Page 9 of Coming Home Country
Chapter 3
Bex
Theagonyradiatingfrommy wrist up my arm dulled for a fraction of a second due to shock when he spoke.
It might be deeper than I remembered, but that voice was one I’d recognize anywhere—a voice I wished I could forget.
Even though his words were uttered quietly, I could sense he was close. His touch hovered nearby while his masculine scent infiltrated my senses.
Vision blurred by tears, I dared to peek over at the man responsible for shattering my dreams and altering the course of my life.
No longer the gangly boy who’d preferred studying to sports, Tucker Grant had grown into a man, his body filled out to perfection. Too bad I hated him with every fiber of my being because he was downright gorgeous, dressed in well-worn jeans and a flannel, a beige cowboy hat gracing his head.
On his knees beside where I sat, he extended a hand, palm out, curling his fingers. “Bex, let me see.”
The pain came roaring back to life, and I couldn’t stifle the whimper that worked its way up my throat. But it wasn’t only my wrist that hurt; it wasmy heart, that old wound reopening upon laying eyes on the man who’d broken it.
“No.” My voice came out watery and weak.
Piercing blue eyes I’d once loved studied my face before dropping to focus on my injury.
His mouth opened, and I braced for an argument when I heard Aspen shout, “Bex! Oh my God, what happened?”
Our heads turned in unison to find my best friend rushing into the barn and dropping down on my opposite side. She shot Tucker a glare. “What did you do?”
Chest rumbling, he replied, “She fell. Landed with all her weight on her right hand. I’d lay good odds her wrist’s broken.”
Considering I was close to passing out from the sharp waves of pain, he was probably right.
“But she won’t let me assess the injury.” Frustration leaked into his tone.
I forced out through gritted teeth, “I’m fine.”
Aspen sighed. “You’re not fine.” Resigned, she suggested, “You should probably let Tucker take a look.”
“Absolutely not.” I shook my head. “I know it’s a Saturday, but if you drive me over to Doc Stevens’s house, I’m sure he can patch me up. I’ll be right as rain by bonfire time.”
“Um, so the thing is . . .” She chewed on her lower lip nervously.
Her gaze lifted to Tucker’s, and a silent exchange passed between them.
My patience was running short, so I snapped. “Spit it out.”
“Doc Stevens retired,” Tucker declared.
Guess that made sense. He’d been in his early sixties the last time I was in town.
“Then take me to whoever runs the practice now,” I huffed.
“You’re lookin’ at him.”
My head whipped around so fast that I was lucky not to add a strained neck to my list of ailments.
“No,” I said in stunned disbelief.
Turning back to Aspen, I found her grimacing, confirming what I desperately needed not to be true. That Tucker was my only hope of medical care unless someone drove me an hour to the nearest emergency room. Which wasn’t much of an option, given that the people I was closest to were about to host the kickoff event of their wedding week, and I would never make it back in time to help out as expected.
I’d known this week would be difficult, but this took it to a new level.
