Page 39 of My Secret Santa Dallas

Gently, I lifted her to the saddle, grabbed the saddle horn, and swung myself into the seat behind her while she hung on. She was still shaking like a leaf after a hurricane. I wrapped my arms around her and drew her close to my chest by grasping the reins.

“You’re safe now,” I whispered into her ear as she tried to relax into me, still trembling and shivering. This was the second time I’d seen Blair vulnerable, and God knows I didn’t want to see it on her face again. I’d rather see her uppity, bitch boss face instead of the pure fear I’d seen moments before.

But I had her in his arms. We were safe— for the moment, at least. We had shared something just now, an intimacy of another kind I had never felt before.

It was more than fear and frenzy. It was something else. Something that made my heart thump, something that began to bloom under my ribs and settle in my bones. I didn’t think I was going to give this up for anyone.

Chapter Eleven

Blair

It was a whirlwind from the ground on the ranch to the interior of Dallas’ truck and a medical clinic's clean white interior. The clinic building was clean and neat, with wide windows and glistening white tiles.

A mother and her baby were waiting there, but the place was pretty much empty, and Dallas gently led me to one of the chairs. These chairs were not simple plastic stuff; they were black padded chairs, and to the left, there was a tea and coffee station. I’d imagine this place was well-maintained and more hospitable than any clinic.

“Can you get something?” Dallas asked worriedly. “Tea, coffee, water?”

“No,” I gave him a small smile.

Cradling my hand in my lap, I thought back to the last hour; the man had damned well saved my life. When he rescued me today, it was like something out of a movie; when he’d jumped and lassoed the bull like a real cowboy, I’d been holding my breath the whole time.

I’ve never seen anything so sexy or so dangerous in all my life. I’d thought for sure that bull was going to turn around, charge him, and trample him to death.

“Hello?” A lady came into the room. She was about medium height, five foot five, with a white lab coat, a slender build, short brown hair, and a warm smile. “I am Doctor Susan Harper. Normally, my nurse would be here to triage you, but she’s out today. How can I help you?”

“There was an accident—” Dallas began, but I dropped a hand on his thigh, quieting him.

“I fell and landed on my wrist wrong,” I told her.

“Ah, I see,” she nodded. “Come into my room. I’ll examine you further. Will your husband want to join us?”

A strangled sound came from Dallas, and I tempered a smile. “Yes, he will.”

“Blair—”

“Come on, sweetheart,” I said facetiously, getting to my feet, then looked at the doctor. “You have to excuse him. He hates the examination room. Turns into a big baby.”

She laughed. “I’ve heard that a time or two before. Please.”

Half an hour later, I was diagnosed with a stage-one sprained wrist. The ligaments were overstretched but had no tears. I had a wrap on and had sucked down some Tylenol 3, so the pain was manageable. The doctor said it could have been so much worse, but I had to rest it for a while and not overwork it.

Dallas helped me into the truck, rounded it to the driver’s side, and jumped in. He cocked his hat up. “If you weren’t injured, I’d make you pay for that husband comment.”

“Oh, come on,” I lolled my head back. “It was funny.”

“This town has three hundred people with a hotlinegossip line,” he grunted. “By dinnertime, half the town will be thinking something else.”

“We’ll figure it out.” I said, “Now, can we go to that diner? I am craving that fried okra.”

He got the truck humming, but someone knocked on his window, causing our eyes to flitter to it. A man stood there, his graying hair and dark blue eyes with crow’s feet at the corner. He was probably in his late fifties or early sixties, but the white square of his clerical collar peeking out from his dark outfit told me he was a priest.

I knew he recognized the man from the tick in Dallas’ jaw.

When he rolled down the window, Dallas said, “Reverend Clark.”

“Dallas Donovan,” the reverend said kindly. “I never believed it when they said you were back in town. But I am so glad I was wrong. How are you doing, son?”

“I’m doing all right,” Dallas replied. “It’s good to see you too. You weren’t so gray the last time I saw you.”

---