Chapter Fifteen
Hunter twisted his hands on the steering wheel as he sped down Maple to the clinic. He was doing his best to help Zoey, and she fought him at every turn. Fine.
“I could have driven myself,” she mumbled in the passenger seat of his truck.
Insisting she could drive herself to the doctor’s with a head wound was the last thing he could take. The woman might be the death of him, his blood pressure was so high. He’d only ever been that scared once before—and that had been a dark day in his life. “You don’t know the way,” he growled.
“I have a GPS.”
“What you have is a gushing head wound and a severe case of stubbornness.” He clamped his jaw shut and glared at the road. “Not to mention you went into shock.”
“No, I didn’t!”
“Really? Because the stars were so pretty. ‘So many stars,’” he mimicked her. “Stop moving around so the bleeding will stop.”
“Stopgushing?” she challenged. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
He turned into the Harvest Ranch Clinic and screeched to a stop, his wheels surely leaving black marks on the asphalt. “Youare not allowed to call anyone in this truck—no, in Harvest Ranch—no, on thisplanet—dramatic.”
He threw open his door and made his way around the truck, taking giant breaths in and filling his chest to capacity. Dr. Santana’s car was the only other one in the lot. At least Swayzie had managed to get a hold of her.
When he got to Zoey’s door, she’d already opened it and was sliding to the ground. Her legs gave out when her boots touched the asphalt, and he slipped an arm around her to keep her from falling.
“Thanks,” she spat.
“Yep.” He bent, slipping his hands under her knees and lifting her against his chest.
She let out a yip and smacked his shoulder. “Put me down! I can walk.”
“Right! Because you didn’t almost pass out just now.”
“Hunter Westbrook—you are trying to make me mad.”
“I’m trying to take care of you!”
“I don’t need you to take care of me. Stop bossing me around!”
“I’ll boss you all you need until you’re safe. You are so infuriating. I’m trying to take care of you. I like you, Zoey—I may even love you, if you’ll let me!”
“Well, I might love you too—but I don’t like being treated like a princess.”
“How about like a person with a head injury? Mind if I treat you like one of those?”
“Yes. I do!”
“Too bad!” He pressed his lips together, kicked the truck door shut, and headed into the clinic.
Sarah Jean, Dr. Santana’s mother, and the clinic receptionist, glanced up from the computer screen. She had a stack of files next to her keyboard. Her long, gray-streaked hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and she wore a turquoise necklace. The thing Hunter loved about her was that she was never ruffled, just like her daughter, who saw everything from well checks to emergencies.
“Mr. Westbrook.” Sarah Jean pulled out a clipboard and stood. Her full height didn’t reach his shoulder. “Follow me.”
Hunter obliged, heading down the cramped hallway to one of the exam rooms. The office was a converted home, one of the older ones in the area that had been repurposed to provide medical care.
Dr. Motaoka was already in the exam room, refilling the tongue depressors. She was a tiny woman—barely over five feet, he’d guess—with long dark hair, wide brown eyes, high cheekbones, and a friendly smile. She gave them her full attention as they filled the doorway. “Hunter …” She clicked her tongue. “You need to stop carrying injured women into my clinic.”
“Women? What women?” Zoey practically barked. Then she cringed and lifted a hand to her head.
A small portion of Hunter’s anger at her stubbornness evaporated in the face of her jealousy over his previous medical exploits. Not that they were scandalous in any way. “I’ll work on that,” he told the doctor.
