Here I Am. Rochelle Alers
realizing that going head-to-head with Brandt would end in a stalemate. “I’m willing to sit and talk. What I’m not going to put up with is you cursing at me. Save that language for the locker room.”
Brandt’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’re that prim and proper.” As soon as the words were off his tongue he realized he may have misread Ciara Dennison.
“What I am is none of your concern. What you should concern yourself with is taking a shower and washing your hair. After that I’ll bring you something to eat.”
Brandt ran his fingers through his mussed hair. “I took a shower this morning, but I didn’t get around to washing my hair, because there wasn’t any shampoo in the bathroom. As for food, I don’t want that stuff my mother left in the freezer.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“What’s right with it?” Brandt asked. “It tastes like hospital food.”
Ciara looked away so he couldn’t see her smiling. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes. I feel like I haven’t eaten in days.”
“What do you want? Steak and potatoes?”
Brandt grinned at Ciara, revealing a set of beautiful straight white teeth. “Steak and potatoes, Philly cheese-steak or sausage and peppers.”
“What are you, on some kind of bodybuilding diet?”
“Hell, yeah,” he drawled.
“I’m going to set up a swear jar, and every time you curse you’ll have to put a dollar in it.”
Brandt crossed his arms over his chest. “And what do you intend to do with the contents?”
“Donate it to charity.”
“If that’s the case, then I’ll put a couple of thousand in it beforehand and cuss away.”
Ciara rolled her eyes at him. She’d dated a man who after one drink couldn’t complete a sentence without using four-letter words. The alcohol lowered his inhibitions and loosened his tongue. After their second date she told him it wasn’t going to work out between them.
“Just try and watch your language.” A long silence followed as they engaged in what had become a stare-down, neither willing to concede.
“I’ll watch what I say if…”
“If what?” Ciara asked when he didn’t finish his statement. She then realized he’d closed his eyes. “Brandt?”
“I’m not sleeping.”
“What are you doing?”
Brandt smiled. “I’m resting my eyelids.”
Ciara rose from the chair. “You rest your eyelids while I go and get some shampoo.” Maintaining his personal hygiene was essential to his emotional well-being. She didn’t want to give herself kudos, but she was making progress with her patient; she’d gotten Brandt to take his pain medication and he’d agreed to wash his hair. He’d also admitted to being hungry, and that meant he didn’t intend to starve himself to death.
“You should find shampoo on a shelf in the pantry, and there’re steaks in the freezer.” He opened his eyes. “You do know how to broil a steak?”
She’d just discovered who Brandt Wainwright was. He was a big dog with a big bark but with little or no bite. “I’ve broiled a few. How do you like yours cooked?”
“Medium-well.”
“Your mother gave me a tour of your place and I think it would be nice if you eat upstairs. It would do you good to get some fresh air.”
Propping himself up on one elbow, Brandt gave his nurse a long, penetrating stare. “Are you going to eat with me?”
“What?”
“‘What?’” he mimicked. “I asked if you were going to eat with me, Ciara Dennison, or is that not allowed in your book—sharing meals with your patients?”
“I don’t have any hard-and-fast rules, just what is and isn’t appropriate between a nurse and a patient. We’re not in a hospital setting, so there’s nothing wrong with me sharing a meal with my patient.”
Lying back down onto the mound of pillows cradling his shoulders, Brandt closed his eyes again. “Thank you.”
The seconds ticked as Ciara stared at the bearded man whose very size was intimidating enough without him raising his voice. If he’d thought he’d frighten her into leaving then he didn’t know how stubborn she could be. Push and she would push back—harder. Yell and she would yell even louder. Her only focus was making certain her patient received the best possible care.
“You’re welcome.” The two words were barely off her tongue when soft snoring filled the room. He’d fallen asleep again. Ciara was glad. It would give her time to prepare dinner.
Chapter 5
Ciara positioned the retractable nozzle so Brandt could reach it when sitting on the shower chair. She’d placed a towel around his waist before removing his underwear to provide him with a modicum of privacy. It didn’t matter to her whether he was nude or fully clothed. She’d lost count of the number of naked bodies she’d seen in more than a decade of nursing. Some male patients were uncomfortable with female nurses. But even with more men going into the field, there were still too few nurses. She rechecked the Velcro fastenings on the plastic sheath covering his feet and casts, then handed Brandt a plastic squeeze bottle filled with shampoo.
She rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be in the bedroom. Call me when you’re finished.”
Brandt covered her hand with his, increasing the pressure on her fingers when she tried pulling away. “Aren’t you going to help me wash my back?” There was a glint of amusement in his eyes.
Ciara wrinkled her nose. “No. That’s why I gave you a back brush.”
“Ah, come on.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “You must really be feeling better.”
Attractive lines fanned out around Brandt’s eyes when he returned her smile. “You think?”
“I think. Please let go of my hand. I have work to do.”
For reasons he could not fathom, Brandt didn’t want to let her go. There was something about Ciara that intrigued him. Why, he pondered, did she wear clothes that definitely didn’t flatter her figure? And what was up with the bun? The glasses were all right—at least they were stylish. But the rest of her was dowdy. It was as if his nurse had gone out of her way to make herself look frumpy.
He’d seen her smile a few times and the gesture made her look like an entirely different person. It softened her sensually curved, full lips and scrunched up her very cute little nose. Even without makeup her skin was flawless, giving the appearance of whipped chocolate cream. Brandt released her hand and shook his head. What difference did it make to him that his nurse looked as if she were auditioning for a role on Little House on the Prairie?
“I’ll call you when I’m finished.” Ciara had asked him whether he was feeling better. His head was better, but physically he wasn’t. Every time he’d tried moving his legs he was reminded of his limited mobility. And he’d decided after dispatching two nurses that he was going to try and cooperate with the third. He wanted to feel better, regain full use of his legs, and he wanted to play football again. Playing football was not only what he did, it had become his obsession.
Ciara changed the linen on Brandt’s bed and adjusted the temperature level on the thermostat while she waited for him to finish in the bathroom. The temperature in the bedroom was sixty-two degrees. She’d positioned the ultra-thin, flat-screen television resting on a stand in the sitting area so that Brandt would be able to view it from the bed. Underwear, a