“I know what you thought, and I’ve been goin’ crazy trying to convince them to let you in here to see me. Come here.”
Lainie wanted to move, but her feet failed her.
Hank’s eyes darkened with fear. “Please. I think they’re gonna drug me up, but I’ve gotta make sure you’re okay before they do.” He held out his hand to her. “Come here.”
She shuffled four steps and reached for his fingers. More tears spilled down her cheeks. She let her gaze drop to his chest again and whispered, “Costochondritis.”
“You know how I love it when you use medical sweet talkin’ on me, darlin’.”
Although she barely grazed his skin with her fingertips, she felt the heat and the swelling. “Does it hurt?”
“Some.”
Any admission of pain from Hank meant it was probably excruciating. “Why wouldn’t you let them give you a painkiller?”
“Because you needed to see me awake and alert. Able to talk to you. Able to reassure you I was fine, not passed out cold, lying on some goddamn gurney. I’d never do that to you, Lainie. Never, ever. Not if I can help it.”
Oh, sweet baby Jesus. The man was in a hospital bed and his first concern had been for her, not for himself. For her. He’d worried that after what she’d seen in the arena, she’d draw parallels between his accident and her father’s.
Hadn’t you?
“Talk to me,” he said softly.
As much as she wanted to burst out with her deepest feelings of love for him, she’d do it at a different time and place. A time when he’d know for sure that she’d spilled her guts out of love, not out of fear.
Her shaking fingertips traced the flattened line of his mouth. He was gritting his teeth so hard his lips had all but disappeared. “Now that you’ve calmed my fears, will you please let them give you relief from this goddamn ugly rodeo tattoo?”
“Yeah.” His face was pinched with agony when he tried to swing his legs back up on the bed by himself. “Fuck.”
“Let me help you or I’ll call your devoted nurse back.”
“You’ve got a big mean streak for such a small thing.” He grunted. But he allowed her to help him.
As soon as he was situated, Lainie pushed the damp hair back from his hot forehead. He practically purred. She touched him, reassuring them both.
Lainie didn’t budge when the curtain was jerked back. She shot a glance at the woman wearing a white coat, not scrubs. She clutched a clipboard and scanned it before addressing them.
“I’m Dr. Tortor, T-o-r-t-o-r, not Dr. Torture, as some patients have been known to call me.” No smile. “So, you fight bulls for a living? Seems this one fought back.”
“It happens.”
“How do you feel?”
“Lousy.”
“No surprise.” She examined him thoroughly, then said, “A horn to the chest resulting in a bruised sternum. The medical term is costochondritis.”
Hank gaped at Lainie.
“The CT scan came back with no brain swelling. Although, after being knocked unconscious for seven minutes, you’ve suffered a concussion. I’d like to keep you overnight for observation.”
“No. Way.” Hank focused distressed eyes on Lainie. “Why can’t you take care of me? You’re a licensed nurse and an EMT.”
Dr. Tortor faced her. “Is that true?”
“I’m a sports med tech.”
“You see injuries like this frequently?”
“Yes, but I defer course of treatment to those with more medical training.”
“That’d be me, and a stay overnight is what this doctor orders.”
Hank groaned.
“We’ll get the pain meds started and move you into a regular room.”
“Thanks, Doctor,” Lainie said.
“And no bullfighting for a minimum of one week. I know you won’t stay out of the ring for my recommendation of one month.”
The doctor pressed the call button for the nurse. They conferred outside the curtain. Rather than eavesdrop, Lainie mapped the planes and hollows of Hank’s face with her fingertips. She bent to kiss his mouth softly, then nuzzled his ear. Thank God. He was here, whole and wholly hers.
“Lainie? Stay with me until the drugs take effect. Please.”
Hank’s low, scratchy voice pulled at her, as did his hidden pride and the need he so rarely shared. She smooched his lips again. “Like I could leave you alone with Dr. Hottie, who, incidentally, was checking out all your nekkid body parts hanging out of this ass-baring gown.”
A small smile. “All my nekkid body parts belong to you, baby.”
“Don’t you forget it.”
After Hank received the meds, he conked out. She rode the elevator with him to his room, chatting with the orderly as he maneuvered the gurney. She’d never worked in a hospital, except for dropping patients off in the ER, and sometimes she wondered if she was missing out on an aspect of her medical training.
It wasn’t until her cell phone buzzed with a text message from Kyle that she realized she’d forgotten him completely. Shame heated her face.
She stepped into the hallway to call him, but he didn’t answer his phone. Not that she blamed him.
Chapter Twenty-one
Breck was sprawled in a lawn chair outside his horse trailer when Kyle ambled up. “Hey, Kyle. You look like you could use a beer.” Breck gestured to the blue cooler. “Help yourself, and pull up a chair.”