“I’m sorry,” she kept murmuring. “I’m sorry, just give me a moment.”
With her head leaning into his chest now, his lust from earlier morphed into something slightly different. It was still there, of course, but diluted with an unfamiliar protective instinct. Something he really didn’t want to deal with right now.
His hand was trapped on her leg, his other still grasping her shoulder. He could back away but she rested heavily against him. She’d likely topple to the floor.
Turning his head, her hair tickled his neck. It was soft, like the rest of her, and she smelled girly, of perfumed berries.
Drops of blood dripped onto the floor.
“You could probably use a stitch or two.”
But she sat back in her chair and shook her head. “I need to get back behind the bar. I’ll be fine.”
To which he pointedly stared at the blood now covering most of her t-shirt.
At that moment, the waiter reappeared holding several white rags. “Damn, Noel, that looks bad.”
Noel, perfect name for her by the way, glanced down at her chest and then quickly away. Not one for blood, apparently. “I’ll just put my jacket on.” She seriously intended to go back to work.
She sprung from the chair and then went all wobbly again.
“Whoa.” Elliot rose and grabbed her by the shoulders. “I don’t think this is what people have in mind when ordering Bloody Mary’s.” He then turned to the waiter. “Is there a manager on duty? She needs a few stitches, and probably a tetanus as well.”
Her co-worker grimaced and scratched his head. “Not this week. I suppose Lisa and I could make our own drinks for a while… if nobody orders anything fancy.”
Elliot took the rags from the waiter and pressed one against Noel’s chest. “Get her jacket. I’ll run her to the emergency room.” It was obvious nobody else was going to step up to the task. Unfortunately, Elliot was all too familiar with the local hospital– located next door to the detox center.
CHAPTER TWO
“Ican’t goto a hospital.” God, it would cost her a fortune. Without insurance, she had no idea what they would charge her. For certain, though, it would be more than she could afford.
But Mr. Bossy-But-Fantastic-Eyes ignored her completely.
As did everybody else.
Rory had fetched her coat and know-it-all customer pulled it over her arms. “I can’t afford it.” She pushed his hand away from her chest and clutched the cloth over the cut herself.
“That’s ridiculous.” He steered her towards the hotel lobby and then out the front door. She hadn’t clocked out! And the money she made change with, her bank, remained in the drawer! Her tip jar! She tried to stop her feet from moving but he continued dragging her outside. “File a claim with your employer.”
Oh, that would go over well. The last person injured “on the job” had lost half her shifts. And she’d practically cut off a finger!
At least it was the off season and the bar promised to be slower than normal tonight.
She drew her coat closer around her. Although ski season was past, warmer days hadn’t arrived and the night temperatures still dropped below freezing. No matter the season, weather up here could be brutal.
But tonight, it was a good thing. The frigid air served to rouse her from the fog of confusion she’d fallen into. What was she doing? Planting her feet firmly on the frozen ground, she refused to take another step.
“Seriously, I can’t go to the hospital. I’ll be fine.” She steadied herself by grabbing hold of a nearby truck and gave him a toothy smile. “See. I’m fine.” But why was her hand wet?
Blood had seeped right through the towel and covered her palm in red sticky goo. The smell of copper made her head spin again. Thank God they were outside. She inhaled the fresh air and then, suddenly airborne, let out a squeal.
“What are you doing?” Clutching the bloodied cloth with one hand, she awkwardly wrapped her other around his neck. He had swooped her into his arms and was carrying her across the parking lot.
Pure masculine strength could be felt in the chords of his neck. How was it this man was simply carrying her away from the hotel? She didn’t even know his name! What if he was some serial killer?
Because even serial killers could be good looking. Ted Bundy had been proof of that. Just last week she’d watched a documentary about him. A few decades ago he’d escaped from the jail not far from here.
Supposedly, though, he had been charismatic.
