problem, in a cluster of wildflowers about six feet from where she'd landed. Luckily, the bag was still zipped.
"Found it," he called to her, as he joined her back on the soft shoulder of the road. He noticed her skin looked even paler than when he first found her, and her eyes were glazed.
"Jolee?"
She blinked at him. He could sense her wooziness, her confusion. He immediately scooped her up, trying to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to jar her injuries.
She stiffened in his hold. "Put me down."
"You are too hurt to walk."
She didn't argue, but she didn't relax against him either. She kept herself positioned as far away from him as his hold would allow, her head angled away from his. He hurried to his car. With her cradled in one arm like a baby, he opened the door with the other. If she was surprised by the feat of strength, she didn't show it as he then placed her in the passenger seat.
Instead she let her head fall back against the headrest and closed her eyes. Her hands lay palm up, limp in her lap.
For a moment, Christian feared she'd lost consciousness again, but then she murmured, "I must be mad allowing myself to be placed in the deathmobile."
Christian nearly smiled again, relieved she was still awake. Of course, she didn't realize quite how accurate that title for his car really was.
He sprinted around the vehicle and got in. He shifted into gear, this time easing into motion, trying not to jerk her too much. Glancing over at her, he could see her color hadn't improved. Her eyes were still shut, although now she had the hand of her left arm cupping the elbow of her right as if to hold the limb steady.
"Are you in terrible pain?"
She didn't respond for a moment, then she said, her voice soft as though she didn't really have the energy to talk, "Is there such a thing as good pain?"
Christian didn't answer. He knew she was attempting to be funny, but he also knew she was hurt badly. He nudged the gas pedal a little more, still trying to keep his driving steady and smooth, but he needed to get her to help.
The drive to the hospital only took fifteen minutes, but to Christian it seemed like forever. Fortunately he knew where it was. To his shame, he'd gone there one evening when the hospital was holding a local blood drive— the lure of fresh blood almost too much for him. He had left before he'd even entered the building. Step 10: Maintenance. Continue to take personal inventory, and when you are wrong promptly admit it and rectify it.
Jolee hadn't said a word or opened her eyes for the remainder of the drive, and he was pretty sure she'd fallen unconscious. He got out of the car and came around to her side. When he started to lift her out of the seat, she opened her eyes only to immediately close them again against the bright lights of the hospital entrance.
But that didn't stop her from pushing at his chest with her good arm. "No hospital."
She squinted up at him, her lush mouth set into a firm line.
"Jolee, you need medical attention."
"I'll be fine."
He easily restrained her, trying to be as careful of her injured arm as he could. "You are not fine. You lost consciousness on the way here. Your shoulder is badly bruised. You need to see a physician."
Jolee's head pounded, her shoulder throbbed, but still she tried to wriggle out of her neighbor's grasp. She couldn't go to a doctor. She couldn't afford that. And without insurance, the fees were bound to be astronomical.
Despite her current pain, she knew she'd be all right. Sore for a few days, but she'd be okay. She was not going to pay a doctor an exorbitant sum just to tell her to take some ibuprofen and tough it out.
But fighting off her neighbor was not easy. She wasn't even sure it was possible. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and lean muscles. But he was even stronger than his model-like physique would imply. It was like trying to wrestle a brick wall. Finally she stopped squirming, too tired and sore to continue.
"This is
"Found it," he called to her, as he joined her back on the soft shoulder of the road. He noticed her skin looked even paler than when he first found her, and her eyes were glazed.
"Jolee?"
She blinked at him. He could sense her wooziness, her confusion. He immediately scooped her up, trying to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to jar her injuries.
She stiffened in his hold. "Put me down."
"You are too hurt to walk."
She didn't argue, but she didn't relax against him either. She kept herself positioned as far away from him as his hold would allow, her head angled away from his. He hurried to his car. With her cradled in one arm like a baby, he opened the door with the other. If she was surprised by the feat of strength, she didn't show it as he then placed her in the passenger seat.
Instead she let her head fall back against the headrest and closed her eyes. Her hands lay palm up, limp in her lap.
For a moment, Christian feared she'd lost consciousness again, but then she murmured, "I must be mad allowing myself to be placed in the deathmobile."
Christian nearly smiled again, relieved she was still awake. Of course, she didn't realize quite how accurate that title for his car really was.
He sprinted around the vehicle and got in. He shifted into gear, this time easing into motion, trying not to jerk her too much. Glancing over at her, he could see her color hadn't improved. Her eyes were still shut, although now she had the hand of her left arm cupping the elbow of her right as if to hold the limb steady.
"Are you in terrible pain?"
She didn't respond for a moment, then she said, her voice soft as though she didn't really have the energy to talk, "Is there such a thing as good pain?"
Christian didn't answer. He knew she was attempting to be funny, but he also knew she was hurt badly. He nudged the gas pedal a little more, still trying to keep his driving steady and smooth, but he needed to get her to help.
The drive to the hospital only took fifteen minutes, but to Christian it seemed like forever. Fortunately he knew where it was. To his shame, he'd gone there one evening when the hospital was holding a local blood drive— the lure of fresh blood almost too much for him. He had left before he'd even entered the building. Step 10: Maintenance. Continue to take personal inventory, and when you are wrong promptly admit it and rectify it.
Jolee hadn't said a word or opened her eyes for the remainder of the drive, and he was pretty sure she'd fallen unconscious. He got out of the car and came around to her side. When he started to lift her out of the seat, she opened her eyes only to immediately close them again against the bright lights of the hospital entrance.
But that didn't stop her from pushing at his chest with her good arm. "No hospital."
She squinted up at him, her lush mouth set into a firm line.
"Jolee, you need medical attention."
"I'll be fine."
He easily restrained her, trying to be as careful of her injured arm as he could. "You are not fine. You lost consciousness on the way here. Your shoulder is badly bruised. You need to see a physician."
Jolee's head pounded, her shoulder throbbed, but still she tried to wriggle out of her neighbor's grasp. She couldn't go to a doctor. She couldn't afford that. And without insurance, the fees were bound to be astronomical.
Despite her current pain, she knew she'd be all right. Sore for a few days, but she'd be okay. She was not going to pay a doctor an exorbitant sum just to tell her to take some ibuprofen and tough it out.
But fighting off her neighbor was not easy. She wasn't even sure it was possible. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and lean muscles. But he was even stronger than his model-like physique would imply. It was like trying to wrestle a brick wall. Finally she stopped squirming, too tired and sore to continue.
"This is
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