Sam Hawker’s fall off a bucking bronc at an event in Canada has left him both physically broken and financially broke and in a hospital with his leg in traction. Between worrying about how he’ll pay his medical bills and not being able to move, he’s going more than a little stir crazy.
Easy on the eyes, Pat Bouchard is the nurse assigned to Sam for his stay at the hospital, and the two men get to know each other as Pat cares for and entertains Sam. They grow even closer when Pat offers Sam a place to stay while he recovers.
What are they going to do when Sam’s all better and doesn’t have a reason to stay in Canada any longer?
Genres: Gay / Contemporary / Western (Modern Day)
Heat Level: 3
Length: Extended Amber Kiss (13k words)
Christ on a crutch. Sam wasn’t sure how he’d ended up in this hospital in the middle of the Great White North, but he sure had. He was up here with a broken leg that had been stomped by the biggest bronc he’d seen since he’d been in Cheyenne. The fucking horses had to be big to survive the cold, he guessed, although it wasn’t fucking cold right now, was it? No, it was July, and it was humid like Houston, and fairly damned warm. Least they all spoke the language. If he was gonna get stranded and broken in a foreign country, he’d picked a decent one. Be more decent if he was on a beach in Mexico with tequila, but still.
His leg throbbed, all the traction wires and enforced immobility enough to drive a man out of his friggin’ mind. Then one of the prettiest men he’d ever seen came in wearing blue scrubs with cartoon dolphins on them. The guy had short brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes, teeth white in a ready smile.
“Good morning, I’m Pat and I’m going to be your day nurse while you’re here.” The man had a hint of an accent that was different from most he’d heard up here. Maybe French?
Pat grabbed Sam’s chart on the way to his side, glancing at it before turning the hazel gaze back on him. “How are you feeling this morning, Mr. Hawker?”
“Just spiffy, thanks. Can I go yet?”
“Can you fly?” Pat asked.
“Is that a trick question?” He could totally get in a plane, except that he had zero idea how he’d get his happy ass onto the thing. He didn’t have wings—cool idea though.
“Not exactly. You see all that?” Pat waved at the wires holding Sam’s leg up off the bed. “You can’t walk with all that gear, so, if you can fly your way out of here, you can go. Otherwise, you’re stuck with us for a while.”
“Ah. It was a trick question.” He grinned at the guy—Pat—and shrugged. “It was worth a try.”
“I suppose. I’m just trying not to be hurt that you’re so eager to leave my ward.” Pat gave him the fakest pout he’d ever seen, followed by a wink.
Sam chuckled. “I’m just feeling like a cowboy out of Texas.”
“I’m guessing that’s because you are. You’re my first, you know.”
“Cowboy or Texan?”
“Texan. We don’t always get a cowboy when the Russell Rodeo blows through, but it happens now and then.” Pat’s smile disappeared. “Now, in all seriousness. How are you feeling?”
“Cooped up. Trapped as hell.” A little wigged.
“I’ll just bet. Is anything hurting? And has someone explained how the magic button attached to your IV works yet?” Pat pointed to the morphine button.
“They did. I’m okay, ready to stop peeing in a bottle.”
“As soon as they spring you from this contraption you’ll be peeing wherever you want. I suggest sticking to the bathroom though.” Pat gave him a wink…
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Often referred to as “Space Cowboy” and “Gangsta of Love” while still striving for the moniker of “Maurice,” Sean Michael spends his days surfing, smutting, organizing his immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by horseshoe crabs. While collecting vast amounts of vintage gay pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the hours between dropping the f-bomb and pursuing the Kama Sutra by channeling the long-lost spirit of John Wayne and singing along with the soundtrack to Chicago.
A long-time writer of complicated haiku, Sean is currently attempting to learn the advanced arts of plate-spinning and soap-carving sex toys.
Barring any of that? He’ll stick with writing his stories, thanks, and rubbing pretty bodies together to see if they spark.
To learn more about Sean, please visit: www.seanmichaelwrites.com