Page 51 of At the Rancher's Pleasure

Oh, no, they’d called in a neurologist; that meant it had to be bad. Sarabeth gripped Gina’s hand and squeezed. “Just tell me,please.”

“Because he didn’t regain consciousness immediately, I ordered an MRI scan to see whether he had swelling on the brain—”

Wait...what? “So, he’s regained consciousness? He’s awake?”

Dr. Nicolls smiled. “He’s been awake for a while, and he’s been demanding to see Sarabeth... I presume that’s you?”

She nodded, feeling her legs buckle. If Brett was being irascible then he had to be okay. “So, he’s fine?”

Dr. Nicolls nodded. “He’s got a hell of a headache but he’s all right. The MRI came back clear, so I’m not sure why he was out for so long but brains can be tricky things. He’s got a concussion—”

“But he’s fine?” Sarabeth demanded again, needing to hear it one more time.

“Fine, annoyed and wanting to leave. I’d like him to stay overnight for observation but he’s balking.”

“Sounds like Brett,” Jules commented, relief on his face. “Where’s he now?”

“He’s been transferred to a private room and he’s given me—” Dr. Nicolls looked at his watch “—fifteen minutes to find you. If I don’t, he’ll soon start wondering the hallways himself, dressed as he is.”

Jules grinned. “In a hospital gown with a bare ass?”

Dr. Nicolls smiled. “Yep.”

Jules laughed. “I’d like to see that.” He grinned at her, relief lightening his dark eyes.

“Well, you’re not going to!” Sarabeth tartly replied, finally able to take a deep breath because she’d lost the concrete block on her chest. She pushed her shoulders back and straightened her spine before meeting the doctor’s amused eyes. “Can you take me to him?”

He nodded. “Will you at least try to persuade him to spend the night? I’m not happy for him to go home, just yet.”

“I’ll make that happen, I promise,” Sarabeth said. Whatever was best for Brett was what was going to happen. And Brett himself could just deal.

Dr. Nicolls gestured for her to walk through the door. “Good enough. Follow me.”

Fifteen minutes were up and Brett swung his legs off the bed, determined to find Sarabeth. He closed his eyes as a wave of pain swept through him and multicolored lights danced behind his eyes. God, he hoped his feet worked better than his head...

Nobody had been able to tell him about Sarabeth, whether she was okay. Hell, all the nurses had been able to tell him was that he’d been in an accident, that he’d hit his head. Since the last thing he remembered was leaving his house to meet Sarabeth, he didn’t know how he came to have a massive bump on the back of his head. Had they been in a car together, had he wrecked it, was she okay?

His feet hit the floor, and he winced at the cold sensation beneath his feet. He also felt a cool breeze hit his bare butt and looked around for his clothes. Nothing, dammit. Oh, well, he’d be flashing his ass to anyone who cared to look.

Finding Sarabeth and determining that she was okay was all that mattered.

Brett pushed himself to his feet and immediately swayed. He plopped down again and shook his head to clear the fog and groaned. It felt like a hundred drunk elves were digging a ditch in his head. He needed more painkillers and he needed them badly...

But he needed to see Sarabeth first. He’d stay seated, just for a minute, and hopefully the dizziness would disappear.

“You nearly split your head in two, Brett. Why the hell are you trying to get out of bed?”

Brett slowly lifted his head and there she was, standing in the doorway. His eyes danced over her, quickly cataloging her injuries... A beautiful, blotchy face, eyes red from crying. No blood on her clothing, no tears to it either. As she walked into the room, he noticed that she seemed to be moving with ease.

She didn’t look injured. “You’re fine.”

“Unlike you, I didn’t fly off a horse and crack my head,” Sarabeth said, coming to stand beside him. He inhaled her subtle, fresh perfume and the panic in his throat receded. She was fine; that was all that mattered. He looked into her beautiful eyes and her fingers came up to touch his jaw.

“Is that what happened?” Brett asked. “And is Ty okay?”

“He’s fine. The last time I saw him he was munching grass on the bank, not particularly concerned that you were as white as a sheet and passed out on a dirt road.”

“Bastard,” he said, placing his hand on her hip. She was so warm and so very alive. Yeah, all was well with his world. “Did he rear up, buck me off?”

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