Western Man by Janet Dailey Page B

All I’ve got to wear is that damned flapping gown.”
    The dismissive gesture of his hand turnedSharon’s gaze to the crumpled hospital gown on the floor, obviously thrown there by Ridge.
    “What have you got there?” His glance fell on the satchel she was carrying.
    “I brought some of your things. Mom and I—”
    Ridge didn’t give her a chance to finish. “Did you pack me some clothes?’
    “Yes—”
    “Bring it here,” he ordered peremptorily and extended an impatiently flicking hand to take it from her. “I’m getting out of this place,” Ridge added as she brought it within his reach.
    “You’re in no condition—” Sharon started to pull the satchel away, but he snatched it from her before she could succeed. A rush of irritation swept through her. Like the nurse, she was fast losing her patience with him.
    “All I’ve got is some bruises and a couple of busted ribs,” he muttered. When he tried to turn slightly to open the satchel, he winced and went pale at the shafting pain that took his breath away. A moment later, he was pulling out the clean shirt and pants she’d packed for him. “Hell, I’ve broken my arm one day and rode the next. I’m not going to stay in here so they can keep me doped up with those damned drugs ‘til I don’t know up from down.”
    “I don’t think you know up from down now,” Sharon declared grimly, suspecting there was just enough of the pain-killing drug in his system for him to be numbed to the severity of his pain. “Andyou didn’t break your arm. You are badly bruised
inside.”
    But Ridge wasn’t listening. The agonizing effort of getting his arms into the shirt sleeves had beaded his forehead and upper lip with perspiration. He was taking short, quick breaths to avoid aggravating the discomfort of his broken ribs. When he shook out his pants and tried to put a leg into them, the subsequent pain was so intense he groaned aloud and fell back on an elbow, swearing savagely under his breath. Involuntarily Sharon took a step toward the bed, feeling sorry for him even though she knew he was bringing it all on himself.
    His half-closed eyes caught her movement. Ridge struggled to sit up again, his features whitening with the effort. “Help me get these damned pants on,” he demanded through tightly clenched teeth.
    “I’m not going to help you.” Sharon steeled herself against the compassionate urges that tried to push her to his aid. “If you can’t put your pants on, you’ve got no business getting out of that bed.”
    Her logic angered him, lighting blue flames in his eyes. “All right, dammit, I’ll show you.” Ridge started all over again, the strain showing in the contortions of his face as he tentatively slid a bare foot into the pants leg.
    Watching him, Sharon gritted her teeth so hard they hurt. He had to keep pausing to wait for the pain to subside. By the time he managed to get both legs into the pants, sweat was trickling downhis neck. He slid off the edge of the bed to pull the pants over his hips and his legs nearly buckled under him.
    The nurse rushed forward to catch him, but Ridge had already braced an arm on the bed to support himself. “Mr. Halliday, please get back into bed,” the nurse urged with obvious concern.
    “Ridge, please,” Sharon added her voice to the nurse’s. It was clear to her that he was so weak and in so much pain that he could barely stand.
    He shrugged off the nurse’s supporting hands. “Just get away and let me get dressed.” The roughness was still in his voice, but it lacked its earlier strength.
    The door opened behind Sharon. She turned as the doctor came striding through, all brisk and professional. He was followed closely by the first nurse and an orderly. The cavalry was coming to the rescue, and the good doctor was leading the charge. He didn’t stop until he confronted his adversary.
    “What’s going on here, Mr. Halliday?” he demanded sharply. “You’re supposed to be in