Swinging my axe.
“Logan?” I called out again.
She didn’t answer, just lifted the axe again. Her posture was all wrong. Her legs were too close together, her body was stiff, and she wasn’t bending her knees. My stomach dropped.
Then she swung and missed.
“Shit—Logan!” I tore across the yard.
The axe hit the log at an odd angle and slipped, glancing off the side and nearly catching her leg. No, it did catch her.
I was on her in seconds, grabbing the handle out of her hands and tossing it aside without a second thought. My knees hit the dirt as I dropped down beside her, heart hammering against my ribs.
“Let me see,” I said sharply, already reaching for her ankle.
She hissed when I touched it and tried to pull away, but I held firm. I moved the log she’d been prepping, then wrapped my hands around her hips to guide her to sit.
“I’m not bleeding,” she rushed to say, trying to calm me. “I twisted the axe in time, so I got hit with the blunt end.”
The words barely registered. I was focused on the way her voice wavered, the way her breath hitched when I pushed up her pant leg. She was hurting. A bruise was already starting to form, the skin swelling.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I was just trying to help.”
I didn’t respond.
I couldn’t. My throat felt like it was closing.
I just moved, scooping her up into my arms, and her body light but cold against mine. She didn’t fight me. Just curled against my chest as I carried her across the yard, through the door, and into my bathroom. My jaw clenched tighter with every step.
Once inside, I set her down gently on the closed toilet lid and dropped to my knees again in front of her. The first-aid kit was under the sink—I grabbed it without even thinking and started pulling out bandages, ointments, whatever I could find. I was trying to be calm. Efficient. But my hands were shaking.
Then I noticed her palms.
Red and raw with blisters blooming across them.
“Jesus, Logan,” I muttered, grabbing her hands before she could hide them. Her skin was like ice. She flinched when I touched her.
When I looked up, her eyes were glassy, rimmed with tears she hadn’t let fall. My gut twisted.
“Logan,” I said softly, everything in me pausing, the tension bleeding out of my body just from the look on her face. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” The endearment slipped out so easily, just like bonnie had over the weeks we’d been together.
Her lips trembled. “I feel like you’re mad at me. I was just trying to help. I know I don’t know the ins and outs of everything, but I—”
“I’m not mad,” I cut her off, my voice firm. I reached up and cupped her cheek gently, my thumb brushing the side of her face. “I would rather this farm burn to the fucking ground than see you hurt. That’s why I’m upset. Not because you tried to help—but because you did it alone.”
She blinked, and a tear finally slid down her cheek. I caught it with my thumb before it could fall any farther. “But youdo everything alone,” she whispered, and I lowered my head because what could I say to that? Had I really been that easy to read within, what? A month of us knowing each other? I blew out a breath.
“If you want to help,” I continued, my voice thick with the weight of everything I hadn’t said aloud, “then we’ll find other ways. But this—” I glanced at her hands, her leg, and shook my head.
For a second, we just stared at each other, the air between us crackling with something heavy. I wanted to kiss her. God, I wanted to pull her into me and forget that everything between us was fake. But I didn’t move. I just held her hands and let her see the truth in my eyes.
Even though I hadn’t told her as much, she had grown on me. More than that, she mattered to me. And that scared the hell out of me.
Chapter 12
Logan
“Ihave a few ideas.” My voice cracked as I broke the silence. I had started my period and it obviously wasn’t helping my emotional state around this man. I rubbed at my eyes, forcing myself to pull it together even as my pulse skittered, and the butterflies in my stomach pressed against my ribs like they wanted to burst out of me. “We could talk about them over dinner? I made food. It’s in the slow cooker.”
