Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 98643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“Idiot,” I whispered beneath my breath.
“What?” Flynn asked sharply as he examined my arm.
“Idiot!” I practically yelled at him. I shoved him away from me and managed to slip past him. He grabbed my elbow just as I went to open the door.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Flynn growled. “I swear to God, you need a fucking keeper.”
His declaration stung.
“Fuck you, Flynn,” I hissed before jerking free of him. I managed to get out of the room, but he was right on my tail.
“Jules, that’s—”
“Not what you meant,” I finished for him.
“A serious burn,” Flynn said at the same time.
Seriously? The man was lecturing me at the same time I was trying to spare him from needing to be anywhere near me?
“What the hell is wrong with you? Do all cowboys or ranch hands or whatever it is that you call yourselves pop out of the ground full grown and stupid right alongside the corn or wheat or whatever the hell things you grow out here besides cows?” I snapped as I turned around and slammed right into Flynn’s chest.
With my bad arm.
All I saw were stars, and that breath-stealing agony was back. “Fuck,” I whispered as a few tears I couldn’t hold back dripped from my lashes.
“That’s it,” Flynn said with determination. Before I knew it, he was lifting me into his arms. He made sure to do it so that my arm was on the outside, which meant it wouldn’t rub against his clothing. I could keep it protected by cradling it in my lap.
“God, I really am one of them,” I whispered on a choked laugh that might also have been a harsh cry.
“One of who?” Flynn asked. His voice sounded like it was all he could do to keep his temper in check.
“Never mind,” I murmured. If I was going to be a damsel in distress, my hero needed to actually want to save me. “I’m fine now,” I bit out. “Put me down. I can walk to the house.”
“You’re not going to the house,” Flynn responded simply.
When I realized he wasn’t kidding, I began to squirm. No way in hell was I letting the man carry me around outside for the whole ranch to see. All the cowboys already didn’t know what to make of me. I was Brooks’s weird little city slicker friend—the one who had something off about him.
Flynn came to a stop before the door leading outside. “Fine. If you stop acting like a brat, I’ll let you walk to the car.”
“The car?” I said stupidly. Did he really just call me a brat? What the fuck?
Flynn put me down and began carefully putting strips of wet gauze along my arm. I didn’t have a chance to rip him a new one for calling me a brat because the sensation of the cool, wet fabric felt good and hurt like hell at the same time. I had to lean back against the door and accept that I was just one big, exposed raw nerve. It was all I could do to keep from leaning over and throwing up all over the floor and Flynn’s very worn-out looking boots.
“Hang on, sweetheart, almost done,” Flynn said. His voice was calm but shaky at the same time. “Just keep breathing.”
Did I have any other choice? I could barely breathe, let alone move or call out to someone. Hell, I couldn’t even be mad enough that Flynn once again had me at his mercy.
It seemed to take hours, but it was probably only a couple minutes for Flynn to dress the wound with damp gauze, cover the whole thing with a light layer of bandaging, and furnish a sling out of what seemed to be a piece of torn flannel that looked a lot like the shirt he was wearing. By the time he was done, I could barely stand, so I didn’t even try to protest the damsel in distress move again.
It was only when Flynn settled me into some kind of seat that I became aware of my surroundings. I’d just assumed he’d take me to the house, but instead, I was sitting in the passenger seat of Brooks’s Range Rover. Before I could even utter a syllable, the seat belt was on, and the door was closed.
Flynn was kidnapping me.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, leaving me with an overwhelming need to sleep but unable to even attempt nodding off because my body hurt so bad.
“I told you I would grab the pot and lift it onto that counter,” Flynn growled. “But God forbid that anyone helps you.”
Flynn’s anger should have been directed at me, but for some reason, it seemed like he was having a conversation with himself… about me. Was that a hint of worry in his husky, smooth voice of his?