Chapter 12: Alysha’s shift.
The hospital hallway was a study in controlled chaos, a world away from the quiet, golden-hazed motel room. Alysha moved through it on autopilot, her body performing the familiar rituals of her shift while her mind floated somewhere in the ether, tethered only by the persistent, pleasant ache in her thighs and the memory of his hands in her hair.
Antiseptic, stale coffee, and the underlying sweet-rot smell of illness. The buzz of fluorescents. The squelch of her sneakers on polished linoleum. She charted medications, took vitals, offered smiles to small, feverish faces, all while feeling like she had a secret sun burning just beneath her sternum.
It was Linda from Pediatrics who caught it first. They crossed paths in the narrow med room, Alysha reaching for a vial of antibiotic, Linda counting out tongue depressors.
“Well, look at you,” Linda said, not looking up from her inventory.
Alysha paused. “What about me?”
Linda glanced over, her eyes sharp and amused behind her glasses. “You tell me. You’re walking like you spent the weekend on a horse, and you’ve got a smile stuck on your face that has nothing to do with Mr. Henderson’s successful tonsillectomy. Spill.”
Alysha felt the heat climb her neck. “I am not walking funny.”
“Honey, you’re doing a two-step waddle that screams ‘I’m not used to that’. And I mean that in the best, most envious way possible.” Linda grinned, abandoning her counting. “It’s the cowboy, isn’t it? The one from the café? The one who looks like he fell out of a Levi’s ad?”
“He’s not a cowboy,” Alysha said, too quickly, focusing intently on drawing the medication into the syringe. “He’s a rancher. And a bull rider. And a…” She trailed off, realizing her defense was just a more detailed catalog of his cowboy credentials.
Linda’s eyebrow arched. “Oh, he’s a multi-talented cowboy. Even better.”
The teasing was gentle, persistent. It followed her to the nurses’ station, where Chloe, a younger nurse with a penchant for drama, sighed as Alysha lowered herself carefully into her chair.
“Oof. That’s a ‘I had a really, really good time’ sit.”
Alysha buried her face in a patient chart. “You all need hobbies.”
“Our hobby is your love life,” Chloe chirped. “It’s more interesting than the soap operas.”
By lunch, the scrutiny had coalesced into a full-blown, friendly interrogation. They claimed a small table in the cramped, sunlit break room. Alysha unwrapped her salad, feeling their eyes on her.
“So,” Linda began, spearing a piece of lettuce. “The rancher. How’s that going?”
“It’s going,” Alysha said, keeping her tone neutral.
“Details, woman,” Chloe pressed. “Is he as intense as he looks? Those eyes, my God. I’d sign a DNR if he looked at me like that.”
Alysha couldn’t suppress a laugh. A real one, that bubbled up from the memory of Brandon’s focused, tender expression across the motel room. “He’s… surprisingly sweet.”
“‘Surprisingly sweet,’ she says,” Linda parroted. “While walking like she’s been rode hard and put away wet.”
“Linda!”
“What? It’s an agricultural term. Seems appropriate.” Linda leaned in. “Seriously, Alysha. You look happy. Actually happy. Not just ‘got-through-my-shift’ happy. We haven’t seen that in a while.”
The genuine care in her friend’s voice disarmed her. Alysha put her fork down, stared at the croutons in her salad. The institutional hum of the break room fridge filled the silence.
“I am happy,” she admitted, the words feeling dangerous and wonderful. “It’s just… complicated. We have history. He was a kid at my first daycare job.”
Chloe’s eyes widened. “Shut up. That’s… kind of hot? In a full-circle, destiny kind of way.”
“It’s strange,” Alysha corrected, but her smile betrayed her. “He remembers me braiding his hair after naptime. Now he’s…” She gestured vaguely, her cheeks flushing again.
“Now he’s braiding something else,” Chloe muttered, earning a swat from Linda.
“Behave.” Linda turned back to Alysha, her expression softer. “The history makes it complicated. The age thing?”
“A little. Mostly in my own head. He doesn’t seem to have a single doubt about anything.” She heard his voice, clear as if he were in the room: I’m not letting go first. The certainty in it still thrilled and terrified her. “He’s just so sure. Of his land, his work… of me. I don’t know how to handle that kind of certainty.”
“Sounds like a man who knows what he wants,” Linda observed.
“And he wants you,” Chloe added, dreamily. “Ugh, I’m living vicariously. My boyfriend’s biggest declaration of love last week was doing the dishes without being asked.”
Chloe’s complaint hung in the air, a familiar grievance that usually sparked a round of sympathetic groans. Today, it just made the secret sun inside Alysha burn brighter, hotter.
Linda nudged Alysha’s foot under the table. “No deflecting. We want the real report. How’s it actually been?”
Alysha took a long sip of water, buying a second. She could feel the truth, warm and humming, right behind her teeth. She set the bottle down with a soft click.
“Exhausting,” she said, finally meeting their eyes. A slow, private smile spread on her lips. “In the best way possible.”
She let the silence stretch, watching their curiosity tighten.
“Have you ever been taken to the moon and back,” she asked, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur, “by a man who can ride a horse bareback for twenty hours a day steering cattle?”
Chloe’s plastic fork clattered onto her tray. Linda’s jaw went slack. The break room’s mundane sounds faded into a distant buzz.
“His appetite,” Alysha continued, the words coming easier now, fueled by their stunned expressions and her own need to speak the reality of it. “It’s unbelievable. He’s insatiable.”
“Jesus,” Linda breathed.
“This morning,” Alysha said, leaning in, the memory vivid and immediate. “I was standing by the motel window. Just tying my hair up. My scrubs came up a little, showed my stomach.” She shook her head, a laugh catching in her throat. “He was across the room. One second he’s looking at me, the next he’s just… there. Immediately on me.”
“How do you even keep him at bay?” Chloe whispered, enthralled.
Alysha barked a sharp, genuine laugh. “Keep him at bay?” She wiped at the corner of her eye. “It happens every time. He just gets this look. Like a predator who’s also your favorite person in the world. I see it, and before my brain can even form a thought…” She shrugged, the movement graceful and full of remembered pleasure. “I’m on my back. My toes are curling. The end.”
Chloe fanned herself with a patient handout. “I am having a crisis right here in the break room. My soul is leaving my body.”
“I’m telling my husband about this,” Linda declared, picking up her phone with mock seriousness. “He needs a benchmark. A terrifying, unattainable benchmark.”
They all dissolved into laughter, the kind that was half release, half shared shock. Alysha’s cheeks ached with it. For a few precious minutes, the weight of complications and history lifted, leaving only the raw, exhilarating fact of the connection.
The laughter subsided into contented, sighing smiles. Alysha’s pager buzzed on her hip, a sharp vibration against the pleasant soreness. The real world, with its IV drips and fever charts, came rushing back in.
She stood, gathering her trash. Her body did feel different—well-used, deeply aware of itself. “Duty calls,” she said.
“Go on,” Linda smiled, shooing her. “Your cowboy’s probably out there right now, looking at a fence post the wrong way and getting ideas.”
Alysha pushed through the break room door, the sterile hall air cool on her warm skin. The glow from the conversation clung to her as she walked, a soft shield against the fluorescent glare. She rounded the corner toward the pediatric wing, her mind already shifting to the dosage for Room 304.
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