Kissing Jenna (Big Sky 2)

I send her the side-eye. She has a point.

And she knows it because she tips her head back and giggles.

“Okay, which grocery store are we going to?”

“Why in the world would we go to the grocery store?”

“For ice cream.”

She shakes her head. “No way. We’re going to Sweet Scoops. They have the best handmade ice cream. Seriously, it’s going to change your life.”

“That’s a bold statement.” I glance over at her to laugh, and just that fast, an elk the size of Manhattan runs out in front of us. The next three seconds happen in slow motion.

I press on the brake as Jenna grips onto the dash. I spin the wheel frantically to the left where the ditch and the mountain is. There’s a dropoff on the right, and we do not want to go that way.

But rather than go into the ditch peacefully, the SUV spins, catching on black ice, and we go out of control.

My heart is in my throat, racing.

Jenna is screaming.

The front end of the SUV slams into the snowbank, and our airbags immediately go off.

I don’t lose consciousness. I push the bag out of my way.

“Jenna! Baby, are you okay?”

No answer. She’s leaning back, blood coming from somewhere on her head, and she’s unconscious.

Christ, what if I’ve killed her?

I check her pulse. It’s strong and fast in her neck, and I send a prayer of thanks as I dial 911.

“What is your emergency?”

“Car accident,” I say immediately, shocked at how confident my voice sounds. “I’m okay, but my girlfriend is unconscious.”

“Where are you?”

I relay the information the best I can, frustrated that I don’t know the name of the road we’re on. But the dispatcher seems to know and assures me that an ambulance will be here in less than ten minutes.

“The faster, the better.”

I hang up and jump out of the car, then hurry to the other side where Jenna is and jerk the door open to better see if she has other injuries.

“Christian?” she asks, her voice thin.

“Yes, baby, I’m here.”

“Did we hit the elk?”

“No, we hit a snowbank.” I swallow hard and kiss her cheek. “The ambulance is on the way.”

“I don’t feel so good,” she says and reaches up to touch her head. “Bleeding.”

“You have a small cut on your head.” I swallow again, not sure if that was my first lie to her or not. I can’t see the cut, but I can see the damn blood. “Do you hurt anywhere else?”

Sirens finally fill the air. They’re still a ways away, but they’re getting closer.

“I don’t think so,” she says with a frown. “I’m sleepy.”

“Don’t go back to sleep. The EMTs are going to need to ask you questions.”

“Don’t care.”

“Jenna, baby, do not go to sleep. Look at me.”

She complies, and I see that her eyes are both dilated. I’m not a doctor. I don’t even play one on TV. But even I know that isn’t a good sign.

Finally, the ambulance and a fire truck pull up behind my vehicle, and the EMTs come out.

“Thank God, she’s over here,” I call out.

“Is she conscious?” one of them asks.

“She is now, but she says she’s tired.”

“I’m Sam, and we’re going to take care of your girl,” he assures me, then looks into the car. “Hey, Jenna.”

He sticks his head out of the vehicle and yells over my shoulder. “This is Jenna Hull, guys. Call the chief!”

“Don’t freak Brad out, I’m fine,” I hear her say, but Sam shakes his head.

“No can do, pretty girl. Your brother would kill me if I didn’t let him know that you’re hurt. Besides, he probably already heard about the call.”

Another man appears with a gurney. They pull Jenna out of the car, secure her neck with a brace, and strap her onto the stretcher.

“Come on, sir,” Sam says, waving at me. “You can ride with us.”

“Wild horses and all the paparazzi in the world couldn’t keep me away,” I mutter as I retrieve Jenna’s bag and slam the SUV door closed. I climb into the back of the ambulance and take Jenna’s hand. “Hey, baby.”

“Hi,” she says, watching me with scared, blue eyes. “Have I mentioned that I don’t like being tied down? I have some claustrophobia issues.”

“Can you untie her?”

“I can untie her arms, sure, but her neck has to stay stabilized until a doctor can examine her and make sure she doesn’t have a broken neck.”

“I don’t,” Jenna says.

“Sorry, Jen, but here…you can move your arms around.”

He unfastens her arms, and she sighs. “That’s a little better.”

The ride to the hospital takes less than ten minutes. Once we’re there, they rush her back into a room and let me follow. I stand back while the staff does their thing, talking loudly, moving her to a bed, starting an IV, and asking her a ton of questions.