Page 81 of More Than a Good Friend

I grip his T-shirt. “You’re carrying me.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that, but this is the fastest way to get you looked at.”

Weeds of hope are springing up everywhere, and I don’t bother to whack at them. “Dag, what about Gabby?”

“My cousin’s fine.” He tightens his hold on me. “She wasn’t near you when it happened.”

“Your cousin?” I lean into him. “I’m sorry about your nachos.”

He chuckles, but it’s strained. “If I want those, I’ll have to eat them off you.”

Battling the pain, I open my eyes and see cheese sauce and chips smeared on the front of my shirt. Blood is mixed in which only confirms how horrid I must look.

“That sounded like an innuendo, but I didn’t mean for it to sound that way. Okay?” He’s holding my gaze and somehow not bumping into people as he walks through the crowds.

I nod, and even that tiny motion hurts. “I’m bleeding. How bad is it?”

“Un besito.” He smiles, then looks where he’s going.

The phrase reminds me of his issue with blood. “Are you going to get sick?”

He glances down at me. “Desperately trying not to.”

And I literally bite my tongue to prevent the words “I love you” from slipping out.

A minute later, he’s setting me on a table, and paramedics are asking me questions about what happened.

“I won’t be far away.” Dag gives my hand a squeeze, then slips out of the tent, and I’m left wondering if what just happened was all just pain-induced delirium.

I can now open my eyes without my head hurting. Holding tissues to my nose, I sit, wanting it to stop bleeding.

Mason dodges the paramedics and eases up beside me. “You okay, Miss Goldie? There’s a whole group outside the tent worrying about you, but they couldn’t fit in here with the medic guys.”

“I’m okay. Nothing’s broken. I’m just trying to get the bleeding to stop.”

He bobs his head. “Good. I’ll be right back.” He navigates his way out of the tent and is back a minute later. “Told everyone.”

“Is Dag okay?”

“I think so. He’s trying not to puke.”

“Don’t tell anyone about that, okay?” I pull the tissues away, but a paramedic shakes his head.

Mason laughs. “It’s not a secret. Everyone saw him run for the bathroom, and when he came back, he told us he was trying not to puke. Maybe he’s sick.”

“Maybe.” I’m not going to spill Dag’s secret.

Another paramedic walks up and checks my nose. “Looks like it stopped. I need you to sign a couple of forms, but then you’re free to go.”

Mason waves. “I’ll tell them you’re coming.”

The EMT tells me what symptoms to watch out for, and after I scribble my signature on two dotted lines, I slide off the table. I’m eager to find Dag because whatever was happening is something I need more of in my life.

“Thanks.” I walk out of the tent, squinting in the bright sunlight.

Dag steps up and pulls me into his arms. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

I melt against him and not just because it’s July in Texas and the temps are in the triple digits. This man is sweeter and more protective than I ever dreamed, and that’s a real trick since I spent years dreaming about him.

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