Page 8 of Scorched

He crossed his arms, muscles bulging, and stared at her, defiant.

Lady parts fully awake now, she looked up at the ceiling, both to get away from the sexier than sin visage in front of her and to express her exasperation. “Just put on the damn shirt, Deck.” She looked back down and threw the aforementioned garment at him. It hit him in the face, then dropped into his hands.

“You’re not going to go away if I don’t, are you?”

“Nope.”

He sighed and slipped the shirt over his head. When he tried to put his left arm through the sleeve, he grunted in pain. Maggie hurried forward.

“Let me help.”

“I can put on a damn t-shirt.” He tried again, sweat popping out on his brow.

“Maybe we should try a button-up,” she suggested as she watched him struggle.

“Yeah,” he groaned. “Let’s do that.”

She helped him take off the shirt, then walked into his closet and found a zip up hoodie. It would be warmer than a button-up, and he wouldn’t have to put on a coat too.

Maggie walked up beside him, holding the sweatshirt open. He slid his left arm inside, and she drew it over his shoulder so he could put his other arm in. He took the two ends and zipped them together.

“Happy?”

“Yes.” She pointed at the bed. “Sit.”

“Why?”

“So you can put some socks and shoes on. It’s a bit nippy for flip-flops.”

His lips twitched, but he held his glare as he sat on the bed. She retrieved a pair of socks for him, eyes deliberately avoiding the stacks of underwear in the drawer, then went in search of his shoes, finding them lined up on the floor of his closet.

Once he was dressed, she ushered him back into the hallway and out the front door, only allowing him to stop to grab his wallet and phone.

“You realize we’re going to be stuck at the hospital for hours, right?” he said as he buckled himself into the seat.

“Yep.” She backed out of the driveway.

“I’m sure you have other things you’d rather be doing than babysitting me. Just drop me off.”

She snorted. “Like you’ll stay if I leave? And all I was going to do tonight was prep for court tomorrow. But I can do that anywhere. Everything I need is in my briefcase.” She inclined her head toward the leather satchel on the backseat.

He made a low hum and slumped in his seat. Maggie suppressed a smile. She had won. For now, at least.

They made the short trip to the hospital in silence. She parked the car, and they walked inside. The woman at the registration desk made quick work of taking his information. The ER wasn’t busy, so a patient care assistant waved them through to the back as soon as Declan was registered.

“You can stay out here,” Declan told Maggie.

The look Maggie leveled on him could have withered even the hardiest plant. “Yeah, no. I know you. You’ll get in there and tell the doctor you’re ‘fine’ when you’re not.” She air-quoted. There was no way she was going to sit in the lobby while he did that. She knew how much trouble broken ribs could cause. Her brother, Brady, fell off a horse years ago and broke several. He’d needed surgery to fix them. Declan’s chest didn’t look misshapen, so she was hopeful the doctor could just give him some stronger pain killers and send him home. But there was always the chance he needed more serious treatment.

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

Smiling sweetly, she walked past him to follow the PCA through to the back. In a triage room, the young woman took Declan’s vitals, then put them in an exam room to wait on the nurse.

Maggie sat in the lone chair, leaving the bed for Declan. He eyed it with disdain, but sat on the edge, wincing.

“Would you rather sit here?” she asked, eyeing his hunched posture.

He shook his head. “It hurts no matter how I sit.”

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