Page 64 of The SEAL and the Sheriff

The medic glanced at Hudson.

“Briefly,” Hudson repeated.

“I was fine.”

“You were arguing with the radio.”

“I was using the radio.”

“You asked dispatch why the buttons were moving.”

Sarah blinked once. “That sounds unlikely.”

“It happened.”

Her mouth compressed as if she was trying to decide whether to arrest him from a stretcher.

Good.

Irritated meant awake and still Sarah.

Hudson kept his hand loose on his knee and made himself stop watching the monitor. Heart rate elevated but steady. Blood pressure acceptable. Oxygen good. He’d tracked worse numbers in worse places, but none of that was relevant because this was Sarah, strapped to a gurney with a cervical collar she’d already tried to argue her way out of.

Training said to trust the data but said nothing about what to do when the patient was her.

The medic adjusted the IV line. Sarah’s fingers twitched. A small involuntary flex and a wince she hid before it made it to her face.

His hand started toward hers before he caught himself. He curled it back against his knee.

The ambulance slowed, then turned under the bright wash of the hospital lights. Doors opened. Cold rushed in, and the world became movement—boots, voices, wheels clattering over rubber matting, the sharp slide from darkness into the emergency department’s hard glare.

Hudson stepped out and kept pace beside the stretcher until one medic eased a step sideways, reminding him he wasn’t part of the team.

“Rollover MVC,” the medic reported as they pushed through the ER doors. “Restrained driver. Vehicle intentionally struck. Alert and oriented with intermittent confusion⁠—”

“I’m not confused,” Sarah said as the staff transferred her onto the hospital bed.

“Intermittent,” Hudson said.

Sarah frowned at him. “You're still here?”

The doctor apologized for the jacket before cutting away one sleeve. The fabric ripped. Purple bruising was already blooming along the edge of her vest’s shoulder strap. Sarah made a noise that suggested she’d rather face another ambush than another minute of being fussed over.

“Sheriff,” the nurse said. “You need to stay still.”

“I am perfectly still.”

“You are absolutely not.”

Hudson moved to the foot of the bed, giving the staff room to work. Heat caught in his lungs and the dry hospital air abraded every breath. He set it to one side. Not now. Sarah came first.

The nurse asked if they should call anyone.

Sarah opened her eyes. “No.”

The lie hung there before she exhaled through her nose. “My mom,” she said. “My brother Wyatt. But not like—” Her eyes drifted toward Hudson, accusing and tired. “Dramatic.”

“Of course not.” The nurse gave her hand a squeeze.