Page 19 of Take Me Home for Christmas

“Hayden, stop,” she protested. “You’re being ridiculous. You need to get back in the race. I can walk over to that bench and wait for my sister.”

“You can walk, huh?”

He set her on her feet, only for Elle to wince when the pain shot up her leg.

“Liar.”

He jerked her back into his arms and was striding to the first-aid tent before she could object again. Not that she could find the words. Hayden held her so close that it was impossible not to inhale his masculine scent. And it was doing idiotic things to her brain—like making her snuggle in closer.

“I need to commandeer one of these golf carts,” he called to the EMTs without breaking his stride.

“Set her down here, Deputy.” One of the paramedics indicated a gurney. “We’ll check her out.”

“No.” Hayden gently deposited her in the front seat of a golf cart. “She needs an X-ray.”

“I’ll run her over to the ER,” another EMT offered.

“Yes. Let him take me. You can still finish the race,” Elle insisted. “This isn’t anything serious. Just an old dance injury.”

He jumped into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The golf cart lurched into motion. “Stop worrying about the stupid race.”

Elle bristled at his clipped tone. “It isn’t a stupid race. Not to you, anyway. This is the one day you look forward to every year.” The lump forming in her throat grew painful. “This race—or the idea of running it—kept you going when—when you were hurt. When we thought you’d never walk again. It gave you a goal to work toward. And it brought you back here to Chances Inlet.”

To me.

Hayden had spent the bulk of his rehabilitation at a military hospital in Texas. Elle was in college at Elon at the time, but they’d kept in touch through email, texts, and phone calls. When Hayden deigned to talk to her, that was. He had a difficult time accepting his body was forever changed.

Running was his first love, and she’d tapped into that by dangling running the Turkey Trot together as an incentive for him to put his heart and soul into rehabbing his body and his mind. It eventually worked. For the past nine Thanksgivings, Hayden was the king of the Turkey Trot. Until today. And it was all her fault.

Hayden steered the golf cart right up to the ER doors. He jumped out and nabbed a wheelchair from the lobby, pushing it over to the cart before he tenderly transferred her into the chair. Leaning over her, he braced his hands on the arms. The blue eyes boring into hers were unfocused and wilder than she’d ever seen them.

“You listen to me, Elinor. Nothing is more important to me than the people I care most about. Not even a race. Nothing,” he repeated. “You hear me?”

She nodded, his use of her given name startling her into silence.

“Well, if it isn’t Handsome Hayden,” a tall, dark-skinned woman wearing a white coat said when they entered the ER. “My wife’s work-husband. And who do we have here?”

“Hey, Gabby. This is Elle McAlister. She needs to have her ankle X-rayed.”

Gabby quirked an eyebrow at Hayden. “NottheElle McAlister?”

“Wait, Simone got married?” Elle asked, ignoring the death glare Hayden shot at the PA.

The other woman grinned. “It was one of those whirlwind romances this past summer.” She pointed to a room down the hall. “Take her to room two.”

“I missed a lot staying away,” Elle mused.

“Mm-hmm,” Hayden replied.

Gabby followed them into the room. “Is the race finished already?”

“No,” Elle and Hayden said at the same time.

“Seriously?” Gabby leveled a stunned look in Hayden’s direction.

“Hello?” He snapped his fingers at his friend. “She needs an X-ray.”

Mumbling something about someone needing their head examined, Gabby sat on a stool and began untying Elle’s sneaker before carefully pulling it off. Elle tried not to wince as the other woman probed the tender muscle with her fingers.

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