Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I pull in a breath, and then I look around and find Dr. Fisher frowning down at me, the trainer with the whip is pale as a ghost, his lips are moving, but I can’t make out what he’s saying over the rushing in my ears, and fucking Peter is standing by the barn doors, smiling as wide as he can.
I fucking hate that guy.
He reminds me too much of my father.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“Can I go?” It’s a whisper because that’s really all I’m capable of right now. The past is too close, I hurt, and I can’t be here.
“I’ll drive you home—”
“No.” I shake my head, interrupting my boss. “I just need to go.”
“Darby, I think you should sit for a second.”
I stumble to my feet and manage to walk into the barn on my own. I don’t even bother to scoop up my medical bag as I walk through to the other side where my car is, and without waiting to see if Dr. Fisher approves or not, I get in the driver’s seat, start the engine, and pull out of the driveway, trying to ignore the way my shoulder is singing with pain.
This ranch is bad luck for me.
I can’t stop crying, so I pull over on the side of the highway and try to get myself together, but his voice is in my head, so loud and big and mean, and damn it. I thought I’d battled my way through this and that I was so much better.
I’ve been so much better.
When I can finally get the tears to slow down, I put the car in gear and drive back toward Tucker’s ranch.
Toward Tucker.
I don’t know what to do. I know that I should have these wounds looked at because I don’t want them to get infected. I’ve been there, done that, and it’s miserable. But the thought of going to the doctor, the thought of literally anyone other than Tucker touching me makes my stomach turn.
So, I go home. It may not be my forever home, but it’s home for now, and I need it more than anything.
When I manage to climb out of the car, Tucker comes running from inside the house, as if he can’t get to me fast enough.
“Dr. Fisher called me,” he says, but when he reaches out to touch me, I flinch away, and his jaw tightens. “Where are you hurt, Duchess?”
“I’m fine.” I’m so fucking embarrassed, and I can’t meet his gaze. “I’ll just go to the cabin—”
“No fucking way. Look at me, baby.” He gently tilts my chin up so he can see my eyes, and my lower lip quivers because he’s looking at me with so much love, and I don’t deserve that. I’m too broken. “Ah, sweetheart, talk to me. Where are you hurt, besides your gorgeous face?”
“M-my shoulder and the back of my arm.” I turn so he can see, and he hisses in a breath. “Tore through my shirt.”
“You’re bleeding.” His voice is so rough and tinged with anger. “Come on, we’re going to get you fixed up. Actually, I should take you—”
“No. I don’t want to be touched, Tucker.” I shake my head and back away from him until my ass hits the car door. “Only you. No one else gets to touch me.”
“Hey, okay. Okay, baby.” His voice is tender, and he leans in to kiss my forehead. “I’ve got you, my love. I’ve got you. Let’s go inside, okay?”
I hesitantly nod, and Tucker takes my hand and then leads me up the stairs and into the house.
“We’ll need a first aid kit,” I say softly, and without another word, Tucker leads me to his main bathroom, where he has me sit on the closed toilet, and he squats in front of me so he can see my face.
“Before we dig into any of this, I want you to take a breath with me, okay? You’re breathing too shallow, and I need you to calm it down for me.”
My nod is shaky, and he pulls in a deep breath through his nose. I mirror him, taking a breath, and when I let it out, a sob comes with it, and Tucker leans forward so I can collapse into his chest.
He’s careful not to touch my back, but he holds me and rubs his hand over my hair, and I finally feel safe.
“I’m so sorry, baby. Fuck, I’m sorry. You’re so fucking amazing, you didn’t deserve this. Take another breath for me, okay?”
I follow his orders, and when I finally start to calm down, he wets a washcloth with cold water and wipes it over my face. His lips are soft, and when he lays them over mine so sweetly, it makes fresh tears form.
“I hate it when you cry,” he whispers raggedly. “Tell me what happened. Dr. Fisher didn’t see it all.”