I was already walking.
She spotted me coming, narrowed her eyes.
“I’m fine,” she said. Voice tight.
“No, you’re not.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“Let me see.”
“Seriously, I’m—hey—”
I was already crouching. One hand on her ankle. The other pulling off that busted sneaker. She sucked in a breath sharp enough to tell me everything I needed.
Her ankle looked like hell. Purple starting to bloom. Swollen as shit.
“Gotta get you to a doctor. Now.”
“I don’t need a—”
“You hit your head, too.”
“I didn’t—”
“You’re not qualified to answer that, sweetheart.”
“Wow. Charming.”
“Where’s your car?”
She blinked.
“I don’t have a car. I’ll just call an Uber.”
Rick snorted from the bar. “InDalmore?”
She shrugged. “It’s 2025. People Uber.”
Rick wiped his hands on a towel and leaned in, grinning.
“Closest Uber you’re getting out here has four legs and a saddle.”
She stared at him. Then looked at me.
“You’re joking.”
I shook my head. “I wish.”
And before she could protest, I slipped one arm under her knees, the other around her back, and lifted.
She gasped. “Wait—what are you doing?”
“Taking you to the doc.”
“I can walk.”
“No, you can limp, and poorly.”
