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Eli exhaled. He grabbed her hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles.
“Not possible,” he whispered. “Couldn’t even if you tried.”
Of course, the second part was a lie. She’d ruin him. She didn’t need to try. It was a simple, inevitable fact. He knew that now.
Her hand still rested in his when he rolled to a stop in between the clinic and guesthouse. His gaze volleyed from one building to the other, mimicking the back-and-forth of the competing thoughts in his head.
In the end, he never made a conscious decision. He didn’t even realize where he was going until he got there, Beth’s hands unclasping from around his neck as he laid her gently on his bed.
Sweat beaded her brow, so he helped her out of her sweater and then tugged her boots off her feet.
“It hurts,” she whimpered, but her eyes were still closed.
“Your ankle?” he asked.
“Everything,” she sighed. Her head slumped to the side.
Eli lowered her skirt so she was only in her tank top, underwear, and socks.
His chest tightened.
She was so beautiful, so mighty, so—
“Shit,” he hissed, then gently removed the sock from her left foot, and she whimpered again but never opened her eyes.
The swelling was minor enough not to be an emergency but significant enough to prove she’d overdone it, all on his watch.
The rational part of Eli’s brain told him that Beth was her own person who knew her limits and made her own decisions. But he was there when they rode to the clearing. He was there when she proclaimed that every new song on Boone’s playlist was her favorite, which meant she and Casey and Delaney had to dance.
But the smile on her face when she rode Midnight like a pro or let the music fill her from head to foot? It obliterated all logic.
He clenched his jaw as he propped her foot on a pillow, his fingers brushing over the raised scar running up from her heel. Thirty seconds later, he was already back from the kitchen with two instant cold packs from his first aid kit, a tumbler of water, and a banana.
He set the water and banana on the bedside table for when she woke up, then sat on the edge of the bed next to her.
“My turn,” he whispered, cradling her head and lifting it just enough to place the first pack behind her neck.
He was back on the first day they met again, lying dizzy in the dark exam room as she placed cold compresses on his forehead and neck. He was so sure Midnight’s resemblance to Fury would be his undoing, yet today he’d ridden beside the very same mare, not once even thinking about the latter.
“What have you done, Mighty Dancer?” he teased. He lifted the pillow with her ankle to his lap, then wrapped the second pack around her soft, swollen skin.
She sighed, a sweet smile spreading across her lips. Her eyes fluttered open.
“This was the best birthday ever,” she whispered groggily.
Eli quirked a brow. “You sure about that?”
Beth’s eyes fell shut again. She pressed a palm to her forehead and shook her head.
“It might be the worst too,” she croaked. “I’m never drinking again.”
He laughed. “Everyone says that.”
“Yeah, but I mean it,” she insisted. “I never, ever, ever want to feel like this again.”
Everyone said that too, but he decided not to argue.
“Or let you see me like this again,” she added.
