Page 7 of Sexting the Cowboy
He’s steadying the drunk man with one arm, cane missing but limp still clear, his bad leg dragging just a little. The drunk’s head lolls forward, a string of half-coherent curses spilling out.
“Afternoon,” Reno says, his voice that same low drawl that used to slide under my skin. “Got a live one for you.”
The drunk man blinks blearily. “He hit me.”
Reno’s mouth tilts up. “After you swung first. Don’t rewrite history, bud.”
I freeze for one heartbeat, then force my hands to move. “What happened?”
“Festival idiot got mouthy near the beer tent,” Reno says with a shrug. “Tried to pick a fight. I figured I’d keep him from getting arrested. He’s drunk, not mean.”
I step around the table, gloves snapping into place. “Sit him down. Slow, please.”
Reno lowers the man onto a cot. The movement’s careful, deliberate. He still has the reflexes of an athlete, even with the damage. His bad leg trembles once before he catches his balance.
I can feel him watching me as I lean over the drunk. The man reeks of liquor and sweat, his shirt soaked through, his eye already swelling purple. I grab a cold pack, crack it between my palms, and press it against his skin.
He winces, groaning. “That hurts.”
“Hold it there.”
The man stares at me like I’m a mirage. “You’re pretty.”
Reno chuckles, quiet but sharp. “Don’t flirt with the help, pal. She bites.”
I glare at him. “Still charming, I see.”
“Still a biter, I see.”
“Professional,” I correct.
He grins. It’s infuriating how familiar that grin feels.
I glance over at Jaden, hoping he’ll come save me, but he’s elbow deep in elastic wrap and can’t look up. Great. I turn back to the drunk. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Couple beers,” he slurs.
“Try again.”
“Five?”
Reno snorts. “Try closer to twelve.”
I roll my eyes. “You going to stand there offering commentary or let me work?”
“Just making sure he doesn’t puke on your shoes,” he says, leaning on the edge of the table. “Unless you’d rather I didn’t.”
I take the drunk’s pulse, quick but steady, and check his pupils. “No signs of a concussion. Just drunk and bruised.”
The man blinks up at me again. “You’re a doctor?”
“Yes.”
He seems impressed. “You’re too young.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Wasn’t one.” He tries to laugh and chokes instead. Reno steadies him again.
