hadn’t whisked her off to the hospital yet.
“I don’t know.” Her body shook, and Trey edged forward to shore her up with his as he got the cloth to release.
He peered at her palm, and there was no way that gash was going to heal by itself. The muscle was plainly visible on both sides of the wound, which went from thumb to pinky, and Trey caught a flash of white before he quickly pressed the cloth back over the wound.
“I’m taking you to the emergency room,” he said, looking at her. “Don’t argue with me.”
She nodded, no argument in sight.
“Great,” he said. “Let’s go.”
14
Bethany Dixon couldn’t stop sniffling, and she battled the pain in her hand, the worry in her heart, and the embarrassment that Trey drove her truck while she cried in the passenger seat, a thick towel wrapped around her hand.
TJ rode in between them, each hand clutching one of the army men he loved so much. No one said anything.
Bethany’s hiccups sounded above the radio in her truck, but Trey didn’t seem bothered by it. His hands didn’t clench the wheel. He didn’t drive particularly fast or crazy. He was the ultimate picture of calm, collected, and oh-so-sexy cowboy.
She kept her gaze out the window, desperately trying to fight against the urge to scream. She really didn’t have time for a five-inch gash across her palm. She had hay to put up, and fields to tend to. She had pregnant mares who needed constant attention, and a garden that needed to be cleared, the fruit trees picked, and all of those fruits and vegetables canned, pureed, sauced, or frozen.
TJ needed a ride to school every morning, and someone to go pick him up in the afternoon. He needed a haircut, and new shoes, and probably ten thousand other things Beth didn’t even know about.
The weight of her life threatened to crush her, and another sob worked its way up her throat. She couldn’t quite contain it, and the resulting sound was somewhere between a scoff and a yell.
“We’re almost there, sweetheart,” Trey said, and Beth turned her head to look at him. He probably called every woman sweetheart, but somehow, her heart thought he’d reserved the word just for her.
He glanced at her, and their eyes met for a moment. He shifted in his seat and made the last turn to get on the road where the hospital sat. Only thirty seconds later, he pulled up to the emergency bay and said, “Get out on my side, TJ. Stay close to me now, y’hear?”
“Yes, sir,” TJ said, following Trey out of the truck.
“Close the door, bud,” Trey called to him as he rounded the hood. He opened Beth’s door for her, his dark eyes sparking with concern…and something else Beth couldn’t identify, because she couldn’t hold his gaze for very long.
“Come on,” he said. “You lean on me all you need to, Beth, okay?”
“I’m okay,” she said, sliding out of the truck, both hands still clasped together. Something pulled on her palm, and she sincerely hoped the fabric of the cloth hadn’t started to fuse to her wound.
His eyes flashed with black fire now. “No, you’re not.” He leaned closer. “It’s okay that you’re not. Admitting you need help is not a weakness.” He didn’t give her a chance to respond before he backed up, tugging her with him. He closed the door behind her and said, “TJ, you’re right here at my side. All the time. Come on now.”
TJ did exactly what he said, and Beth’s chest caved in on her. She had to beg TJ to find his shoes and brush his teeth, but there he was, obeying Trey’s every demand.
Inside, Trey took charge of checking her in, and he told the nurse behind the desk—who he seemed to know—that it was a high priority. Only five minutes later, another nurse called Beth’s name.
Her legs shook as she stood, and her vision swirled. She moaned, though she didn’t remember telling her voice to make that sound.
“We need a wheelchair,” Trey called as he took her into his arms. He held her right against that rock-solid chest, and Beth didn’t have enough mental power to even speak to him. Her whole body felt limp and cold, and she knew enough to feel him set her in the wheelchair. “Stay with me, Beth,” he said, his hand on her shoulder. “TJ and I are right here. TJ, tell your mom that story about the barn cats.”
She