Page 80 of Just My Fake Husband

I headed down, concern dully scratching at my brain. Kissing her last night reassembled parts of my brain that had been deadfor a long time. I had to make sure she’s okay. I can’t mess up the good feelings between us.

Except now, River goes from smiling to panic-stricken in seconds, her eyes going wide. Her hands are waving in the air and she covers her head with them, like she’s ducking and running for cover.

It’s not until she smacks her own arm, then her knee, that I understand. She’s being bitten or stung by something. A lot of somethings.

I’m on the ridge directly across from her and she breaks out in a run. She’s in pain. I believe it’s a swarm of wasps. There are nests all over around here.

Without a thought, I’m down on the road. I look both ways at the press of cattle in front of me, and step into the madness. They’re slow enough that I can dodge between them, right?

Do cows attack people? I’m not going to wait around to find out, so I weave and bob in between them. I vaguely hear one of the cattle drovers shout a “Hey! Get back here!” from high above his perch on his horse. But it’s too late to turn back. I have to keep going and hope for the best.

The cows seem . . . terrified of me. They’re bellowing at me with vacuous eyes, dancing around me with the finesse of a hippo in a tutu. I stop and start, speed up and slow down until I’m through.

When I reach River, her eyes are streaming with tears, her hair is slipping out of its ponytail, and red welts cover her arms.

“River!”

She collapses into my arms. I wrap one arm around her waist and try to help her back over to the stump.

“No.” She shakes her head and wheels back around. “Nest.”

“Of course. Sorry.” The nest was in the stump.

The drover who is stationed at the road with a big, orange flag gives us a look of loathing. Yeah, that was probably a stupidthing to do, and I might have riled up at least a couple of the cows walking through there like that.

But my wife was in danger.

We reach a large rock far from the stump and I help her sit. There’s an angry, white welt over her collarbone.

I move her hair off her face, and we’re both breathing heavily. “I’m going to call for help. Just breathe. I know it hurts.”

I’mhurting. My own skin stings because hers does.

“Are you allergic?”

She shakes her head, her face wet with tears. “No,” she manages. I call Sebastian and ask him to drive down the road and bring ice packs and Benadryl.

“But hurry. When you see a cow migration, you’ll know you’re in the right place.”

I don’t wait for him to respond. And I don’t know how he’s going to manage to get across to help us. The thought of him walking through a herd of cows? Laughable. Except, if he had to, he would.

I make a mud paste with the dirt beneath our feet and water from the bottle I grabbed before leaving the cottage.

Settling in behind her on the rock, my legs on the outside of hers, I pull her close to me. I spread the mud in my hand along the largest welts I can see. First the one on her collarbone, then several on her arms. She sucks in a breath at the cold paste. Her breathing has slowed a little. “There, that’s good. Focus on the breathing.” I kiss her below her ear, and she turns her head to bury it into my neck further. “It’s going to be okay.”

She closes her eyes and sinks back against me. We wait. Then, a slight giggle.

She’s laughing?

“Cowboy, take me away!”

Now she’s singing? And terribly off-key, to boot.

My lips find her warm temple and I feather a kiss. Then I focus on the woman I love in my arms and will Sebastian to get here soon.

He arrives within minutes and waits in his car as the last of the cows pass. He turns onto the shoulder of the road to pick us up, rolls down his window, and puts the car in park.

I help her down the ridge and into the car. “Hospital or your place?” Sebastian shoots out.

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