Tanya Michaels - Mistletoe Hero

He swallowed, squinting at the doctor. “Can I have some aspirin?”

“Not for a concussion! Acetaminophen would be better. I’ll get you some of that.” The man turned to Arianne. “Can you or someone else keep an eye on him for the next twenty-four hours? He should make a follow-up appointment for Monday, but in the meantime, if he gets worse, you should bring him back in.” He gave her some symptoms to watch for, like vomiting and growing confusion.

Earlier that afternoon, the idea of Arianne spending the night with him would have sounded like paradise, but not in his current condition. Gabe felt woozy and vulnerable and not a little foolish, getting conked on the head with his own damn ladder.

“Feeling better,” he lied to her as she navigated the labyrinth of the hospital’s parking garage to get them back out on the main road. “You don’t have to stay once you drop me off.”

“I don’t mind,” she said firmly.

I do.

She slanted him a sidelong look. “All right, how about I call your father?”

“What?” He hadn’t meant to yell. Damn, that hurt.

“You were just in the hospital. Even if you don’t ask him to come over, shouldn’t we at least call your dad to notify him?”

“ At the hospital, not in,” Gabe differentiated. “And, no.”

“I thought maybe you’d be more comfortable with a parent taking care of you instead of me.”

Throughout Gabe’s life, his father had made him feel guilty, had made him feel unloved and had made him itch to leave home. But made him comfortable? No. That was not in Jeremy’s repertoire.

“Is there…” She hesitated. “Is there anyone else you’d like me to call, then? To watch over you?”

Either the acetaminophen was kicking in or his body was simply shutting down as a defense mechanism against the throbbing pain, because the earlier excruciating agony was giving way to a duller, achy sleepiness. Was there anyone else he’d rather be with than Arianne, anyone else he trusted more in this situation?

“Stay.” His eyes closed. “Stay with me.”

EVEN ASLEEP, GABE DIDN’T look at peace. Arianne parked the truck beneath the carport outside the old Mitchell barn. It was no secret Gabe had bought the place and had been slowly fixing it up; she’d wondered several times over the past few weeks what the interior of his home looked like. Now she’d get an insider’s view. She felt a dash of shame over her curiosity-the man was hurt! This was no time to be thinking of herself. But then she forgave herself. After all, who could blame a girl for wanting to learn more about the man she was…

Falling for? Lusting after? Thinking about on an hourly basis?

“Gabe.” She nudged his shoulder. Not being able to wake a person up could be a sign that the concussion was more severe than first realized. But she had no frame of reference. How difficult was Gabe to wake up normally? What if he was like Tanner, who slept like the dead?

At least Gabe mumbled something, so she knew he’d heard her.

She gave it another shot. “C’mon, big guy. We’re home, and I need your help. I can shoot pool with the boys, drive a stick shift and occasionally cuss like a sailor, but lifting you is beyond even my capabilities.”

Though he groused incoherently the entire time, he managed to slide out of the truck. She put her arm around his waist and looped his arm around her neck. Was she a terrible person for noticing the sculpted definition of his muscles at a time like this?

She found the house key on the ring in her hand and unlocked the door. There weren’t an abundance of windows, and she reached automatically for a light switch, but Gabe emitted a low whimpering sound that made her rethink that. Was there enough illumination that she could help him down the hall to his room without walking into a wall or tripping over something?

“Can you make it to the bed?” she asked.

He glanced at her and, despite the pain etched around his eyes, smiled. “Dare you to ask me that another time.”

Desire pierced her. He’d sustained a concussion saving a little boy and still had the stamina to flirt with her? At this rate, he’d ruin her for other men.

She stiffened at the thought. Even though it had been partially flippant, there was a kernel of actual risk there. Every man she’d ever dated had been from Mistletoe and she couldn’t imagine getting swept away with any of them the way she had with Gabe on that bench.

Either because he was feeling better now that he was in dimmer surroundings or because sheer masculine pride forbade him from continuing to lean on her, Gabe led the way to his room. Her passing impression was that the former barn was sectioned into thirds, with a high-ceilinged living room in the middle and a kitchen and bedroom on the ends.

She found his bed in the same state as hers-sloppily made. It made Arianne feel like too much of a slob to leave her sheets and blankets twisted any which way when she left home for the day, but she didn’t bother with a lot of tucking and creasing or pillow arranging. She sidestepped him and pulled down the corner of a forest-green comforter. There was a large picture window in here, but the shade was drawn behind tan-and-green curtains.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes at half-mast.

Arianne knew that if she offered her help, he’d turn it down, so instead of asking, she simply knelt and pulled off the hiking boots he wore. “You lie down,” she instructed in her best no-nonsense tone. “Is there anything I can get you?” It was too soon for any more medicine. She tried to think what would possibly make her feel better if she’d had a seventy-pound kid fall into her, followed by a ladder hurtling down on her head.

She shook her head, trying to dislodge the morbid what-ifs. “You really were quite the hero today.” Ben could easily have ended his day with broken bones, or worse if he’d fallen at the wrong angle. Then there was the possibility that he could have been injured in a fall and again when the ladder crashed atop him.

Gabe closed his eyes, his voice a tired slur. “Had to. Can’t take a fourth death on my head.”

Fourth? Arianne recoiled in surprise. Who, besides the Templetons, did he obviously blame himself for? Now didn’t seem like an appropriate time to ask.

“Arianne? Could you bring an ice pack?”

“Of course.” Arianne was a doer by nature. She was relieved to have a specific and helpful task.

In the kitchen, she flipped on the light and saw a suite of silver appliances, including a flat-range stove and a trash compactor. Crossing to the three-door refrigerator, she decided that the freezer compartment was probably the one with the ice dispenser. She opened the door and stared.

“Good Lord, it looks like he robbed the Breckfield Creamery.”

She’d never seen so much ice cream in one person’s kitchen. Individual servings and pints of exotic flavors inside the door, half gallons of country-style vanilla and mint-chocolate chip sharing a shelf, and boxes of individually wrapped ice-cream sandwiches. He must exert a lot of physical effort on the job to maintain a body that looked like his. Even though she knew there was no valid logic to her impromptu reasoning, she wished the more suspicious-minded citizens of Mistletoe could see the contents of his freezer. The man owned a tiny pink carton of Bubble Gum Bliss, for crying out loud-how evil could he be?

Realizing that she was taking her time snooping while the hero of the day was still lying in agony, she jerked her attention away from all the frozen dairy goodness and found a blue gel pack. The sudden ring of a phone splintering the silence nearly made her jump. After only two rings-Arianne had programmed hers to five in case she had trouble finding the cordless-Gabe’s voice rumbled from the answering machine on the tiled kitchen counter.