He heard the beginning of a rip, could feel the tug as it shuddered through her entire body, and Doc pulled out the shard of wood with a sound of triumph. Parker let out a shriek, tears of pain filling her eyes without warning. She quickly blinked them away. For a moment their eyes met, held.
It took him a moment to realize he was rubbing his thumbs across the backs of her hands in an unconscious, soothing gesture. She tried to let go of him, not needing any crutch, in particular the help of her worst enemy, but she couldn’t seem to let go. And he couldn’t seem to release her.
“Ouch!” she said weakly.
“Won’t be much more,” the old woman said in a soft voice. “I just have to make sure I got all the splinters out of the wound before I dress it. Out of my way, boy.” She elbowed Ryder to one side. He released Jenny’s hand, one of them, but she clung to the other. He made no attempt to pull it free.
“Now let’s have a look at that head wound,” Dr. Gentry said. “Woo-hoo, that was one close call! I take it the bullet was meant for you?” She turned to Ryder.
“I don’t think so. Somebody blew up her house a few hours later. That’s why we’re here.”
“You don’t say,” Doc mused. “I’ll change the dressing after I look after you.”
“I’m fine . . .”
“Cut it out, Ryder. I got eyes—I know when someone’s hurting,” Doc said briefly. She leaned over Parker. “You think you can sit up? I got you stitched up all nice and clean but I can’t give you anything for the pain until I check your head, and I have to make sure Ryder isn’t going to drop dead on me.”
Jenny pushed herself up to a seated position, still looking slightly dazed. “Oh, I’m fine,” she protested.
“I’ve never seen so many ‘fine’ people show up in my infirmary,” Doc Gentry said sarcastically. “Ryder, help her into the wicker rocking chair. She can watch while I deal with you, and that way I can keep an eye on the both of you.”
The last thing he wanted was Jenny’s watchful eyes, but then he didn’t really have a choice. He scooped her up, trying not to flinch as she struggled against his left side, and dumped her into the ancient chair by the table, a chair that had held countless worried mothers over the decades.
“That’s right. Now take off your clothes and get up on that gurney.”
He gave Doc Gentry a stern look. “You know I’m not going to do that.”
“Never seen you worried about modesty before. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before, though I do admit you’re a sight prettier than most.”
“Never had an audience before,” he said in a cool, low voice that must have carried straight to Jenny’s ears. He glanced at her, but her eyes were closed, and perversely he snapped out her name. “Parker!”
Her eyes flew open, and she looked blessedly cranky beneath the soot and blood. “What?”
“Don’t fall asleep. We haven’t ruled out a concussion.”
“You probably would have left me alone in my house if it hadn’t exploded.” Her voice was querulous. “Where was the worry about my concussion then?”
“Who said I was going to leave you?”
That shut her up. She slouched into the protesting rocker, for all the world like a grumpy teenager, and the relief that filled him was out of proportion. He didn’t bother to examine it too closely. He didn’t want her hurt on his watch. Not anymore. Not until he had his answers.
Chapter Seven
She really didn’t want to be here, Jenny thought, keeping her eyes determinedly open. She’d been hoping to avoid watching her nemesis take off his shirt, so now she was simply going to have to hope he was pale and flabby, or covered with a thick pelt, because there was no denying that Matthew Ryder, super spy, was one hell of a good-looking man. Even a possible concussion and the loss of her house couldn’t dull that knowledge, and she didn’t need that kind of distraction.
Maybe she just needed to think about something else. Damn it, she wasn’t in shock, but just a hint of denial, and if looking at Ryder would distract her, then she’d damn well look. And fantasize if she felt like it. It wasn’t as if he’d ever know. He disliked and distrusted her, and as far as he knew the feeling was mutual. There was nothing dangerous in taking inventory of a good-looking sex object.
He was starting to peel off his bloodstained T-shirt, and she got a flash of tanned, flat stomach. She braced herself.
“Oh, for mercy’s sake,” the old woman snapped. “Let go of it and I’ll cut it off.”
“No, thank you.” He was still struggling to get the shirt off, and the more stomach she saw the more bothered she felt, until she saw the blood. How badly was he hurt? “I don’t intend to go home shirtless,” he grumbled.
“And what makes you think I’m too old to have gentlemen callers who might leave clothes behind?” Dr. Gentry demanded, affronted.
“Doc, you have no use for gentlemen,” he said. “You like bad boys.”
“Which is why I put up with you,” she said, advancing on him with a pair of blunt-tipped scissors, and Jenny could tell by the blood on them that they’d been used to cut off her pant leg to expose her wounded calf. For some reason her stomach lurched, but she controlled it, determined to appear unmoved.