Her eyes opened—thank God—and a surge of relief shot through me. She blinked, her eyes moving quickly over my face as she reached out and took my trembling hand. She glanced at her hand wrapped around my own and then back at my face. “Oh, Brant, I’m okay,” she uttered, though her voice sounded weak. “I’m fine. It was my fault—that moody wild stallion I’ve been working with tried to kick me, and I didn’t dodge him fast enough. But it’s okay. I’m okay. It’s just a small scratch really. It’s just bleeding a lot because it’s a head wound.”
I barely registered the small squeeze of my hand as rage billowed through my veins. A kick to the face? Fucking Christ. “He could have killed you,” I gritted between teeth that felt locked together.
“The doctor’s on his way, Brant,” Eli said softly, his expression wary. Did I look like I was going to snap any second? Hell, I was about to snap. Maybe I already had. Fuck. Fuck. I scooted closer, lifting Isabelle’s head gently, so gently, and placing it in my lap as Eli scooted back. I needed the solid feel of her beneath my hands to convince myself she really was okay. I lifted the cloth and saw that despite the blood, the wound was really very small and shallow. It probably wouldn’t even require stitches. I released a harsh gust of breath, placing the cloth back over the wound.
“Where is that fucking horse?”
“It’s not the horse’s fault,” Isabelle said. “You know that as well as I do. It’s just his nature. And like I said, it was my fault. I got too close.”
“Hey, this kind of thing happens, Brant,” Gus said. “Hell, I’ve been kicked in the head so many times it’s a wonder I’m not dame bramaged.”
My eyes shot up to him and his smile withered. He’d been trying to lighten the mood with humor, but I wasn’t in a place to meet him halfway. This kind of thing happens. Not to Isabelle.
“Doctor’s here,” Mick said as the doctor used for house calls approached, bending down to greet Isabelle and looking quickly under the cloth.
“All right. If you feel okay, I think it’s safe for you to stand.”
“Thank goodness,” Isabelle muttered, glancing at me worriedly. “I feel fine, Doctor.”
I helped Isabelle slowly to her feet, watching her closely as she came upright. She seemed to tilt a little bit and my breath hitched as I held her tighter, taking her weight. She gave me a small smile and nodded. “I’m good.”
My eyes felt stretched wide, my jaw ached, and there was a strange and obscure buzzing in my head. Everything seemed both overly bright and as if I was looking at it through tinted glass. Get a hold of yourself, Brant. Jesus. You’re not the one who was kicked here. But I felt like I had been. I felt as if I’d been kicked right in the chest and I still couldn’t catch my breath.
I’d felt this way . . . before. But things hadn’t been all right then. They were all right now. Isabelle was okay. She was talking and even laughing at something Gus had said. She was walking right beside me as we made our way to one of the golf carts the guys used on the road from one stable to the other.
We were back at the house a few minutes later and the doctor accompanied us to the guest bedroom at the back that Isabelle was secretly sharing with me. She kept insisting she could walk on her own, but I didn’t let go of her. I knew my hands on her were probably more for my own peace of mind at this point. She really did seem fine.
She sat on the bed, and I propped some pillows behind her back so she could recline against the headboard. The doctor sat and took his bag out, taking her vitals before checking the wound on her head. “Looks like he just grazed you with his shoe,” the doctor muttered. “You’re lucky, Isabelle. That could have been bad. As is though, I don’t think you need a stitch.”
Isabelle glanced worriedly at me but smiled at the doctor. “I’m really just dirty more than anything. And my backside hurts from landing on the ground.”
The doctor chuckled and went about the business of cleaning the small cut at her hairline and applying a bandage as I stood next to the bed.
May stopped in and checked on Isabelle, looking worried and saying she’d be back with tea. A few minutes later, the doctor finished and, after putting his supplies in his bag, got up to leave. I started walking him to the door, but he put his hand up. “I can show myself out. I’ve been in this house enough to know my way.”
I managed a small smile, nodding and closing the bedroom door behind him.
“Come here,” Isabelle said, holding out her hand to me from where she sat on
the bed, her back and head propped up by pillows. I went to her, perching myself on the edge of the bed. She took my hand in hers, rubbing her thumb over my knuckle. For a second I watched her small hand in mine, so delicate, so fragile. A small shiver went down my spine at the reminder of what that horse could have done to her. “Don’t look like that, Brant,” she whispered. “I’m okay.”
“I know. It was a close call though, Belle—”
“And it was my fault. I pushed him. He wasn’t ready, and he lashed out at me. I should have listened to my intuition. It won’t happen again.”
I shook my head. “You can’t know that. Hell, the best trainers in the world get hurt, killed even.”
“It’s very rare. Before this, I’ve never gotten more than a bruise out in that yard.” She squeezed my hand. “And like I said, I’ll be even more cautious from here on out.”
I looked at her, her sympathetic eyes, hair falling loose around her shoulders, the bandage at her hairline stark white next to her lightly suntanned skin. I wanted to tell her to stop training horses altogether. I wanted to demand it. I had the overwhelming urge to insist she stay right there in that bed where she was safe and protected and where I could watch her and ensure she never came to any harm. But that was irrational. Irrational and unfair, and frankly, probably illegal. Belle was an independent woman who wouldn’t react well to being tied to my headboard indefinitely. But Lord, the temptation was strong to do just that. I stood, our entwined fingers coming undone as her hand fell to her lap. I felt slightly crazy. Crazy. Irrational. Out of control. No. No. “May will be in with some tea in a minute. And then you should rest.”
“I’m not tired.” She started to swing her legs off the bed, but I moved forward, preventing her from doing it.
“Humor me, okay? Just for an hour.”
She sighed, reclining back again. “Okay, I’ll lie down for an hour. But then I’m taking a shower.” She tilted her head slightly. “Brant . . . I’m sorry for the scare.” She licked her lips, the expression on her face both thoughtful and a little nervous as though she was considering asking me something hard. “What happened, did it . . . did it bring up memories of losing your mother?”
I stilled, the question making me feel exposed, sort of angry, uneasy. I wasn’t sure. “That was completely different.”