Read 02-Let It Ride for Free Online Page A

voice cracked, and he heard the hint of panic in it. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to detach, forcing all his emotions into their assigned boxes so he could focus on his job. “Bridge, can you hear me?”
    “Of course I can hear you.” Bridge huffed. “Shit.”
    “Where are you hurt?” Eric began by visually searching for injuries, while pulling equipment from his kit.
    “I’m not.”
    Eric inspected Bridge’s face, pushing the long hair back from a furrowed brow. What wasn’t covered in dirt looked pale, and his eyes were squeezed shut. “Then why are you still on the ground? And green?”
    “Trying not to barf.” Bridge’s voice sounded weak, like he really was doing just that. Eric tried to shine his penlight into Bridge’s eyes, to check for signs of concussion, but Bridge pushed his hand away and grunted. The sound more put-upon than in search of relief from injury.
    “Are you going to be that kind of patient?” Eric said, keeping his tone even. People reacted all kinds of ways when they were hurt, but he didn’t want Bridge to be one of the ones he had to fight in order to assess his injuries.
    Bridge opened his eyes and looked up, searching Eric’s. Whatever he saw there softened his expression, and warmth radiated outward, calming Eric when he was the one who was supposed to be calming the injured person he was attending to.
    “If you’re feeling nauseated, I’m worried you might have a concussion,” he said, that trace of fear when he’d first seen Bridge on the ground creeping back into his voice.
    “I’m sorry,” Bridge said. His voice was quiet, laced with a note of vulnerability Eric had never heard from the man before. Not breaking his stare, Bridge lifted his left arm. “It’s the blood. Somehow I got cut going down. Probably the cinch buckle or the edge of a conch.”
    Eric reached for the arm Bridge had indicated and carefully rolled up the torn shirtsleeve. On the inside of his forearm was a gash about three inches long. It didn’t look deep enough to require stitches, just a good cleaning, butterfly strips, and a secure bandage. “That’s it? No pain anywhere else?”
    Bridge shook his head, and Eric watched him closely, pressing his fingertips to the cowboy’s wrist, the pulse there strong and steady. Bridge stayed still and let Eric check his pupils this time, and then Eric gently palpated the ribs and abdomen for any signs of hemorrhaging or breaks. The whole time their gazes remained fixed on each other.
    “Just a minor cut,” Eric said. Satisfied Bridge was okay, his heart rate slowed, and he exhaled a relieved breath.
    “It’s bleeding,” Bridge complained.
    Eric relaxed further, chuckling at the man’s insolent tone. “Well, yeah. That’s what happens when you get a cut, genius, but it’s not serious. I really think you’re going to live to ride another day. Here, look.”
    “Can’t.” Bridge squeezed his eyes shut again.
    “What do you mean you can’t?”
    Bridge groaned and then stage-whispered, “Blood! Freaks me out.”
    “Are you serious?” Eric leaned back on his heels, trying really hard to prevent the laughter from bubbling up but not succeeding. “Big, tough cowboy like you turns green over a little blood?”
    “Oh, shut up,” Bridge groused, cracking an eyelid to glare at Eric, but the hint of a smile teasing the edges of his mouth took any bite out of the words.
    Eric shook his head. “You’re so in the wrong business.”
    Bridge only huffed in response. Eric laid Bridge’s arm carefully over his thigh, opened an antibacterial wipe, and began cleaning the wound. His gaze kept straying to Bridge’s face, taking advantage of the man’s closed eyes to study him freely. His lashes were long and a few shades darker than his hair, and there were faint freckles sprinkled across the bridge of his nose. His lips were pursed but held a healthy blush; the bottom one was fuller than the top. Golden fuzz covered his jaw, and Eric had