Craving Her Rough Diamond Doc. Amalie Berlin
Good grief.” She retrieved a hairband from her pocket with such a rough touch it snapped her knuckles, the sharp sting wrecking her impulse-control efforts. People usually kept their masks polite, but Wyatt came at it backwards. If his mask was this surly and unpleasant, did it hide something worse?
Focus. His opinion only mattered as far as it affected her ability to cover Amanda’s leave. In six months she’d be gone and he wouldn’t matter anymore.
“Okay, give me a chance to prove I’m substantial enough to get the job done and then—as much as I think it’s ridiculous for a man to play with chainsaws all by himself in an area with no cellphone coverage—I’ll leave you in peace at the site of your future, accidental amputation.” Okay, so maybe she should’ve been trying harder to keep the frustration out of her words and been less worried about her tone.
“No.” Wyatt stepped over the stumpy wall and made for the logs again. “And no standing within fifty feet of the cabin.”
“You should wear gloves. Don’t you know doctors are supposed to have soft hands?” She thrust her gloves at him, refusing to abide by his fifty-foot decree. “Want mine? They aren’t seeing any use now.”
“I’m fine.”
With a grunt and a shake of her head Imogen dragged the gloves on and followed him. “I’ll help you by dragging the logs to the cabin, and you won’t have to wait so long to run your beloved chainsaw. Give me the rope.”
“No.”
Hadn’t the man figured out yet that she wasn’t going to leave until he said yes?
“It’s hard work. You’ll hurt yourself,” Wyatt added.
“The last place I worked was at a pediatrics unit.” She dropped her gloved hands to her hips, instantly aware of how stiff the gloves were. “Want to know what I learned there?”
“No.”
“Too bad! I’m telling you anyway.” Ass.
“You really don’t like being told no, do you?”
Wyatt actually chuckled a little then, but it was the kind of mirthless, superior man noise she noticed happening at those times the little woman tried to do man’s work—like learning to change spark plugs. Or move logs. Having drinks and passing the time with this man no longer sounded like much fun.
In fact, the urge to hurt him nearly overwhelmed her already limping impulse control. “I learned that if you want something and you’re told no, you should do other stuff that they don’t want you to do. Worse stuff. Until they reconsider your first, sensible request. Or you should just keep asking until they give up from exhaustion.”
He tied the rope around the notched end of the log and straightened, giving her a weird, almost amused look. “How often that work for you?”
“I’d say about three out of four times. People don’t like confrontation.” She amended, “Most people.”
“There’s nothing you can do on the mountain that will bother me enough to change my mind.” He looked at her a long moment then turned, pulling the rope over one shoulder to drag the former tree down to his cabin.
The man clearly had no idea how annoying she could be if she set her mind to it. She almost regretted him putting his shirt back on. Pine cones and prickly seedpods from the sycamores would be great for proving to him and his stupid amazing back how irritating she could be.
Imogen followed, barely resisting the urge to pelt him with prickly tree bits, her mind in a mad scramble for another way to handle him. Amanda didn’t want someone getting comfy in her job while she was away, and Imogen was the pit bull she’d chosen to turn loose on the problem.
But maybe she’d set this up wrong from the start when she’d made it sound like a request. He was under the illusion she was the one who would eventually give up from exhaustion. Or maybe firm but sensible would work where bratty and frustrated had failed.
“Please?” Please should help, at least a little. “I’m invested in this working,” She tried to keep her voice as level as possible—no easy task considering she was one of the people who generally avoided confrontation. Confrontation meant getting involved in subjects that caused big feelings and crossed lines she didn’t like to cross. “Give me a chance to prove myself. Or say yes. I’ll leave and see you tomorrow for work, Dr. Beechum.”
“So…” Wyatt looked her fully in the eyes, somehow making her feel short for once. A little intimidated. That’s the reason people liked to avoid confrontation. Uncomfortable. “Your offer to help move logs is to annoy me into saying yes to hiring you for the practice?”
“Um, no. Maybe that’s how it looks, but offering to help was not to annoy you.” Imogen rubbed her head with the still stiff rawhide glove. “That was a different plan to make you say yes. That plan involved showing you that I’m a quick learner.” She began ticking off fingers as she talked herself up, but the gloves were so stiff her ticking lost the pizzazz she’d hoped to muster. “I’m determined to make it work. I’ll work very hard to make it come out well for everyone, including your patients, Amanda, and even you.”
Wyatt looked at the gloves and back to Imogen’s face. Nice face, even all pink and angry like that. Her help—anyone’s help, really—was the last thing he wanted. If Josh had survived, they’d have been rebuilding together. As the last Beauchamp standing, the responsibility was his alone.
“You really are like erosion.” Exceptional at wearing things down. Absolutely relentless. “If it will make you shut up, go ahead. You won’t make it ten minutes, but move the logs if you’re able.” She wouldn’t be any help. Letting her wear herself out on a log might just get her out of his hair.
He grabbed the chainsaw and safety gear. Before starting it, he watched how she did with her first log. Stubborn woman. No way in hell was she going to get that thing moving without hurting herself.
The rawhide gloves she’d been bandying about looked to have never seen use. Still stiff and not a mark on them. She flexed her fingers a couple times to get them bending then mimicked what she’d seen him do earlier: turn, rope over the shoulder, then lean forward to pull. A few aborted tries and she choked up on the rope, which lifted the end enough to actually get it moving. Stronger than she looked, and smart.
The shorts were impractical for that kind of labor, but it let him see her legs flex from her calves all the way up to a plump little rear. Hard to look away from. Since he’d come home, Wyatt had resisted all the local attempts to fix him up. But now, with Imogen’s legs and rear distracting him…Swearing off dating since he’d come home might not have been the best decision.
Shake it off. Get back to work.
Imogen worked as long as she could. But even taking a break after every log, her whole body still hurt. Her shoulders screamed the loudest, like a foghorn warning her away from the dangers ahead. She had a new appreciation for packhorses and whatever farm animals had to do this in the olden days—before she’d been around to make stupid points about being a hard worker.
She flopped onto the ground where Wyatt marked more logs to cut, sprawling gracelessly on her back. “Okay. I admit it, this was a dumb idea.”
Wyatt chuckled, and it sounded like honest amusement this time. “They’re heavier than you’d think.”
“And I…” Her voice cracked. She swallowed and tried again. “Can’t remember what I was going to say.”
He pulled a watch from his pocket. “You’ve been at it a few hours. I need to make a call. Think you can make it to the ridge?”
“You want me to climb the mountain with you?” Oh, sure, now he wanted her to go somewhere with him. Now that she couldn’t move.
“Yes.”
For once he didn’t say no. If he were a puppy, Imogen would