The Cowboy's Nurse のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

Sofia handed over the shift report. Her eyes burned with fatigue, but adrenaline still buzzed in her veins. In the ICU, behind the frosted glass, Ethan Callahan lay unconscious under sedation, his casted leg suspended in a cumbersome traction device. Monitors blinked slowly: heart rate 58, blood pressure 110/70, saturation 98%. Stable, but on a knife's edge."He's alive after the knife, but infection is the next round," said Dr. Vance, appearing at her side with a half-empty coffee. "The Callahans have tough bones and heads like rocks. Don't expect thanks."Sofia looked at Ethan's sharp profile in the white light. Without the anger, he seemed younger, fragile. The scars on his hands told stories of wire and pulled reins."Has he woken up?""For a moment. He growled at the nurse who tried to give him medicine. Called her a 'city poisoner.'" Vance gave a dry chuckle. "Welcome to Serenity Creek, where distrust is a sport. Go rest. This heat eats the unwary."Sofia rested her forehead on

Sofia rested her forehead against the cold ICU door, taking a deep breath. The smell of disinfectant and despair was already almost familiar. The ibuprofen was fighting bravely against the headache, but nothing resolved the knot in her stomach. Ethan Callahan—just the name already meant trouble. She adjusted her lab coat, sank her shoulders into a false measure of confidence, and pushed the door.Her steps were firm up to about two meters from the bed. Then, her right knee decided to play a trick. It wasn't a stumble; it was a total failure, as if the bone had turned to jelly. She staggered forward, her hand grabbing the bed rail with a dry snap that echoed in the room's silence."You're here to scare me to death, nurse?" Ethan's voice was rough and hoarse from sleep or anger—she couldn't tell. He was sitting up in bed, leaning forward a bit, trying to reach a water bottle on the bedside table. The movement had pulled the open hospital gown shirt to the side.And that's when the world

Ben brought his hand to his face, not to cover his ears, but because the world was spinning violently. The anger dissolved into nausea. He swallowed hard, the bitter taste of bile and whiskey rising in his throat.“He… Ethan… he was always the perfect one for you, wasn’t he? The strong one. The right one. I never… I never measured up.”“No, you never did!” Marlene spat the words. “But you could have been more! You could have been a man, Ben! Instead, you chose to be a burden. A dead weight that we still have to carry.”Ben looked at his mother. The iron woman, her face marked by sun and loss, her shoulders still broad but bent under an invisible weight. For a fleeting moment, he saw not only anger in her, but a deep pain, a disappointment that went beyond the ranch’s bankruptcy. It was the bankruptcy of a son. And that pain, more than any insult, was what truly unsettled him.He had no answer. He had no strength. The nausea won. Ben turned suddenly and vomited violently into the dirty

Ethan was sitting on the bed, the monumental cast on his left leg resting on pillows like an unwanted trophy. His face, under three days’ worth of stubble, was a landscape of contained pain and helpless anger. His gray eyes, half-closed, followed a stubborn fly buzzing against the window glass, as if his concentration alone could kill the insect. The antibiotic dripped alongside the IV in a silent battle against the infection.The door opened without a knock. It didn’t need one. Marlene Callahan stopped in the doorway, wearing her oldest jeans and a faded plaid shirt, her boots covered with a thin layer of red dust. Her gray hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, emphasizing her bony face and black eyes, hollowed by lack of sleep.“So, are they treating you well, at least?” Her voice scraped the air, dry. It wasn’t really a question about his care. It was a challenge to the system that was keeping her son away from home.Ethan didn’t turn immediately.“Surviving,” his answer was

The hospital corridor seemed longer and more silent than usual that morning. Each of Sofia’s steps echoed like an amplified heartbeat, a sound that faded between the closed doors and the persistent smell of antiseptic. She adjusted her scrubs, trying to shake off the feeling of unease that had followed her since her chance encounter with Dawson two days earlier at the diner. The image of the black pickup truck parked on the street, watching, still haunted her—a ghost of steel and ill intentions.She needed to talk to Ethan. She needed to warn him. Dawson wasn’t just pressuring for the land; he was playing dirty, probing for weaknesses, and she had become a target. And somehow, the threat against her was intrinsically linked to the war Dawson was waging against the Callahans. Maybe, if Ethan knew, they could… what? She didn’t know. She only knew she couldn’t carry it alone.When she reached the door of room 302, she took a deep breath, trying to compose a serene expression. The smile s