“Well, she looks better than the other fella.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Gored pretty good in his thigh. He won’t be bronc busting for a while.”
Zach? Were they talking about Zach?
“But he’s okay, right?”
“Yeah, he’ll live. I cleaned him up as good as I could and sedated him, but he needs to go to the hospital for stitches and antibiotics. I’d like this little lady to go as well.”
No. No hospitals. Hospitals held only pain and death. Dusty opened her mouth to protest, but only a croak came out.
Please, not the hospital. Zach, I want Zach.
She drifted back into oblivion.
* * *
Dusty was dying of thirst. Her throat was parched. An iced tea would be heavenly. “Water?” she croaked.
Harper came to her quickly.
“Where am I?” she asked, her voice hoarse and raspy.
“The hospital, honey. You have a concussion.”
She looked down and was dressed in a horrid hospital gown. Lying in a hospital bed.
Her worst nightmare.
No IV, though. Thank God.
“Zach?”
“He’s here. He’s going to be fine.”
Thank God, thank God. “I don’t want to see him.”
“You don’t have to see anyone you don’t want to.”
She tried to sit up, but realized quickly what a bad idea it was.
“I don’t think so,” Harper said, gently pushing her back down.
“I need to call my brother.”
“I’ll call him.” He whipped out a cell phone. “What’s the number?”
No cell phone. “Just leave a message for him. We’re staying at the Holiday Inn downtown.”
“I’ll take care of it, honey. You just rest.” He brought her a glass of ice chips. “Here, suck on these. It’ll help.”
Ice chips. To Dusty, the sweet water trickling down her aching throat was nectar of the gods.
“Harper?”
“Yeah?”