid.”

Ryder stalked from the room without a backward glance, and Jenny started to rise from the chair until Doc’s strong, capable hands stopped her. “You don’t need to move. I can see just fine from here.”

She was surprisingly gentle as she poked at Jenny’s scalp, making clucking noises as she asked her all the questions about blurred vision and sleepiness.

“You’re good,” the old lady said finally. “Don’t worry about feeling tired—just hearing about what you went through makes me want to take a nap.”

“I think,” Jenny said hesitantly, “that I might be in shock, maybe just a little bit. I can’t even cry over my house being gone, but all I want to do is curl up in a bed with the covers over my head. But don’t tell Ryder that.”

“That boy? Of course I won’t. He seems to think he knows everything about everything. You’ll be right as rain in a little while. Old Dr. Gentry’s been around a long time, and that little tap on your head isn’t going to do anything. If you’ve survived being shot, having your house blown up, and being flattened by Ryder, then you’re going to be just fine.”

“What are you telling her about me?” Ryder’s disapproving voice came from the doorway, and instinctively Jenny turned to look, then regretted it.

Somehow in that short time he’d managed to take a shower, and water still glistened on his bare chest.

“Where are the ice packs?” Dr. Gentry demanded.

“Screw the ice packs. What are you telling her about me?”

“Not a God Almighty thing except that you must’ve crushed her.”

Jenny was surprised Doc even bothered to answer his rough question. “Don’t be rude,” Jenny snapped at him. “I already know who you are and exactly what you do.”

“I doubt that. You need another bath but Doc only has a shower. If Doc is finished with you I can help you get clean.”

“I’ll help her,” Doc said sternly.

“To paraphrase your elegant words, she doesn’t have anything I haven’t already seen.”

“I don’t give a damn what you have or haven’t seen. The woman deserves her modesty.”

“I thought you had somewhere to be,” he said with a meaningful undertone.

“I don’t leave my patients until they’re ready. Now get those damned ice packs, or you won’t be able to move your shoulders by tomorrow.”

He gave her a disbelieving glance. “You really think so?”

“All right, you’re Superman. Make things easier on yourself for once and use the ice packs.”

Ryder made a disgruntled growl as Dr. Gentry helped Jenny to her feet. “You just come along with me,” she said. “You’ll feel a sight better after you’re cleaned up.”

The woman was right. Half an hour later Jenny was coming to the conclusion that Dr. Gentry was always right. She even managed to shampoo the dried blood from her hair with a minimum of discomfort to her lacerated scalp, but when they were done Jenny was shaking with exhaustion.

Dr. Gentry toweled her off with capable, impersonal hands, found her an ancient dressing gown that came to her ankles and looked like it had once belonged in Storyville, that notorious center for prostitution in old New Orleans.
Great
, she thought. As if she weren’t already feeling vulnerable and uncomfortably sexual for no good reason. At least there was a pocket for Billy’s cell phone. She’d had every intention of leaving it at her house, and now it was about the only thing she had left, useless as it was to her.

The bathroom was off a tiny bedroom with a sagging, tarnished brass bed taking up most of the space. “What you need most now is sleep,” said Doc.

“I want to go . . .” She’d been about to say “home” when she realized she had no home. Sudden tears filled her eyes.

“Now don’t be worrying about anything right now. Things will sort themselves out—you’ll see. You just climb into bed—that’s right—and I’ll tell Ryder to leave you alone.”

The sheets were wonderful—like heavy linen—and the bed was soft and comforting. She blinked away her tears, patted the phone in her pocket, and a moment later she was sound asleep.