"It's no fun otherwise." Pearce craned her neck and called up to Ken, "Let's get this done. I smell pizza."

Wynter turned, and sure enough, the pizza delivery man stood behind her in the middle of the living room with eight large pizza boxes cradled in his arms. "Back here in the kitchen. I'll show you."

Wynter and Mina were setting out paper plates, napkins, and bottles of soda and beer when a crash sounded from above followed closely by a chorus of shouts. Wynter ran ahead of Mina and started up the stairs two at a time. Ken came racing down and nearly collided with her.

"Ice. We need some ice," Ken said urgently.

"What happened?" Wynter, a sick feeling in her stomach, searched the landing above but saw no one.

"Tommy dropped the damn thing."

"Is he hurt?"

"He's fine, but Pearce got her hand caught--"

"Oh God. Pearce." Wynter pushed around Ken and ran upstairs.

The men huddled around a figure on the floor. The desk sat on its side nearby. She pushed at the nearest figure. "Move. Move out of the way."

Pearce slumped on the floor, one arm cradled across her chest, her head leaning back against the wall. Her face was ashen. Wynter dropped to her knees beside her. "Let me see."

"Give me a minute," Pearce whispered.

Wynter could hear the pain in her voice and it tore at her. She was used to seeing people in pain from far greater injuries, but she felt exactly the way she did when Ronnie hurt herself. She wanted to absorb the pain, take it away at all costs. So she did exactly what she did when Ronnie was hurt. She put her arm around Pearce's shoulders and drew her close. "Let me see, honey. It's okay."

Eyes still closed, Pearce buried her cheek against Wynter's chest, trying to lose herself in the scent of petals and raindrops and long ago joy. "Hurts. Hurts like a mother."

"I know. I know it does." Wynter pillowed Pearce's head between her breasts, rocking her softly. Then she kissed the top of her head and stroked her sweaty cheek. "Are you bleeding?"

"Don't know. Don't think so."

Wynter felt a rush of relief. Her stomach was twisted into knots, her chest so tight she could barely breathe. "Do you think you can let me look now?"

"Couldn't have been my foot," Pearce said, her voice stronger.

"Had to be my goddamn hand."

"Pearce," Wynter said more firmly, her own strength returning along with Pearce's. "Let's see what we're dealing with."

With a soft groan, Pearce sat forward, still half in Wynter's lap. She lifted her left hand, gently supporting it with her right. It was already twice its normal size, the knuckles scraped and swollen.

"Range your fingers for me...slowly," Wynter instructed quietly, one hand on the back of Pearce's neck, lightly caressing her.

Even though the pain threatened to overpower her, Pearce managed to extend her fingers nearly completely, but she could not make a fist.

There was too much swelling. "I don't think anything's broken."

Wynter laughed softly. "Thank you Dr. X-ray Eyes. That's so helpful."

Ken clambered up the stairs, shouting, "I've got the ice."

"Good. Give it to me." Wynter reached behind her without taking her eyes off Pearce's hand and set the plastic bag of ice on the floor by her feet.

"Is it bad?" Ken asked anxiously. "Should we take her to the ER?"

Wynter felt Pearce tense. "No. We're okay. I'll be down in a minute."

Ken rocked back and forth uncertainly for a minute, and then when ignored, crept away.

"I'm going to palpate it," Wynter said.

Wincing, Pearce gently probed the base of each finger. "I don't feel anything."

"Just let me confirm." Gently, Wynter repeated the action, searching for point tenderness that would indicate a fracture. On close examination, Pearce's fingers did not appear deviated, and there was no apparent deformity of the hand. The marked swelling and rapidly discoloring skin made it difficult to examine her critically, however.

"We've got to X-ray this."

"Let's ice it first and see what it looks like in a few hours. The last thing I want to do is sit in the emergency room for half the day." What Pearce didn't say was that if she showed up in the emergency room, someone would call her father within two minutes. She didn't want him involved. She didn't want to hear him tell her that she shouldn't have been doing anything to endanger her hands. Every time she worked on her car, she heard his voice admonishing her. She could just imagine what he'd say about her moving furniture.

"I'll call ahead and let them know we're coming," Wynter said.

"I'm sure they'll get you right in--"

"No," Pearce said fiercely.

Wynter recognized the fear beneath the stubbornness, and because she couldn't imagine Pearce being afraid of anything, she relented.

After a final gentle caress down Pearce's neck and over her shoulders, she retrieved the ice pack and held it out. "We'll wait until tonight. If it's worse, we're going."

Pearce carefully placed the ice pack on the palm of her hand and leaned back against the wall. She regarded Wynter through eyes dull with pain. "You've been waiting for this moment, haven't you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"For me to be helpless so that you could take charge."

Wynter laughed. "Oh, if I had wanted to take charge, I already would have." She brushed the damp midnight strands off Pearce's forehead. "And if I had wanted you helpless, I probably could've managed that without the desk."

Despite the relentless, thundering pain in her arm, Pearce was aware of her body quickening. She knew that Wynter didn't mean what she had said that way, but her body would do what her body would do.

She stretched her legs restlessly, trying to lessen the sudden tightness in her thighs. "Pretty confident."

"You just noticed?"

Pearce grinned and closed her eyes with a sigh. "No. I noticed."

Wynter wanted to tell everyone in the house to clear out. She wanted to take Pearce to her bedroom, where she didn't even have a bed, and tuck her in. She wanted to watch her sleep and guard her while she did. She wanted to take away her pain. She wanted to kiss her and make her feel better--make herself feel...something. Something she couldn't even name.

