Kathy Love - Fangs But No Fangs

"Okay, well, since it's so late, I'm going to have the nurse give you some of the ibuprofen to take with you tonight. I'll also include some bandages and antibacterial ointment, and a list of things to watch out for with a concussion."

Jolee offered her thanks to the doctor, and once the woman left, she proceeded to dress. She winced as she wrestled her T-shirt back on. Carrying trays and reaching for bottles on the upper shelves at the bar was going to be a challenge, but at least the injuries weren't any worse. She'd be able to work. That was a blessing.

She finished straightening her clothes and eased off the table, the white paper under her bottom crinkling loudly. As she stepped out into the room, she saw the nurse who'd brought her back to the doctor was at her station. She was on the phone, but she waved to Jolee to acknowledge that she saw her. She gestured for Jolee to go back to the waiting room.

Jolee stepped through the swinging door, and her neighbor stood up.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," she said, "nothing that time and rest won't cure." She couldn't help adding, "Just like I told you."

He didn't acknowledge her peevish tone, but before he could question her further, the nurse arrived.

"Here are your supplies." She held out a small white paper bag. "And here is the list of symptoms to watch for if your concussion worsens."

The nurse then looked to her neighbor. "Will you be the one watching her tonight?"

"Yes," he said.

"No," Jolee stated at the same time.

The nurse looked back and forth between the two. Finally her confused gaze landed on Jolee. "You do have someone to stay with you, at least for tonight, don't you?"

"Yes," Jolee said quickly, adamantly. "Yes, of course, I do."

The nurse gave her a searching look. Again Jolee was sure her horrible lying skills had given her away.

"Okay," the nurse finally said. "Good. And feel better."

"I will. Thank you." Jolee clutched the items the nurse had given her like a victory medal. She just wanted out of here.

Then the clerk appeared. "I have the bill waiting for you."

Jolee really didn't want to hear the total. She felt guilty that this man had to pay— even though he was the one who nearly ran her down, and despite the fact he could obviously afford it. Or at least could have afforded it at one time. Who knew what the state of his finances was now? He did live in a rusty old trailer across from the most broke woman in the known universe. Odds were, he wasn't any too solvent. But he didn't hesitate; he followed the woman back to her desk. Jolee, wimp that she was, remained in the waiting area.

In a few minutes, he returned, looking unfazed by whatever the bill had been. But his expressions were hard to read, so she couldn't be sure how he felt about the cost.

"You'd be an ace at poker," she said, falling into step beside him to retrace their path back to his car.

"Why do you say that?"

"Those eyes of yours," she said. "Beautiful and unreadable."

Christian didn't pause or glance at her as she walked beside him, but he was shocked to the core. This woman, who he'd obviously done a terrific job of making dislike and mistrust him, had just given him a compliment. Well, a compliment of sorts.

"Actually, I haven't gambled at cards for years." Not since his wastrel days frequenting gambling hells all about London. "Are you sure you aren't feeling lightheaded?"

She obviously must be feeling a little confused to say anything complimentary about him.

"No," she said, stifling back a yawn. "But I am exhausted."

"Well, I'll get you home as quickly as possible." He led her to his car, opening the door for her.

"Don't go too quickly. I don't want you to run down anyone else tonight."

A smile tugged at his lips, but he didn't comment.

The ride back to the trailer park was much like the ride to the hospital. Silent. Jolee had her eyes closed, although this time he was fairly certain she just dozed.

Instead of pulling in her driveway, he turned into his own. When the engine rumbled to a stop, Jolee opened her eyes, peering around.

"Thanks," she murmured, obviously not thinking it odd that he didn't drop her off at her door. She reached for the door handle. Christian also reached for his, jumping out of the car to come around and help her.

Jolee was already standing, using the door to steady herself.

"Thanks, I can handle it from here."

She started across the street, but Christian followed, catching the hand of her good arm.

She stopped and glanced down at where he touched her, then lifted an arched brow. "I said I can handle it from here."

He shook his head. "The nurse said you need to have someone with you tonight."

"Well, you are right across the road, so if I need you—»

He shook his head. "You're going to spend the night with me."

She immediately shook her head, then narrowed her eyes as if the action had caused her pain. "No. I promise I'll come right over to you if I have any of the symptoms."

"No. You will stay at my place." Lord, she was a stubborn little mortal.

Her eyes narrowed again, but this time out of annoyance rather than pain. "You are impossible. No."

He smiled slightly. Well, at least she was thinking the same thing about his disposition.

"The other option is that I stay at your trailer, but as I recall, you have no sofa. I suppose I could share your bed."

Her eyes widened now, flashing. "No! This is ridiculous. I'm perfectly fine to go home and go to bed. I don't need you to stay with me."

"Right then. Off to your bed." He started to tug her toward her trailer, but she dug in her heels.

"You would seriously do this, wouldn't you?"

He lifted an eyebrow. "Yes. It's doctor's orders."

She stared at him for a moment, then sighed. "I will sleep on your couch."

"My bed."

"Couch."

"Bed."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she muttered. "Fine. I'll sleep in your bed."

He started to tug her back toward his trailer.

"But" — she dug her heels in again; he stopped and looked at her— "you will sleep on the couch."

"Absolutely."

Jolee allowed herself to be led into his trailer. She was so tired, she just didn't have any more fight left in her.

She collapsed, drained, on his couch, while he set down her tote bag.

"You should go straight to bed."

She nodded, too tired to get up. Instead she flopped over on the cushions, the movement hurting her shoulder, but she didn't care. It felt so good to lie down.

"Do you want to borrow something to sleep in?" he asked.

She nodded, barely even aware of what he'd asked. He just needed to go and let her rest.

He left the room and she let her eyes drift shut. But he returned just moments later.

"Here you go."

She opened her eyes and he was holding out a white button-front shirt. Crisp white cotton, obviously tailored. Of course.

She reached out a hand to take it, the cotton softer than any she'd ever felt.

"Thanks." She glanced up at him. He nodded. And for the first time, she realized what he looked like. Blood smeared the shoulder and collar of his shirt. The material was wrinkled, and his hemline untucked. His hair, which was cut to look chicly disheveled, was way beyond that, sticking out wildly.

"You're a mess," she stated.

He glanced down at himself, then smiled, just a faint tug at the corner of his mouth.

A rather adorable smile, she thought as she yawned, and let her eyes fall shut again. Too bad he probably knows it.

"My name doesn't mean pretty in French either," he suddenly said, and for a moment, she thought she might have dreamed the comment.

She opened her eyes and he was there. Still messy. Still adorable.

"My name is Christian. Christian Young."