Page 40 of Guarded Secrets
Owen used a firm hand under Keeley’s chin to turn her to the light. His gaze traveled over her face. “You can’t seem to stay out of trouble, can you?” he murmured.
And then he replaced her hand with his on the tissue and tugged her to his chest, pulling his jacket around them both and wrapping his other arm around her. With his cheek resting on top of her head, he spoke quietly, “Tell me what happened.”
She breathed deep, the smell of him, his warmth, invading her senses. The shivering eased. If she could stay like this for the rest of her life, she’d be happy.
Tears stung her eyes. Her words were muffled because her cheek was against the wall of his chest, but he seemed to hear her as she walked him through the attack. “And then she stole my purse,” she said on a hiccup. “God, I sound like a baby.”
“She?”
“Yeah, I’m certain it was a woman. Why is it that all of a sudden people are so interested in my purse?”
“That’s the question.” Owen’s hand slipped to the back of her neck where it felt warm and heavy. “We’ll deal with your head, then we’ll deal with the rest.”
“I’m tired and sore, and I just want to go to bed, but before I can do that, I need to call my credit card companies to tell them my cards were stolen. I’m sorry I got you damp.” She lifted her head and swiped at the moisture on his shirt. “I’ll put a Band-Aid on the cut and it’ll be fine. I’ll go to the doctor in the morning if I need to.”
“Let me see.” He lifted the makeshift pressure bandage, peering at the wound in the glow of the security light. He swore under his breath. Expression grim, he said, “You need stitches, princess. I’m driving you to the clinic.”
“I need to call the credit companies first, before she can use my cards. I don’t want to go to the clinic.”
He took her hand and pressed it to hold the tissue. “Keep the pressure on.” Then he swung her up in his arms and moved toward the Bronco. She gave a yelp and curled an arm around his neck. “I can walk.”
“Yeah? I can also carry you.”
“Dammit, Owen. Would you listen to me?”
“Talk all you want, but you’re going to the clinic and getting that cut stitched, and having a concussion check.”
“You’re bossy.”
“When I need to be.”
She groaned when he settled her in the passenger seat.
The interior lights shown on his face that was back to glowering. “Do you have pain anywhere besides that hard head of yours?”
“Maybe my shoulder’s sore.” She leaned back in the seat, exhaustion dragging at her. “I don’t need stitches. The bleeding’s already stopped.”
He leaned in, face inches from hers. “Do you trust me, Keeley?”
“Of course I do.” She said it with a certainty that surprised her.
“Then trust me on this. You need stitches. I had medic training in Afghanistan. I could stitch it for you, but it wouldn’t be pretty and would hurt like hell. So I’m taking you to the fucking clinic.” He pressed his lips to hers in a brief, hard kiss. “The answer to your question is yes.”
The door slammed shut and her brain went static.
The answer to her question was yes?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Keeley had a moment thinking she actually did have a concussion or had hit her head hard enough to become delusional. No way had Owen Hardesty kissed her. It was brief, it was a bit rough, but her tingling lips told her it wasn’t her imagination.
She had big questions that should take precedence over everything else. Like who’d mugged her and why. But in that moment, whether her crush liked her was all she could focus on. She could hardly wait for him to buckle his seatbelt and start the Bronco before asking, “Yes, as in you friend like me, or yes, as in you like me like me?”
“That one. Text Abby, tell her I’m taking you to the clinic. Then call dispatch and tell them to send the responding officer there to get your statement.”
He drove toward the clinic. She would’ve believed he was calm, sitting back in his seat, driving with easy competence, except for the tension around his eyes.
Underneath the cool exterior she suspected was a mountain of rage. She wasn’t sure where that rage was directed, but she knew it wasn’t toward her.
