That Certain Spark by Cathy Marie Hake

the edges of his mind. Something cold and wet kept bothering him, too. His nose tingled from the odd smell of . . . vinegar? Nothing was making sense.
    “Beautiful Dreamer.” His eyes shot open. A dark-haired, green-eyed temptress was leaning over him, humming the song in a sultry key. He didn’t recognize her or the location, but only one kind of woman wore scarlet. A strong blink didn’t make the color of her shirtwaist fade one iota. So much for giving her the benefit of the doubt—but then, there really hadn’t been much room for uncertainty. No decent woman would hover over a strange man’s bed, humming a love song and caressing him.
    She cleared her throat. “Your fever is coming down. I’ll get you something to drink.”
    “Nee. No. I’ll go home and have water.” What he’d mistaken for vinegar must have been the mingled odors of beers and whiskey. A gigantic hammer and anvil pounded in his head already. The last thing he wanted to drink was alcohol.
    “I have water right here.” Dropping the cloth she’d mangled into a bowl, she rose.
    Karl wasn’t about to wait for her return. Jackknifing—or attempting to jackknife—put him flat on his back, teeth gritted against a wave of pain.
    “Mr. Van der Vort, foolish actions could very well start bleeding or rip your sutures.” Face puckered like a sour schoolmarm, the chippie came back over. “Prop yourself up on one elbow.”
    “Bossy,” he muttered. Raging thirst made him comply as he strained to recall when he’d last had anything.
    “Sip it. If you do well, you may have broth next.”
    “Broth?” Another reason he knew he had to leave. This woman planned to starve him.
    “Yes. Now please attend to what I say. You sustained significant damage to your quadriceps femoris. The most powerful muscles in the human body are in the lower limbs, and of them all, the quadriceps are the strongest. With the . . .”
    She said a few more words that made absolutely no sense to him. Then suddenly, it all made perfect sense. Karl choked on the last gulp of water and bellowed, “You’re that woman doctor!”

Five
    S is?” It took all of five seconds for a man to appear in the doorway. His voice sounded casual and even lazy, but his intense stare told Karl the doctor’s brother considered himself to be her champion and defender.
    “Mr. Van der Vort is surprised to meet me, Enoch.”
    “Furious.” No use mincing words. Karl directed his instructions to the man. “Give me my jeans. I’m leaving.”
    Enoch didn’t move, other than to face his sister and shrug. “At least he didn’t ask for his horse this time.”
    “Don’t give him any ideas.” Focusing back on Karl, the doctor gave him a no-nonsense look. “Your pants have fewer stitches in them than your leg and—”
    “That’s why a woman should content herself with sewing quilts.” Bound and determined to leave, Karl pushed himself into a position where he half sat on the edge of the bed, battling the sheets and a blanket. Just before he tossed them all aside, he realized the folly of that action and dropped them in a wadded mess around himself.
    “Trousers will not fit over your dressing.”
    “Lady, there’s enough wrapped around me to fill the Grand Canyon halfway.”
    “There’s a hole in your leg to rival the canyon, sir.” The minute his fingers closed around the knot on that bandage, her voice turned just as hard as the iron he worked each day. “Any less pressure or padding, and the benefit accomplished by the surgery would be for naught. That must stay in place, just as you must severely curtail your activity until the immediate postoperative period has passed.”
    His thigh started throbbing like anything. Fancy as all her words sounded, it didn’t mean she knew beans about how to doctor folks. She must have done something wrong to his leg—probably wrapped it too tight. Once he broke free from here, he’d loosen it up, get a gander at it, and decide just what was