She let out a sharp, startled yelp, then pitched sideways.
I was there before the sound finished. The ground had given way under her foot, and I spotted the gopher hole. I had been trying to keep an eye out for them for exactly this reason, but I had missed one in the dark.
I took her by the elbow and helped her up.
“I’m fine,” she said immediately.
She was not fine. She tried to step, but she hadn’t regained her balance yet and pitched forward again.
Catching her, I picked her up without thinking. A streak of blue swung across my arm as her hair slipped forward. She was strong and solid but still felt small in my arms.
“I’ve got you,” I said. “We’re going to the nursing station.”
“I do not need to be carried,” she said.
“You do,” I said. “At least until you stop lying about being fine.”
She huffed. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“You’re slippery,” I said, adjusting my grip. I was, unhelpfully, a little too pleased that she was in my arms.
“Is that a comment on my weight,” she asked, “or your lack of experience with wet women?”
A laugh broke out behind us.
“Strictly a traction issue,” I said. “I’ll survive.”
She shifted, testing. “I’m heavy.”
“You arenotheavy,” I said. “But please stop wiggling.”
“I do not wiggle.”
“You just did.”
She paused, let out a small huff, then settled.
Carrying her was different from everything else I’d handled tonight. The property, the guests, the routines... all of that usually settled the pull to watch and guard and stay alert. It gave that part of me somewhere to live.
This pulled it forward instead. Sharpened it in a way I wasn’t used to.
She shifted in my arms again, and my focus locked down hard, not on the path or the lights or the night, but on getting her somewhere solid and safe and still.
I adjusted my grip and kept moving, aware that something had just changed—and I didn’t dislike it.
When we reached the main building, most of the group peeled off toward the stairs with loud assurances that everything was fine. One woman hesitated.
One woman hesitated. “I’ll come with you.”
The woman in my arms shook her head. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
She said it confidently, like she expected the other woman to obey—which she did.
I steered us toward the golf cart. The night was quieter now, as if the property had finally exhaled.
I gently set her on the seat and handed her a towel. “Nursing station’s a short ride. We’ll take a look and decide next steps from there.”
She glanced at the card still tucked between her fingers, then lifted her gaze to mine, chin set despite the towel and the injury and the fact that I was literally loading her into a golf cart like an injured heiress in a very specific kind of period drama.
