Shelter from the Storm

"Would you take your shirt off, please?" Under other circumstancesand from just about any other womanDaniel Galvez might have been tempted to take those words as a rather enticing request. From Dr. Lauren Maxwell, he knew all too well she meant nothing suggestiveas much as he might wish otherwise. He sighed, detesting this whole ordeal, even as he knew he had no choice but to comply. His right hand went to the buttons of his uniform and he wrestled them free, uncomfortably aware of her watching him out of those intense blue eyes that seemed to miss nothing. He had to work hard to hide a wince as he shrugged out of his shirt, mentally bracing himself for the moment she would touch him with those cool fingers. The pain didn't worry him. He had coped with much worse than a little scratch on the arm. Handling Lauren and the feelings she always stirred up in him was another matter entirely. She watched him take off his shirt, her eyes veiled as they always seemed to be in his presence, and he wondered what she saw. The dirtpoor Mexican kid on the school bus in the fraying, toosmall jeans and the threadbare coat? Or the harsh, hardasnails cop she must hate? Those cool, lovely features didn't reveal even a hint of whatever she might think of him. Just as well, he thought. He had a feeling he was better off not knowing. "Sorry to come in so late," he said as he pulled his bloodsoaked shirt away. "I wouldn't have stopped if I hadn't seen the lights on as I was driving past." She raised an eyebrow, though her attention remained fixed on his reason for being in her examination room of the Moose Springs Medical Clinic. "That's quite a nasty laceration you've got there, Sheriff. What were you going to do about it, if you weren't going to stop here? Stitch it up yourself?" If he were capable of such a feat, he probably would have tried rather than finding himself in this uncomfortable position. "I figured I would catch a minute to run into the emergency clinic in Park City later." That was still his preferred option. But since he was missing two deputies this weekend in a department that was already understaffed, he didn't have that luxury. This was his third night of double shifts and he just couldn't spare the personal leave to drive the half hour to Park City, sit in the emergency clinic there while he waited his turn for a couple hours among all the bangedup skiers and tourists with altitude sickness, then drive a half hour back to Moose Springs. With the ski season in full swing, Park City in January was crazy anywaythrow in an independent film festival that drew thousands of Hollywood types and their entourages, and he would just about rather chew tire spikes then spend time there if he didn't have to. Even if that meant baring his chest for Lauren Maxwell. "You know I'm always on call for you and your deputies if you need me," she said. Though her voice was low and polite, he still felt a pinch of reprimand. She stepped forward, close enough that he could smell the subtle, intoxicating scent of jasmine and vanilla that always seemed to cling to her. She didn't touch him yet, just continued to study the jagged threeinch cut on his upper arm that was beginning to throb like hell. "How did you say you were injured?" "Bar fight down at Mickey's. Some joker from out of town got mad when Johnny Baldwin kept playing 'Achy Breaky Heart' on the jukebox." "Uhoh. He and Carol are fighting again?" "Apparently. By about the sixth goaround, the tourist had had enough of Billy Ray and tried to physically prevent Johnny from putting in another quarter." "I hope you didn't arrest him for that. Sounds like justifiable assault to me." A muscle twitched in his cheek at her dry tone, though it was taking most of his conceThayne, Raeanne is the author of 'Shelter from the Storm ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780373275373 and ISBN 0373275374.