Page 47 of In Full Bloom

“What is it?” He asks, eyes not quite focussing as he peers up at me.

I shove the fabric against his skin, wrapping it as tightly as possible and placing his hand back over it to hold it in place. “Nothing. It’s just my favourite shirt. But we either sacrifice it or you. And I don’t want to have to tell Sadie I let you bleed out because I liked my shirt.”

He chuckles in a vague, not all there kind of way. “It’s a good shirt,” he says, his eyes drifting down over my body.

I’m wearing a sports bra today, like most days when I’m on farm. It’s not sexy in the slightest, just a plain navy blue bra that keeps the girls in check while I’m riding.

But the way Dallas’s eyes are lingering you’d think I was wearing skimpy lingerie. His tongue slips out and swipes across his bottom lip. The sight, and the memories it stirs, makes me shiver.

“Righto, cowboy,” I say, pulling us both out of the moment. “Let’s get you up.”

I pull him to his feet and he sways a little. His paleness and the swaying concerns me. So does the way he’s apparently struggling to focus.

“We need to get you onto Scout,” I say, leading him towards the horse and grateful she hasn’t wandered away since I abandoned her in panic.

“No,” he gasps, stumbling backwards a step. “Not the horse.”

“Yes, the horse. How else am I going to get you back?”

“Bike,” he mutters, trying to pull away from me but staggering.

“You can’t ride the bike with your arm like that. And I can’t leave Scout out here alone. You need to get on the horse.”

He turns his wide blue eyes on me. I’ve seen a lot of emotions in those eyes—frustration, anger, concern, lust—but not this one. Not pure, unfiltered terror. “Can’t,” he whispers, his voice rough as he flicks his gaze away.

“You can, cowboy.” I place both my hands on his face, forcing eye contact. “You have to. We have to get you to the hospital.” He tries to pull away but I hold him still, the rasp of his stubble grazing my fingertips. “Gotta get you back to Lady Sadie.”

A small smile tugs at his mouth. “She loves that you call her that.”

“I love to call her that.” I stroke a thumb over his cheek. “I’m going to get up on Scout and we’re going to get you up behind me, okay? I’ll make sure you’re okay. I promise.”

Dallas glances down at his arm, the blood already starting to seep through my lilac coloured shirt. Then he looks at me, overmy shoulder at Scout and fixes his gaze on my face again. “I don’t think I can.”

“Can you try for me?” I don’t understand. This man is so sure, so capable, and he is truly terrified to get on Scout. I knew he had a fear of horses, but I assumed it was just that he wasn’t used to being around them. This is so much more than that. “I don’t know how else to get you back.”

He must pick up on the thread of desperation in my voice because he gives a shaky nod and I exhale in relief.

I need to get him back to the house and into a vehicle so I can get him into the hospital. The quick glance I got of the wound in his arm tells me he’s going to need it cleaned out, stitches and probably a hefty dose of antibiotics. He’s in no state to ride the motorbike back, even if he could take the pressure off his arm.

“You’ll have to help me,” he says in a shaky voice.

“I’ll help you,” I say, smoothing my fingers across his tense brow and cupping his cheek again. “I promise. I’ve got you.”

I turn away and swing myself into Scout’s saddle, then reach down for Dallas’s good arm. I grip it tight and he uses the stirrup to boost himself up while I pull. It’s awkward and clumsy but we get him on board. It’s a blessing Scout is such a steady mount.

Dallas slides into place behind the saddle, wrapping his fingers around his injured arm again.

“Put your arms around me and hold on in front of me. It’ll help you stay on.”

He hesitates, then does as I said. I shiver as I feel his armsslide against the bare skin of my waist. He reapplies pressure to his wound and presses his face into my shoulder.

I place my hand over his and squeeze gently. “I’ve got you,” I murmur as I urge Scout forward.

Dallas tenses as she moves, but after a few strides he settles again.

“Talk to me,” I say, desperate for the distraction from both the memory of the injury, and the feel of his arms around me. The mixture of bare skin and firm grip has me flashing back to the night we met again, but now just doesn’t seem like the time.

“Sadie had a riding accident,” he mutters into the crook of my neck. I can feel his breath ghosting over my shoulder and I close my eyes in a moment of bliss at the sensation. “She was on a horse with Abi and they got thrown.”

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