Lyon's Gate (Sherbrooke Brides 9)

Jason saw the whole thing. He was so frightened he cursed until he’d run out of both human and animal body parts. He leapt off Bad Boy’s back, dodged the cow’s butting head, and fell to his knees beside Hallie.

She was pale except for two bloody scratches on her cheek. He felt for the pulse in her throat, couldn’t find it. “Don’t you dare be dead, damn you. I want Lyon’s Gate, but not over your dead body. Open your eyes, you bloody female, now. You don’t wish to be the first buried here in this cow pasture, do you? There, I found your pulse. You’re alive, so stop pretending you’re not. Wake up, woman.”

“I wonder where all past owners of Lyon’s Gate are buried?”

Her words were slurred, but he understood them. “Good, you’re here. Keep your eyes open. How many fingers am I waving in front of your nose?”

“A blurry fist. You’re shaking your fist at me. What nerve.”

“Hold still.” He started with her arms, then skimmed his hands lightly over her, ending with squeezing her toes in her riding boots. “Do you have pain anywhere else other than your head? Don’t lie there with a vacant look on your face, answer me. You didn’t groan, is it only your head?”

“Yes, it’s only my head. Get that fist out of my face.”

“My fist is two fingers. Keep your eyes open, Hallie. I saw what happened. Ah, here’s Dodger, come back to see what trouble he caused. I tried to shout after you that Dodger always came home by himself, but you were off to save the day rather than pause for just an instant to see if your assistance was even needed.”

“He comes home by himself?”

“Look at poor old Charlemagne. He’s blowing after that adventure you put him through. Charlemagne could have hurt that cow, and you have no idea how much Major Philly loves his cows.”

“Would Dodger really have come back since Delilah and Penelope were after him?”

“Hmm.”

“You don’t know either since this is the fist time two mares wanted him. He was frantic, Jason. He wanted only to escape. Charlemagne doesn’t come back. Can you teach him to come home?”

“Maybe. Right now, all three horses are standing no more than six feet from me, wondering why you’re lying here on the ground.”

Jason felt in his pocket and gave each horse a sugar cube. “You want one too?”

Hallie looked at him, then at the horses, all three of them still staring down at her, chewing on their sugar cubes. She was glad she didn’t know what they were thinking. The cow mooed. Jason gave the cow a sugar cube too.

“This is humiliating,” she said, and closed her eyes.

“Open your damned eyes!”

“No,” she whispered and turned her face into his hand. He felt her warm blood against his palm. “Can I have a sugar cube?”

He wanted to laugh, but he didn’t. He felt her warm breath, then he realized she was asleep, or unconscious, he didn’t know which. He felt the lump behind her left ear growing bigger. She wasn’t going to like the way she felt when she woke up. Jason sat back on his haunches, popped a sugar cube into his mouth. Dodger, seeing him do that, whinnied. “Well, my fine fellows, what the hell do I do now?”

He looked up when he heard Major Philly say from behind his right shoulder, “I say, Mr. Sherbrooke, what are you doing with my sweet Georgiana? Why is Miss Carrick—she is Miss Carrick, isn’t she?”

Jason nodded. “She was thrown.” He turned back to Hallie to see Major Philly’s Georgiana butting her head, licking her hair and face.

“Get that fist out of my face.”

“It’s Georgiana, not my fist,” the major said. “Is Miss Carrick all right, Jason? She doesn’t look at all the thing, you know. There’s blood running down her face.”

Hallie moaned and didn’t breathe in. She didn’t move.

“Here’s a sugar cube,” Jason said and stuck it in her mouth. “Suck on that and I’ll get you home.”

“I say, Mr. Sherbrooke, poor Georgiana is overset. Her eyes are rolling in her head.”

“Give her another sugar cube, sir, she’ll be fine.”

When Jason carried Hallie into the house, Martha yelled, “Heaven’s groats! There’s blood dripping off her face. She’s dead!”

Petrie, to Jason’s surprise, said as placid as a vicar who’s drunk the sacramental wine, “Calm yourself, Martha. Master Jason would have told us if she was dead. She looks bad, though. Shall I fetch a doctor, or is it too late?”