Page 3 of Hidden
“Does anything hurt?” he asked, setting his medical bag down by her feet and unzipping it.
“You look like Josh, but at the same time, you don’t. And you have a goatee,” she replied.
The response seemed like a non sequitur, but it relieved some of his worry. Josh was his cousin. And Ellie and Sofia, Josh’s partner, were longtime friends.
“Were you on your way to visit Sofia?” he asked, removing his gloves. She hesitated then nodded. “I’m Josh’s cousin, Asher,” he said, withdrawing a small penlight from his bag.
“The doctor,” Ellie said quietly.
“The doctor,” he confirmed, turning to her with the penlight in hand. “Do you mind if I run a few small checks? If everything looks okay, we can get you out of this car and to my truck. I can take you to Mystery Lake General.”
Her hand shot out and gripped his arm. “No hospitals. Please,” she added.
He hesitated. He understood why she might want to avoid one. With her celebrity, she ran the risk of it being splashed all over the news within twenty-four hours. But oddly, he didn’t think that was the reason behind her aversion. She seemed almost…frightened.
“I can’t promise that,” he said, keeping his tone gentle. “I don’t see any injuries now, but I need to do a few checks. And ask you a few questions.”
She studied him. Their breaths fogged in the space between them as she weighed his words. He held her gaze, hoping she’d decide to trust him. They’d never met before, but she knew several of his cousins. Finally, she gave a hesitant nod.
Not wanting to give her a chance to rethink her decision, he raised the light and, in silence, asked if she was ready. She nodded again, and he flashed it first in one eye and then the other. Pleased with her pupillary response, he dropped the small piece of equipment into the bag.
“I want to feel your neck and head now. Is that okay?”
She gave another small nod.
“Are you on your way up to see Sofia?” he asked again as he slipped his palms along her jaw and his fingers into her hair. Long strands slid over his skin, and he reminded himself that she was a patient. And a frightened one at that.
“I don’t know why I thought driving up today was a good idea, but yes, I’m on my way to see her,” she responded, the most words she’d spoken since they’d opened the door. And she had the kind of voice that reminded him of hot summer nights, silk, and dark jazz bars. It curled and wrapped around his body. Uncomfortably, given the situation.
“Do you know what happened?” he asked. “And let me know if anything hurts,” he added, nudging her face toward him. He didn’t think he’d find any bumps or cuts, but he wanted to be sure.
“I…I don’t really. I think it must have been the snow. I have four-wheel drive, but I don’t drive in the snow a lot. I put on music to soothe my nerves. And I wasn’t driving more than thirty miles an hour. Probably more like twenty. I sort of remember spinning in circles. But then there’s nothing—just a blank—until you knocked on my window.”
She might not have the skills or experience to drive in the current conditions, but it sounded to Asher that she’d been doing so responsibly. She had the right kind of car and hadn’t been racing to get anywhere.
“No dizziness or pain before the spin?” he asked, withdrawing his hands.
She hesitated again then shook her head.
“Are you sure?” he pressed. “I’m confident you didn’t have a stroke prior to the spin. But there could have been something else that caused it.”
“You don’t think it was the snow and maybe an overcorrection on my part?”
He tipped his head and several snowflakes fell off his hat and onto his shoulder. “It’s possible. But my job is to make sure it wasn’t something else. How are your fingers and toes?”
She raised her hands and wiggled her fingers. “You can’t see them in my boots, but my toes are wiggling, too,” she said.
His gaze followed the line of her fitted jeans to the knee-high shearling boots she wore.
“And no shortness of breath or anything like that?”
She shook her head. Then, shifting in her seat, she pulled her coat tighter over her body.
“Do you think you can walk to my truck? I can help you, of course.”
A hint of a smile touched her lips. “You’re the nice one, aren’t you? That’s what Josh and Chad say, anyway. Not that I think any of the Warwicks are anythingbutnice. Or maybe I should say they’re all good people.”
A familiar weight landed in his stomach, and the smile he flashed her was hard-fought. “Yeah, that’s me,” he responded. Theniceone. It was a pathetic thing to be upset about, but he’d always hated being called theniceone. Or thegoodone. He was no more “nice” or “good” than his cousins. And being either—or both—of those things wasn’t bad. But there’d always been something of a criticism to it when his cousins used those words. No, not a criticism, but a sort of taunt.
