Filed to story: Cora and Gunner MC Story Book PDF Free
Scrubs carried Cora back to his first aid room, and I trailed behind him. He wanted to check my shoulder. I trusted that Cora had done a good job; she didn’t hesitate to offer to do it again. She sounded confident. That was enough for me.
I sat on a chair and watched as he removed Cora’s shoes and then her jeans completely and got to work removing the bullet from her leg. She didn’t squirm as he put a local in her thigh, and then, with a long tweezers-type instrument, started to dig around to find the bullet. A loud clunk in the metal tray signified he had removed it and was now suturing up her wound. It all looked so easy, so quick, but it felt like it took forever. I wanted Cora to rest in bed.
“You’re next.” Scrubs left Cora on the bed and turned to me, carefully removing my shirt and checking out my shoulder, then rotating it a little, making me grimace.
“That woman did an all-right job, not that I doubted her, with the type of medical gear she had in the kit. Want a sling?” I shook my head.
“Didn’t think so, it would heal faster if you did.” I didn’t put my shirt back on; I thought I’d shower first, or I would have to struggle with it twice.
“Do you want the girl to stay here?” Is he kidding me? Why would I want her to stay here?
“No, she can sleep with me.”
Scrubs chuckled. “Thought as much.”
“Can you carry her to my room? I don’t think I could carry a cup of coffee with that arm.” Scrubs carried Cora to my room and laid her carefully on my bed, before leaving me chuckling as he left the room. Close the door quietly as he went.
Cora POV
The sound of running water brought me back to a sense of awareness. I tried to move and then groaned; the pain in my thigh reminded me of what had happened.
I was stupid and covered a stranger who was injured from being hit by a bullet.
What was I thinking?
Plain stupid, but put in that situation again, I wouldn’t hesitate to cover the patient. It’s what we are taught; we are healers, and sometimes we get hurt. I have had more than one black eye, from a violent drunk or a violent patient who lashes out.
Mind you, the shooter, once he hits the guy, might have turned his sights on me. So it would have been both of us hit, and one or both dead.
I opened my eyes and blinked a few times.
Where am I?
I turned my head to the sound of water and guessed it was a bathroom. I managed to sit up and look around the room. It was a nice-sized bedroom, with a huge window on one wall and a balcony with a table and two chairs, perfect for sitting outside and reading. The bed was jumbo; the room was mainly brown and black. A mat on the floor was from that movie, Ghost Rider.’ A walk-in robe, too, bedside tables, another larger table with a laptop on it, and three chairs. Three, who uses only three chairs? Guess I am traditional, where a table setting has an even number of chairs.
Someone was in the shower, and singing softly, a man, but the sound of his deep baritone voice awoke my neglected lady parts. I got out of bed and wished I had taken more time; my leg screamed out in pain. I was dressed in a large shirt with a club logo that reached my mid-thigh. I lifted the shirt to reveal a thick bandage on my left leg, which was in pain. I still had my panties on. That was a relief.
I hobble to the window and see a car park full of assorted gleaming bikes and other vehicles, and to my relief, I can see my car out there, in one piece. That car held my life; I didn’t want to lose it.
“You’re awake.” I turned a little too quickly at the sound of his voice, and grunted in pain, and I put my hands on the bed to steady myself.
“Yes, how’s the shoulder? Gunner?” The man was standing there, barefoot, a towel hung low on his hips, the line of hair disappearing below the towel, his chest was covered in blackish-brown hair, muscles on muscles. He was drying his hair with a towel in one hand while holding another in the other. His hair was below his shoulders, also blackish brown. He was one very eye-catching man. I looked at him from head to toe, and back up. Even his legs were strong and muscular. His smile told me he knew what I was doing, but didn’t call me out.
“Scrubs said you did a bang-up job. Doing it straight away, before the swelling could set in, was a good choice.”
“Scrubs?” I frowned at this name.
“Our doctor, his road name is scrubs.”
“I can’t see any other bruises. Turn around so that I can see.” I twirled my finger in a circle, trying to get him to turn, and used the excuse of looking for an injury to get an eyeful at this nice specimen of a man. Shy, I am not, never have been. Another reason is that my stepmother hates me.
Gunner chuckled but did as I asked, turning and looking over his shoulder to watch me look him over.
“A small amount of bruising, after what happened to you, I would have expected more than that. You bounced well.” I was surprised he wasn’t in a worse condition.
He turned back and pointed to some crutches leaning against the wall.
“Use them when I am not around.”
“And when you are around?” I asked innocently.
“Then I will carry you around.” I’m not sure about that.
“Where am I?” I decided it was time to work out how far I was away from my destination.
“You are at our clubhouse, about ten minutes outside of Clearwater. We haven’t removed your things from your car yet. But until you are better, think it best you stay here with me.”
“Oh, do you now. What makes you think I want to stay here?” I put my hands on my hips, hoping to look stern.
