Page 53 of Austin
Opposites attract.
Yes, but attraction wasn’t the problem. It never had been. It was living at opposite ends of the personal and professional risk spectrums that created issues…but after tonight, she wondered if she was as far on the safe end of the spectrum as she’d once believed. It had terrified her to see Austin get hurt, but while sitting next to the other bull riders’ families, she’d heard equal parts analysis, cheering and praying. They’d worked out a system to handle the stress, and if she needed to, so could she—and it didn’t need to apply only to bull riding.
*
Kristen navigated thepost-event traffic like a pro and got them back to the hotel, where they surrendered the truck to a valet. Austin beat Kristen to his bag and stubbornly hefted it out of the back seat before opening the door and stepping out onto the asphalt with his good leg. Pain shot through him as his left leg hit the ground, but he could bear weight, which was a good sign. The doc hadn’t been able to tell him much, and he’d been ordered to get an X-ray in Marietta to see exactly what the damage was.
Austin wasn’t keen to do that. Didn’t want a potential fracture to get in the way of finishing the season. If he could walk…well, he was okay.
Kristen was all business as she ushered him to the room, and even though the pain meds were making him foggy, he found it a turn-on. He did love it when his ice princess showed up. She unlocked the door and stepped back so that he could enter first. Once the door was closed, she eased past him to place his bag on the desk and to drop her purse beside it.
He sat on the edge of the bed and started unfastening the pseudo-cast on his injured leg while Kristen disappeared into the bathroom. She came out a short time later wearing the T-shirt and plaid shorts that had been her sleep outfit until two nights ago.
He’d call that a signal. She flipped back the covers of her bed and sat on the edge.
“Need any help with anything?”
“Yeah. My boot.” As in singular.
“Sure.” She came to the side of the bed where he sat and gingerly eased the orphaned Tony Lama off his foot. “What happened to the other one?”
“Cut down the side and sitting in the trash can at the arena.”
“That’s too bad.” She helped him peel off the sock then grimaced and he took a look. Yep. Black as hell.
“Is it broken?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What about your ankle?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure?”
He gave her a look. “The problem seems to be the place where the bull stepped on my leg.”
He sounded snarky, so he drew in a breath. Closed his eyes and tried to center. This was why he was no fan of pain meds. They made him cranky. Edgy. Obnoxious. Not his normal state of being. When he opened his eyes again, he found Kristen smiling at him, as if she knew exactly what was going on with him. She shook her head and went back to her bed.
As soon as he’d stripped to his boxers, he got into bed, then decided what the hell. He liked sleeping commando, and just because Kristen was back in pajamas, it didn’t mean he had to follow suit. He got his shorts down over his injured leg, kicked them to the end of the bed, then settled in.
And there he lay.
He had two weeks to get back into fighting shape before the tour started again in Portland. If he had to be injured, this was the time. Yes, it was.
He might not make it to the exhibition he’d agreed to in Pendleton, Oregon, during the hiatus, but he would make Portland, Spokane, Nampa… He’d make all the events right up to Championships. He’d ridden with worse injuries, but the problem was that compensating for one injury could lead to another.
So be it.
Part of the game.
He shifted his hips, tried to get more comfortable.
“Shouldn’t you elevate that foot?” Kristen’s voice came through the darkness.
“Probably.” Definitely. Why hadn’t he done that?
Foggy brain.
