Bombshell

“I seriously doubt that your cock, regardless of its size, was the cause of her trauma”—she eyed him suspiciously—“provided you’re telling me the truth and you didn’t force yourself on her.”

“I didn’t. I swear to God. She wanted it. Trust me, it was her idea, or I wouldn’t have even gone there, if she hadn’t, well, seduced me…” Merrick felt his face go hot. Why the fuck was he telling this woman something so personal?

“Well, regardless of your dick size, all I can think is you shook something up in her memory when you jostled her around. I’m still pissed as hell at you—because having sex with her was a moron move. Didn’t you remember the doctor saying not to let her move too much?”

“I do now,” Merrick admitted, “but I wasn’t thinking about it at the time.”

“Yeah, that’s because you’re like most men—thinking with your dick instead of your brain.”

Merrick was worried about Bombshell. She’d been alone in the room for too long. He got up. “I’m going to check on her.”

“She’s fine. She was asleep when I came down to start the tea. Peek, if you want, but don’t you dare wake her up.”

“I won’t,” Merrick promised. He got up and mounted the stairs, taking the steps as slowly and softly as he could.

When he got to the door, he hesitated. What if she’d died? What if he’d killed her? He’d never forgive himself. She was the only woman that made him feel the way he did. He gritted his teeth and placed his hand on the doorknob, dreading…

A small snoring sound filtered through the door, and he let out a breath. Holy Mother of God. She was alright.

He opened the door and stepped carefully inside, moving far enough inside the room to see her. She was beautiful, her face calm, but still slightly troubled-looking, even in sleep. Joann had managed to put some kind of t-shirt over her body and had covered her with a clean sheet. A great tightness squeezed as his heart, and for the second time in forever, tears stung at the corner of his eyes. He wiped them away. He couldn’t bear the idea of that girl suffering any kind of pain.

“I’ll make it up to you, Bombshell, I promise,” he whispered, then he stepped back into the hall and quietly closed the door behind him.

Chapter Thirteen

The doctor came and checked on Bombshell. She’d been drowsy when he’d removed and changed her bandage, but otherwise had seemed to be unaware that she’d had any kind of fit at all. After confirming multiple times that she was feeling okay, he’d given her some kind of sedative and lured her back to bed.

“You need plenty of rest. I want you to take it easy.”

Before leaving, the doctor reminded Merrick and Joann to make sure and get her the MRI. “I don’t think her behavior earlier is tied to her head injury or what you two were up to,” he said.

Merrick cursed under his breath, realizing that Joann had shared all of her information with the retired country doctor.

“What do you think caused it, then?” Joann asked.

“You said last night that Sheriff Buck attacked her, shot at her, correct?”

“Yes, that’s why we didn’t want to take her to the hospital. We didn’t want him to find out where she was hiding,” Merrick reminded him.

“Yep,” he said thoughtfully pulling on his beard. “If he’s willing to take a potshot at her in a parking lot, God knows what kind of abuse he’s put her through.”

Merrick started. He’d been so caught up with the stunning and talented beauty under his roof that he’d allowed himself to forget about the real enemy. It had never even occurred to him that her episode had been caused by post-traumatic stress disorder and that it might have nothing to do with his supersized cock.

He marveled again at how a man clearly off the deep end could hold elected office and drive around with a gun. How had he been elected sheriff? It didn’t make sense. What kind of man could attack a woman in front of a bar full of people? If he was that twisted, what other kinds of hell had he put her through?

His hands balled into fists so tight his fingernails dug into his palm. If he ever found out that the bastard had done something eve

n worse than firing a gun at his girl, he’d bring that man down. Merrick’s lips pressed together, and when he answered, his voice was cold.

“Exactly why I’m getting her away from all of this. First thing tomorrow, I’m flying her to New Jersey. He can’t hurt her if he can’t find her.”

“Well, that’s mighty kind of you,” the doctor said. “But you need to be prepared.”

“What for, Doc?” Joann asked, curious.

“If she’s already starting to remember things, you best believe it will happen again. After the MRI, I suggest you look into treating her for PTSD as well as the amnesia.”

“PTSD?” Charlie asked, pausing his blade on the piece of wood he’d been whittling over a paper towel on the kitchen counter.