“Nothing they didn’t bleed for,” I mutter, closing my eyes with a wince. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Bit my cheek. That’s all the blood. I’m just dizzy. Help me up, would ya?”
I’m expecting him to slip an arm behind my shoulders and lift me a little.
I’m not expecting him to give me a fierce look, then pick up my shotgun, crack it open to activate the trigger block, and set it on my stomach.
Right before he scoops his arms under me, lifts me up, and draws me into his warmth, his strength, his overprotective growl.
I can’t help it.
I yelp.
The world’s already spinning, and Holt’s way tall.
For a minute, I think I might almost dump my pride and pass out. I grab at him, wrapping my arms around his neck with a gasp.
Only to freeze, shoulders hunching as he looks down at me with those hazel-fire eyes so lit and his brows drawn together.
“You okay?” he growls.
“Y-yeah,” I breathe. “Just hit my head a few times.”
Holt frowns. “They threw you against the barn that hard?”
“Nahhh. I sorta smashed my head on theirs.” I smile weakly. “Dad always said I was stubborn and hardheaded as a goat. Thought I’d try a little ram action.”
“Libby.” He chuckles. “Let’s get you inside and patched up, honey.”
“No, wait!” I kick a little. “They…they let Plath out, I need to—”
“You need to sit still. If you fight with me, I’ll take you to the hospital,” Holt says, already turning to carry me toward the house. “I’ll find Plath.”
Sigh.
I hate that he knows me well enough to know that’ll make me hold still.
I’m not a fan of hospitals. Don’t need a bunch of nurses nannying me half to death.
So I make myself relax and hold still.
And maybe, just maybe, I lean against him a little.
He’s so warm, a kinder heat than the sticky summer air. His arms feel solid, safe. They lock out the pain throbbing through me until all I can feel is Holt.
His heartbeat, too, seeming to tick to the rhythm of his steps as he hauls me inside.
He elbows the door to the house open and, once we’re inside, makes a beeline for the big ratty sofa that’s been in our living room for as long as I can remember.
It’s been patched a few times and covered in quilts to hide how ugly it is. But that just makes it that much softer when he sets me down on it.
Kneeling in front of me, he smiles, tucking my hair back behind my ear.
“Hold still for a few,” he says. “I’ll get Plath so you won’t worry, and then I’ll come back and take care of you. Just do me a favor and don’t close your eyes. Not till we’re sure you don’t have a concussion. You get tired, you call me, okay?”
Maybe it’s the head injury.
Maybe it’s him being soft and gentle and asking me these things.
Maybe it’s me spending all my anger on those bumbling idiots who attacked me, and I don’t have any left for him.
But all I can manage is a nod and one meek word.
“Okay,” I whisper, scrubbing the back of my hand against my mouth to wipe some of the blood away. “You’ve got three minutes before I start doctoring myself.”
That just makes him grin.
“Challenge accepted.” He braces his hands against his thighs and pushes himself up in a fluid movement.
I watch until he’s gone.
Then curl up in the corner of the couch and let myself hurt.
When I take stock, it’s not too bad.
Bruised stomach, lower lip’s a little swollen, but not even split. It’s just that cut on my inner cheek, metallic and a little pulpy. It stings like a hornet when I probe it with my tongue.
Probably got a few other bruises, but I’ve had worse falling off a horse.
Bashing my head against two guys, though?
Yeah.
I should probably be worried about that. The lights still have halos around them and everything’s still got a double edge.
I don’t know how long Holt’s gone.
He’s back faster than I expect, shouldering the door open and walking inside. I push myself up against the arm of the couch, frowning.
“You couldn’t find her?”
He stops, brows drawing together. “She was right behind the barn. Good girl, she didn’t run far. Just waited and let me coax her back inside with a couple of sugar cubes. She’s bedded down and fine now, and the rest have calmed down.” He grins. “Gave Frost a sugar cube so he wouldn’t get jealous. I think he’s mad I’m in here with you and he isn’t.”
I manage a tired smile. “He knows he’s my favorite.”
“Might make me jealous.” That smirk of his is almost wistful, though, and he jerks a thumb toward the hall. “First aid kit in the bathroom?”
I nod, hugging my knees to my chest. “I might not even kill you for patching me up.”