Page 36 of Bad Girls Don't Marry Marines (Rock Canyon, Idaho 3)

“Don’t worry about my delicate sensibilities. I’ve heard worse,” she said.

For the first time, Justin noticed how young the doctor was—he couldn’t have been much older than himself—and he wondered what Trent was doing at a singles convention. A young doctor shouldn’t have any trouble meeting women.

The high-pitched wail of the ambulance siren sounded closer, and a few minutes later, paramedics pushed a gurney around the corner and took over as Trent gave them his assessment.

“Anyone riding along?”

Before Justin could open his mouth, Trent was saying yes to the paramedic. Justin could do nothing but watch as they gently transferred her to the gurney.

The group rolled

out of the alley, leaving Justin alone with the silver-haired woman. She looked through her glasses at him. “What’s your name?”

“Justin Silverton, ma’am.” He still felt antsy and wished Val being hurt didn’t scare him so bad. What if she had a brain bleed?

“Former military men aren’t usually so squeamish at the sight of blood,” she said, making him start.

“How did you—”

“The stance, the look in your eye, and I remember your file. I always remember a handsome face.”

“My file?” he asked.

“Yes, I have a file on every one of my attendees. Full background checks, Facebook pages, and other pertinent information. Helps me keep out the crazies and the married men looking for a freedom ticket, or whatever they call it.”

He let out a stressed laugh. “I think you mean a hall pass, ma’am.”

“I call it cheating, plain and simple, and there are enough ways for people to do that without my help,” she said, giving a little grunt. “You’ve never been married, have you?”

“No, ma’am.” Trying to think of a polite way to extract himself, he jumped when her hand slipped down and he felt a sharp pinch on his ass.

“Hmmm, can’t imagine why. Your picture didn’t do you justice.”

His mouth flopped opened and closed in disbelief. She had pinched his ass; this sweet, innocent-looking old lady had groped him. “Are you flirting with me, ma’am?”

“If I was forty years younger, it would be flirting, but when you get to be my age, we call it being funny,” she said, patting his hand. “A few things, though.”

“Ma’am?”

“My name is Dorothy Love; use it, and stop calling me ‘ma’am.’ I don’t like it; it makes me feel old.”

“All right, Mrs. Love, but I really need to—”

“From you, I’d prefer Dorothy,” she said with a wink, and he tried to tell her he needed to get going, but she started talking again. “Now, I’ve been head matchmaker here in True Love for fifty years, and you, my boy, have just become my pet project.” Her smile was wide as she added, “And lastly, if you have any interest in your friend, I’d go clean up that blood on your hands and high-tail it after them. The good doctor looked smitten.”

And with that helpful suggestion, she bustled her way out of the alley.

Justin stood there for a minute before picking up a handful of snow and trying to wash away Val’s blood. His hands were shaking like a son of a bitch, and he couldn’t believe how out of control he felt. Seeing Val pale and so still had gotten to him in a way driving across the desert in hostile territory never had.

Finally clean, he took off for the hotel. Without grabbing his phone, he climbed into his truck and headed for the hospital. There were bound to be signs for it, and Val would probably feel better waking up to a familiar face.

Besides, he wanted—no, needed—to be there for her.

THEY KEPT VAL awake during all the pinching, prodding, moving, and shaking, until finally they took her back to her hospital room to rest. Through it all, the very handsome Dr. Lockwood sat by her bedside, asking her questions.

“So, you have a bulldog? I have two bluetick hounds I use for hunting, Tracker and Trixie.”

Maybe it was the concussion, but Dr. Trent Lockwood’s southern drawl was like nails on a chalkboard right now. She appreciated his help and concern, but part of her wished he’d shut up and let her rest.

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