Page 3 of I'm Not Yours
“Breathe in, Allie,” Jace said, holding an oxygen mask over my face.
Thatvoice. That low, gravelly voice I had heard in my head every day for years. The pain came rolling on in, crashing against my insides. It was not pain from my leg.
It was pain from a long time ago; it should have been long gone. Tears filled my eyes, so for long seconds I left them closed, blocking out that face I knew so well, until I could gather my strength enough to open them.
When I did, I saw Jace and nurses, including Kevin, hovering around me.
“And hello again to our horse-loving friend who tried to escape the hospital,” Kevin said, clucking his tongue in admonishment. “I told you not to gallop off!”
Jace’s eyes were on mine and I could not look away.
I bet he thought the hay in my hair was attractive. Probably liked the circles under my eyes, too. I might well smell like a horse or a dog or both—a hordog. Why could I not have seen Jace again while wearing something silky and sweet, not bleeding and dirt covered?
“How are you feeling, Allie?”
I nodded, then took off the oxygen mask. His hand closed over mine over the mask, his fingers warm.
“I’m just dandy.”
I saw his eyes crinkle in the corners.
Sarcasm is my specialty. I used it to get through my childhood.
“Dandy, huh?” he said. “That’s why you passed out?”
“Yes. It was a swoon. Not a pass-out.”
The nurses laughed. I saw Jace’s mouth, that mouth I’d kissed a thousand times, turn upward the slightest bit. The smile, however, did not match the seriousness I saw in his expression. He knew why I had tried to leave.
“She swooned gracefully,” Kevin said. “There was definitely some elegance there.”
Jace seemed older, more experienced, the lines on his face more finely drawn. But—ah, shoot—sexier than ever. “Thank you, Kevin.”
“You’d call that a swoon?” Jace asked. “Didn’t look like much fun. You went white and then crumpled. I caught you before you crashed to the floor. Now you get to have your leg sewn up. More fun. A horse kicked you?”
I needed to mask what I was feeling, darn quick. Humor might work. I’d be humiliated if he knew what I was thinking, how crushed I felt looking at him. “She’s in menopause.”
“I’m sorry?” Jace said.
“I think she’s in menopause.”
“The horse is in menopause?”
I nodded. The nurses laughed.
“Spunky Joy appears to be having some emotional mood swings. She doesn’t like male horses.” I wondered if he was married. He didn’t have a wedding ring on, but that didn’t mean anything. Emergency room doctors who perform surgeries wouldn’t wear rings.
“No male horses?” Jace asked.
“No. She’s off men. She wants them to stay away.” I wondered if he had kids.
Something flickered in his eyes and I knew he was relating that statement to us. I wanted to tie my tongue into a knot.
“Her horse boyfriend, Leroy, entered the barn, and Spunky Joy backed right into me, then kicked. I figure she is either madly in love with Leroy or they’ve had a bit of a spat.” I bet Jaceloved his wife and kids dearly. He had always wanted a family; he had been clear on that. He would be an outstanding dad. I wanted to pull that silly hospital blanket over my head and sob my brains out.
Jace’s face finally started to relax, and he chuckled. It had been tight, focused, the second he saw me. “I’ll fix up your menopause wound and you’ll be good to go. You’re going to have to take off your pants.” I sucked in my breath.
Something flashed in his eyes and this sizzle—yep, it was a sizzle—shook between us.