Instead, she got unsteadily to her feet, her legs weak with the force of her unexpected desires. "I'm going to get you a soda. Can you eat anything?"

Pearce shook her head. "Not yet. But I could use something to drink and a half bottle of aspirin."

"Coming right up."

Ken and the others waited in a nervous clump at the bottom of the stairs. Tommy stood next to him looking miserable.

"Is it bad?" Ken repeated anxiously.

"I can't tell. It's pretty swollen."

"Oh man," Tommy moaned. "Jesus, if it's broken her old man is going to take me out and kick my ass into the river."

"If it's broken..." Wynter said tightly, wanting to say that Rifkin wouldn't have to kick Tommy's ass because she would, "it will heal, and it will be fine. She'll be fine." She walked away from them, determined that it would be so. She didn't intend to let anything hurt Pearce.


CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"Do you think we should wake her up?" Mina asked Wynter, who leaned in the doorway between the dining room and the living room watching Pearce.

Wynter shook her head. "It's her hand, not her head. We don't have to wake her up for neurochecks."

"She sure sleeps like someone knocked her out."

Although Wynter's books and personal articles were still in boxes stacked about the room, the living room furniture was at least accessible, and she had insisted that Pearce stretch out in the leather recliner and rest. The men had consumed the pizza and quickly disappeared. While Ken and Mina fed the kids next door, Wynter had curled up on the sofa next to Pearce to read a book. Now, four hours later, Mina was back, the sun had gone down, and Pearce had not stirred.

"She works too hard," Wynter murmured, trying to recall the last time she had seen Pearce leave the hospital before midnight. Just like her father.

"I'm awake." Pearce, her long legs spread on the raised foot support, shifted in the chair and opened her eyes. "Stop talking about me."

"Well, there goes all the fun," Mina said, starting toward the front door. "I'll see about getting the Wild Bunch settled in for the night.

Chloe's probably ready to go home."

"I'll give you a hand in a minute," Wynter called.

"I've got it all under control--you'll just mess up my system. You look after the patient here."

Laughing, Wynter edged around boxes and settled on the corner of the coffee table nearest Pearce. "How do you feel?"

"A little fuzzy. What exactly did you give me?" she asked suspiciously.

"Three aspirin and ten milligrams of Valium. I thought the muscle relaxation might help with the pain."

"Jesus," Pearce muttered. "Leave it to a surgeon to just take over.

Don't mind me, I'm only the patient."

"It's standard procedure to sedate a trauma patient," Wynter said, looking not the least bit contrite. "No one's allergic to Valium. And admit it--you feel better, don't you?"

Pearce rolled her head back and forth. The sick headache was gone. Then she glanced down to her lap where her hand rested on the soggy ice pack wrapped in a towel. Experimentally, she flexed her fingers. "It's easing up."

"Let me see."

Wynter cradled Pearce's injured hand in both of hers. She felt the pulses, examined the scrapes, probed gently. "It's definitely not worse."

"I said that." Pearce wasn't even thinking about the pain. She was studying Wynter's face as she bent her head over Pearce's injured hand.

Pearce wanted to run her fingers through Wynter's hair. She wanted to trace her fingers along the edge of Wynter's jaw as she had that one time years before. She wanted to close her eyes, believing that she would awaken to the smile in Wynter's eyes. "I should get home."

Wynter straightened, carefully releasing Pearce's hand. She wanted Pearce to stay so that she could check her hand throughout the evening and just...watch her. Watch her sleep, watch her laugh, watch her stretch her long body in that lazy animal way she had. "I'll drive you. Where is your car parked?"

"I walked."

"You live near here?" Wynter had not expected that the chief of surgery's daughter would live in the off-campus student enclave.

University City was an eclectic mixture of beautiful old homes that had been converted into student apartments, gentrified sections cheek by jowl with blocks where it wasn't safe to leave any items in a parked car.

It was convenient to the hospitals and campus and cheap by comparison to many other areas, but not the first choice of those with enough money to live in Center City apartments with all the amenities and close to the night life. Many of the residents like Ken and Mina lived there, and Wynter needed an apartment with proximity to the hospital so that she could minimize her time away from Ronnie. Adding an hour-a day commute to her already overburdened schedule was simply not acceptable.

"About five blocks," Pearce said. "A ten-minute walk."

"I'll walk you home, then."

Pearce grinned. "Do you think I need an escort?"

"No," Wynter said with exaggerated emphasis. "I think you've taken a muscle relaxant and the effects have not worn off. You have a badly injured hand. And you shouldn't be walking around at night alone when you're incapable of protecting yourself if you have to."

"I'll be fine." To prove it, Pearce kicked the foot extension down and stood. She swayed, instantly dizzy.

"God, you're stubborn," Wynter snapped as she jumped up and wrapped an arm around Pearce's waist. When Pearce sagged against her, Wynter knew she must really be feeling ill. "You don't have to prove anything to me. I already know how tough you are."

"Not trying to prove anything," Pearce muttered, desperately willing her head to stop spinning.

Yes, you are, if you know it or not. Wynter rubbed her palm in circles in the center of Pearce's back, supporting her until she saw the vacant expression on Pearce's face disappear and her usual focus return.

"Okay now?"

Pearce, embarrassed by her weakness but enjoying the contact with Wynter, settled her arm around Wynter's shoulders and squeezed.