Awol Bride. Victoria Pade
“How about your last name, Maicy?”
“Clark,” she muttered.
She heard him say, “Holy...” under his breath before shifting back into a calm, professional tone to ask, “Can you tell me what year it is?”
“A new year. January...” The date rolled off her tongue.
But maybe that wasn’t the right date. Maybe she only said it out of habit. She’d given that particular date a million times in the last few months while planning the wedding.
The wedding...
“How old are you?” the man asked.
These questions were dumb. “Old enough,” she said peevishly.
She pinched her eyes closed against the pain in her head and reached up to feel the source. She discovered that her hair was damp and that there were bandages of some sort on her forehead, just below her hairline.
“Good, you can move your right arm. How about this side?” the man asked, taking her other hand. “Can you squeeze my hand?”
She did that. He had a big hand.
“Strength is good,” he decreed. “How about your feet? Can you flex those for me?”
She did as he asked and felt that her feet were bare.
Bare feet? She didn’t leave home in her bare feet.
Her wedding shoes...
“Where are my shoes—I love those shoes!”
He didn’t answer her question. Instead he asked, “Can you tell me what happened to you?”
She opened her eyes again. Her vision was a bit clearer this time, and the fuzzy image of the man on his knees beside her looked even more like her old boyfriend.
This really was bizarre.
“There was a deer. I swerved to miss hitting him,” she said, remembering. She also recalled that it was her wedding she’d come from.
And Gary...
“What’s around my neck?” she asked when she also became aware that there was something there.
“My coat,” the man answered. “Are you experiencing pain anywhere?”
“My head.”
“Anywhere else?”
“No.”
“Any pain in your neck? Your shoulders? Your back or arms?”
“No.”
“I’m going to pinch you a little bit—tell me if you can feel it.”
He did, pinching different spots on her arms and legs. She could feel it so she told him so.
Then he said, “Can you raise your legs? One at a time?”
She did that, feeling satin around them. The wedding dress. From the wedding that hadn’t been. Because she’d run away from it...
“Okay, very carefully, I want you to try to move your head—can you do that?”
She could do that, too.
“Any pain with that? Any tingling in your shoulders, arms or legs?”
“No.”
“Good. I’m going to unwrap your neck but I’m going to do it slowly, if you feel anything out of the ordinary, you tell me right away, okay?”
He came closer to unwrap his coat and her vision cleared more so she could take a better look at him.
He had dark hair the color of a double espresso—short on the sides, longer on top—and a handsome face even at that odd angle.
In spite of it she could still tell that his nose was slightly long and flat across the bridge but worked well with the sharp lines of a great bone structure—high cheekbones and a strong jawline and chin.
All refined and tougher versions of what she remembered of the young Conor...
Why did he keep coming to mind?
“Nothing? No pain—shooting or otherwise?” the man asked.
“No,” she said softly as she went on assessing his face and finding more and more that reminded her of the boy she’d loved.
And learned to wish she hadn’t...
Those full lips.
Those thick eyebrows, the same dark brown as his hair.
Even his ears...
Conor had had really nice ears...
Then her neck was free and he raised his eyes to her face.
And that was when she knew for sure.
No one she’d ever met except the Madison siblings had eyes like that. Bluer than blue, with silver streaks in them.
“Oh my God!” she said in alarm.
“What? Pain? Numbness?” he asked with more urgency.
“You’re Conor Madison,” she accused.
He relaxed and nodded. “Hi, Maicy,” he said calmly.
“I get it—I’ve died and gone to hell,” she muttered.
As much as she’d wanted to escape her own wedding today, she wanted to get away from Conor even more. So she started to sit up.
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” He held her down by the shoulders. “I don’t want you moving at all yet, let alone like that!”
“And we know that what you want is all that counts.”
He didn’t address that. He only said, “It’s important that I make sure you don’t aggravate any injuries. So please, just let me check you out?”
“I guess that means you did become a doctor?” she said, curious but trying to hide it.
“I did. So let me do my job,” he reiterated.
Begrudgingly, she conceded to that, doing some checking out of her own as he continued his examination.
Conor Madison. How, on this day of all days, could she open her eyes and find herself with him?
Maybe she was hallucinating. That would be so much better...
But if she was hallucinating, wouldn’t she see him as the boy he’d been when they were last together rather than this solid, muscular, all-grown-up version of him?
The man who was fully developed—broad of chest and shoulders, with biceps that filled and tested the sleeves of the gray sweatshirt he had on.
He’d aged from youthful good looks into a striking handsomeness.
That aggravated Maicy all the more...
“Shouldn’t you be wearing a uniform?” she asked with some impudence.
“I’m on leave,” he answered curtly as he took her pulse.
His voice was the same. It had been deep then and it was deep now. But now it held more confidence, more certainty, more authority, as he told her what to do.
“I’m fine,” she insisted when his examination seemed finished.
“You aren’t completely fine,” he said. “You were in a car accident, you have a gash in your head and were unconscious for some amount of time. If I had you in a hospital I’d send you for X-rays and a CT scan. But since we aren’t in a hospital—”
“Where are we?” she said.
“The Dale family’s hunting cabin.”
“Rickie Dale?” She hadn’t thought of him in years.