Page 8 of Trailer Trash

Jed moved to my side, searching my face. “You need stitches.”

I tried to slide off the desk, but he grabbed my arm and kept me in place.

“You need stitches. It’s not up for debate. You have two options. I can take you to the ER, or I can have someone here within a half hour.”

“You have someone who makes house calls?”

His mouth twitched and he looked like he was about to smile. Almost. “Skeeter.”

He said his name as though that explained everything, but I supposed in most instances it did.

“I don’t have time to go to the ER, and I sure as shooting wouldn’t know how to explain it. But I told Rose I’d be back in a half hour.”

“She doesn’t know you’re here?”

“No, and regardless of what you probably believe, it’s not about her. I’m here for me.”

He didn’t say anything, just grabbed my hand and lifted it to the towel he had pressed against my head. Then he pulled out his phone and sent a text, pocketed it again, and returned to the half bath. He came back with another wet towel.

He cleaned my neck with gentle swipes, and something about the way he took care of me brought tears to my eyes. Soon they were streaming down my face.

“I’m sorry,” Jed said so quietly I barely heard him.

“I’m not crying because my head hurts.”

He set the bloody towel on the desk and then lifted my chin so I was looking in his eyes. “I know.”

“Why are you being so nice to me after I pushed you into all that mud and pig shit?”

He grinned. “Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.”

“Liar.”

His grin spread and I marveled at it. Jed Carlisle was this big, tough guy—Skeeter’s right-hand man and Rose’s badass bodyguard. But several times now, I’d seen a different side to him, softer and more accessible.

I heard pounding on the office door, quickly followed by Skeeter’s voice. “What the hell’s goin’ on? Why am I locked out of my own goddamned office?”

Jed’s eyes turned hard as he dropped his hand and stalked toward the door. After he unfastened the deadbolt, he flung the door open and blocked the opening with his wall of a body.

“What the hell’s goin’ on, Jed?” Skeeter demanded again. “Merv’s out there nursin’ a broken nose and a busted hand. Was it Wagner’s men?”

“Where’s Merv?” Jed grunted.

“Have you lost your damn mind? I already told you he’s in the bar. I just called Mindy.”

“She was already on her way. And she’s coming in here first.” His voice took on a harsh edge. “And if thefuckercomes anywhere near her again . . .”

“Her?” Skeeter asked in alarm.

Jed stepped out of the way, letting Skeeter get a good look at me sitting on his desk.

Several emotions swept over his face. Disappointment, followed by relief, and then admiration. I had no doubt the first two were related to the fact that I wasn’t the woman he really wanted to see draped on his desk. But I’d take the third any day of the week.

“This isyourdoin’?” he asked as he walked inside and shut the door behind him.

“He had it comin’,” I said in a defiant tone.

“He has a helluva lot more comin’ than that,” Jed said through gritted teeth. “Which I’ll see to shortly.”

---