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Shit. I let out an effective moan. I felt as if I’d been put in a blender—my brain and my body were all jumbled, and I was in no shape to carry off an elaborate masquerade with Ian watching me.
Fortunately, he didn’t wait for an answer. “There’s a clinic in Santa Maria that can take a look at you.” I could feel him move, and suddenly he was looming over me, blocking out the light. “Let me see your eyes.”
“Leave me alone,” I began, but of course, Ian paid no attention, checking one eye and then wiping enough blood away to check the other.
“You look okay—your pupils are the same size,” he said.
“And when did you become a doctor?” I grumbled.
“I have my uses.” He pressed the shirt against my head again. “Are you feeling sleepy? Nauseous?”
“No,” I said grumpily. “I’m fine. I just got a knock on the head, and that’ll be fine if I get some ice for it. I’m fine.”
“You’re fine,” he echoed, his voice mocking. “At least you aren’t crying.”
I’d been very much on the edge of tears but that brought me up short. Not that I should care one way or another about Ian’s contempt for me—nothing would change that.
“I hear the truck. Just lay still and try not to bleed anymore, okay?” Was there a tender note in his gruff voice? Of course not—there couldn’t be. Not from Ian the Wretch.
Even I could hear the rumble of the truck, and I wondered if it was the same one he’d used when he picked me up at the airport. Was I going to be lying in the back among the manure as they carted me off? Ian had already scrambled out of the front seat, and while I could hear the authoritative sound of his voice I couldn’t translate his rapid Spanish. My brain felt too scrambled. I reached for my own door, determined to be self-sufficient, but it wouldn’t open, and I realized it was jammed up against a sapling.
And then I heard him. Marcus’s rich voice, sounding appalled. “Jesus, Ian! Jesus! What the hell happened?”
“Alfa malfunctioned,” he said shortly.
I turned, and out of my one clear eye I could see that Marcus’s perfect golden tan had faded and he was white with shock.
“But Bella should have been driving. Since when does she allow anyone else to drive her beloved Alfa?”
Shit, I’d forgotten that. Bella’d been a new driver when I left Mariposa—I’d assumed she’d grown out of that possessiveness. Then again, Bella had always been the possessive type, whether something or someone was really hers or not.
Two men had helped me out of the car, and at least I was standing on my own, not wavering, Ian’s shirt pressed to my head. “I didn’t feel like driving,” I said.
Marcus finally remembered I was there, and his bright smile should have dazzled me. It didn’t. “Bella, my angel!” he cried. “I was so frightened for you and Ian! What in the world happened?”
“I told you—car trouble,” Ian said impatiently. “We need to get her down to the clinic...”
“No need,” Marcus said, taking one of my arms and leaning over me in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture. It made me claustrophobic. “I had them send Dr. Madhur up to the big house—he can check her there and that way she doesn’t have to go racketing all over the place. You’d rather just go home, wouldn’t you, Bella?”
I made the mistake of nodding my head, the pain increasing at the gesture, and Marcus put his beefy arm around me, leading me to a passenger van that looked marginally cleaner than the farm truck. It wasn’t until I was tucked into the passenger’s seat that I realized we’d left Ian behind.
“Shouldn’t Ian be checked as well?”
Marcus gave me his magnificent smile. “You know Ian—unless a limb’s been severed, he doesn’t take it seriously. He’ll be fine. I still don’t understand what happened to the car, though. It’s been serviced and checked on a regular basis—there’s no reason it should break down.”
For some reason, I didn’t feel like elaborating. My head was throbbing in time with my heartbeat, and I just wanted to curl up and sleep. I roused myself. “It’s not good to let cars just sit around. Things can freeze up, malfunction.”
“Is that what happened?”
“Ask Ian.” I leaned back, a little light-headed as Mariposa came into view. It was early evening, the sun gilding the white stucco walls and blanketing the surrounding olive groves, and I was very tired.
Dr. Madhur was young, efficient, and concerned as he poked and prodded me. Marcus had ushered me up to my room, holding my hand in his big, beefy one while the doctor stitched me up, all the while murmuring comforting words that I didn’t want to hear.
“Is Ian all right?” I asked once he was finished with his handiwork and I was bandaged. My clothes were stiff with dried blood, and I felt sticky and just the slightest bit dizzy.
“Nothing bothers Ian,” Marcus said heartily, and I wished he’d lower his voice.
“You’re going to need to watch her,” Dr. Madhur said as he packed up his instruments of torture. “She might have a slight concussion—she really needs to be in hospital for observation.”
