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I press around it, seeing if it’s still going to bleed. It does,so I grab a dish towel from nearby, and wrap it around her foot. Holding her small foot tight in my hand, I use my other hand to free my belt from my jeans. She gasps as I tug it free, and the little breathy noise she makes does terrible things to my already aching halfie.
I should not be getting erect as I take care of Dahlia. Jesus, what is wrong with me?
“You need stitches, Dolly,” I tell her, my eyes coming to hers, the crimson in my periphery making me nervous. Creating a tourniquet using my belt, I wrap her foot and lower her leg down. Moving to the sink, I wet another dish towel beneath the tap, returning to her. “Let’s clean you up and I’ll take you in, okay?”
I smooth the towel down her temple, watching as the red turns pink, then wipes clear. “What happened?” If she cut her foot, why is there so much blood everywhere else? I move the towel down her arms, taking a break to rinse it beneath the tap again.
Never once has she rambled or cried. She answered the door and calmly sat atop the counter watching me move around the space and tend to her.
“I saw a spider and… overreacted,” she says, finally smiling. I press my hand to my chest, kneading the unease that’s been there since I heard her scream.
“Jesus, Dol, I thought… I don’t know.” That’s the truth. I don’t know what I thought. “I was concerned,” I admit instead.
Then, answering my question, she lifts her hand. “I started screaming more when I pulled the glass from my foot and it went into my hand.”
I bring the towel to her hand and press it there, meeting her eyes. “What’s the glass from?”
She wastes no time answering, and though maybe most women may be embarrassed by her big reaction, Dolly doesn’t seem the least bit fazed. “A vase. When I saw the spider, I got so angry at it for invading my space. It was crawling all over my favorite painting,” she says, her eyes focused on the cut slicing her palm as I blot the towel against it repeatedly. “I got irrationally overheated. I don’t like creatures coming into my space, trying to claim my things, you know?”
Our gazes idle as I blot her palm, the house quiet around us, my mind a mess. Confused by her explanation, concern worms through me. I clear my throat. “It’s… just a spider, Dolly.”
“Ihatespiders.”
Chuckling, I help her off the counter, into my arms. Her hands link around my neck, and my chest squeezes at the way she relies on me, the safety she finds in me.
“Well, as much as you hate spiders, I’m not sure it’s worth stitches and all this,” I say, stopping in the doorway, peering down at her. “You need anything from in here? You’re going to the hospital—no ifs, ands or buts.”
“My bag,” she says, pointing directly behind me to the small purse dangling from the hook. I step close enough for her to grab it with her good hand, then kick the front door closed behind me. Thank God for living in the country and leaving our vehicles unlocked. Opening the passenger side, I slide her in, gripping the top of the truck as I take in her tiny frame crumpled in the seat.
I got some of the blood off, but a lot still marks her skin.Glancing into the back, I make sure I have a spare shirt. I drive my truck all around the ranch and because angry steer and loose fence posts are my biggest enemies, I always carry a spare shirt with me. Once we’re at the hospital, I’ll get her to change so that she doesn’t have to sit in bloody clothes.
On the drive to the hospital, I ask Dolly how her foot is feeling, and how the cut on her hand is. Keeping the makeshift tourniquet on, she tells me she’s feeling great, and if it wasn’t for the spider, she’d be having a pretty good day.
I like that she’s so positive. I like that for Bear.
“Funny seeing you at the diner this morning,” she hedges as I turn down the long road to the small hospital. I glance across the cab at her, looking nearly Bear’s size in the big truck seat. Holding her against my chest felt like nothing.
“Yeah?” I ask. “Why’s that? I go there too much.”
“Well, when I watched Bear the other night, you didn’t seem like you were too keen on that woman.” She shrugs, twirling a piece of blonde, bloody hair around her finger like it’s nothing. That hair wrapping her finger has me thinking about that hair wrapping my knuckles as I guide that sweet mouth down my shaft.
“Getting back in the saddle,” I practically spit out, panicking that she can read my foul thoughts. Deuce is right. I need to grease the gears, date, whatever the fuck he called it. These fantasies of the babysitter are out of control. She’s coated in blood with two gashes that need medical attention and this isn’t the first time I’ve gotten kinda hard around her in the last ten minutes.
I’msick.
“She’s not my soulmate, Dolly, but I gotta start dating.” I drum the steering wheel as I wait for the light to change to green. “Ev and Deuce are right.”
There’s silence in the cab for a second, but as soon as I crank the wheel into the hospital parking lot, Dolly asks me a question that takes me off guard.
“Are you lonely?”
I put the truck into park and level my gaze at her. “You’re young and beautiful,” I say, the admission making me flush a little. “Do you mean to tell me you really want to know if your old neighbor is lonely?”
“Yes,” she answers quickly, stealing the oxygen from my lungs. “I don’t want you to be lonely, Hudson.” She licks her lips in a way that makes it clear—Dolly Ellington may be younger, she may watch my son, she may be tiny and sweet—but she is in facta woman.
Not a girl, the way I always think of her. But a bona fide woman, with needs and wants. And right now, as I collect her from my truck, I’m starting to wonder if all the blood loss is getting to her. Because her heated, hungry gaze licks at my profile as I walk her inside, lowering her to a chair in the waiting area.
“All right, you wait here and worry about my loneliness and I’ll go get you checked in,” I say, attempting to bring a bit of lightness to what felt like a heavily charged moment out there.
