Tate (Mountain Men 3)

“Save the bloody lecture.” She winces. “Looks like Mother Nature already chastised me.”

I close my mouth but still glare.

“Am I too heavy?” she asks softly.

Until then, I’d made myself focus on my mission, on keeping her still and moving swiftly. I didn’t think about who I held. I didn’t think about how she affects me. I have one job to do: bring her to safety. But at her question, I look down at her in surprise. I don’t answer right away.

Bloody hell.

Tears and snowflakes dot her thick black lashes like gleaming diamonds. Even injured and bloodied, the woman’s gorgeous. Her deep brown eyes, like crushed velvet, look up at me, and for one startling moment, I’m afraid I might kiss her.

Until recently, Fran was married. Off limits. But now…

Jesus, I’m carrying the woman to the doctor and have to get my damn act together.

“Too heavy? You girls are out of your bloody minds. Always worrying about being too heavy, like I can’t bloody carry you.” I roll my eyes. “Didn’t even get winded.”

She opens her mouth to protest, then winces.

“Lie still and stop troubling your damn head,” I mutter. Concern’s made me irritable as fuck.

I try to think of this as a job, like Fran is one of my sisters I’ve been bound in duty to protect.

She isn’t my bloody sister, though, dammit.

We dated once—so briefly it hardly even counts, but I’ve had my eye on her ever since.

She married last year, and I fucking hated that she did something so stupid. Met her ex-husband online, married him a week after they met in person, and caught him cheating on their wedding night.

You’d think it bloody ended there, but it fucking didn’t.

I shove the memory away and keep going. It only makes me angrier.

Islan’s ahead of us, and she opens the door.

“As luck would have it, the doctor’s nearby,” she says. “He said to bring her into the study, since the light’s good in there and you can lay her on the chaise.”

I walk in through the kitchen, the entire staff watching us as I traipse through. A fire burns in the hearth, and someone stirs food at the stove, but I walk past and go straight to the study.

Leith’s waiting for me when I arrive, watching me somberly.

“What happened?” he asks Islan, who quickly tells him. I’m assuming his wife Cairstina filled him in before we got here.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “Knew we should’ve cut that damn tree down when they started sledding down that bloody hill.”

Islan snorts. “Leave it to you to level a damn tree like we’re children that need protecting.”

He scowls.

Fran opens her mouth as if to say something, then winces, closes her eyes, and doesn’t say a word. I imagine the pain’s intense.

Bright lights shine, as the Clan doctor waits.

“Rest her here, Tate,” he says. I put her down with reluctance, as gently as I can.

I liked holding her. When I held her, I knew that she was safe, almost like I could control this. Control… something.

“Ooh, got a right good gash on your head, there, lass.”

“Ah, is that what the throbbing is? Thought I hit the Jameson a bit too hard last night.” Fran smiles wanly, and even injured and in pain, she’s bloody beautiful.

She looks up quickly at me and winces from the sudden movement. “No need to growl, Tate, you did enough of that on the way back.”

I didn’t even know I was bloody growling. Did I?

I grunt in reply, as the doctor examines her. A moment later, he sits back and shakes his head. “You’re awfully lucky it wasn’t worse, lass,” he says gently. “An inch or so to the left and you’d have injured an eye, likely beyond repair.”

Her jaw drops, and she looks down at her hand. “And my arm?”

“Doesn’t look broken, but it would be best if we had an x-ray. I don’t have the proper equipment here. I’ll put a brace on to keep it steady, but you’ll need that seen with a specialist first thing tomorrow and time off, days or even weeks.”

She winces. “I have to work tomorrow,” she says with a sigh. “I have no vacation time left. If I don’t get to work…” Her voice trails off. She works at the little bookstore in town, in Inverness Centre.

“Sorry, lassie,” he says, shaking his head. “You have to. You could risk something so much worse if this isn’t properly treated.”

He hands her a few white pills. “Here, take these. It’ll help with the pain.”

Fran sighs, pops the pills, then drinks down a glass of water. He continues inspecting her with a frown, meticulous and thorough. We hired him because he’s the best there is.

“Why so long for a head injury?” Fran asks.

“Head injuries are bloody dangerous,” I tell her. “Don’t you know what could’ve happened? You could’ve gotten fuckin’ brain damage, or worse.”