Never Enough (Meet Me in Montana 1)

With a chuckle, she stopped and looked down at me. “Oh, I see it, Mr. Shaw.” Then she winked and headed to the door. “The doctor will be in shortly. I’ve let him know you’re up. Let me know if you need any painkillers. You got some in the IV a couple of hours ago, but now that you’re up and moving around, I can give you more.”

“Thank you.”

Lincoln came rushing into the room. “I’ve got water!” she declared.

I laughed and then promptly stopped because of the pain in my side. Hell, all over, if I was being honest.

Her hands shook as she poured it, then slipped a straw into the cup. I asked her to raise my bed some, and she did. Never once taking her eyes off my face so that she could read my reaction to moving. Little did my cowgirl know I hid pain well.

“That’s good,” I said when I needed the movement to stop.

Lincoln handed me the cup, and I drank.

“Not too much. You don’t want to get sick. Take small sips. I stopped at the nurses’ station to see if they could get you some lunch.”

I stared into her hauntingly beautiful green eyes. They were the color of a meadow on the first day of summer. Damn, I could get lost in them, and had . . . more than once. “So, tell me what’s wrong with me and why my side hurts like hell.”

Lincoln pulled up a chair and sat down. “Well, the worst of your injuries is a costochondral sprain.”

I stared at her, confused. “What in the hell is that?”

She pulled out her phone from her back pocket and grinned.

God, she’s beautiful. Especially when she smiles.

“I had to look it up too. So, basically, your rib bone separated from the cartilage of your sternum.”

“Ouch.”

With a nod, she mumbled, “Yeah. The doctor said you need complete rest.”

“For how long?” I asked, holding my breath, which made my ribs hurt.

“Two . . . maybe three months.”

I closed my eyes and cursed under my breath. “Fuck.”

“But, if you relax and take it easy—that means no working on the ranch—you’ll heal faster. They’ve prescribed pain pills to help with the pain and breathing. Deep breaths will hurt.”

A frustrated sigh slipped from my mouth. “What else is wrong?”

“A concussion, but there was no bleeding on the brain, which is really good. A deep cut on your leg from the bull stepping on it. You got forty stitches on that one. Then, the cut above your eye got fourteen.”

“Huh. He must have gotten me good on the leg.”

“They think he stepped on it and then horned you. Your face is pretty bruised, but it’s already looking better after a couple of days.”

“Blayze. How was he when he saw me?”

As she chewed on her lip, I could tell she was hesitant to tell me. “Well, he cried and was really scared when it happened. Then, he cried when we brought him in to see you. The first night, he slept with me over on that little sofa.”

My gaze drifted across the room. “You let him stay with you?”

“Of course. You’re his father, and he was worried. I will give you a heads-up. Your son is a major flirt, and I’m pretty sure at least three nurses here have fallen in love with him.”

I laughed and then stopped again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I like hearing stories about him. I also like knowing you were both here.”

Her cheeks flushed.

“Those are all my injuries?”

She nodded. “You’ve had a plethora of people here to see you. Pitt has been here. He’s a nice guy. Going through a rough patch right now with his wife and all, but a super nice guy.”

“Yeah, he’s good people.”

Her gaze moved down to her hands, and then back up at me. “He’s sort of mad at you for getting hurt at a rodeo.”

I tried not to laugh. “He’ll get over it.” Lifting my hand, I placed it on the side of her cheek. “How are you, sweetheart?”

“Um . . . I’m good. Tired. Probably need to eat some.”

Right then, the door to the room opened, and the nurse from earlier walked in, carrying two trays of food. “I figured you might be hungry too. You need to eat.” Her comment was directed right at Lincoln.

She simply nodded. “Yes, I’m starving.”

She winked, and Lincoln smiled.

“Broth?” I asked as I opened the lid to my dish.

Lincoln opened a pack of crackers. She put one in her mouth and dipped the other, handing it to me as she said, “Think of it as pieces of steak.”

I took it and put it in my mouth. “Mmm . . . yeah, that’s not working.”

After eating, I asked for some pain meds and quickly fell back asleep.

I stayed in the hospital another couple of days, just so they could make sure I was breathing clearly, and then I was discharged and sent home.