Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Dana’s heart warmed.
“I want to finish telling you about the rest of your chart before Ford breaks in.” Cayson looked up at the computer monitor mounted on the wall next to Dana’s bed then back down at his metal clipboard, flipping a couple pages back and forth before he started to speak again. “Besides quite a few bumps and bruises, you came out of this pretty good and pretty damn lucky. No major concerns except for your wrist and your head. Your concussion is severe, but now that you woke up on your own and you seem to be coherent – you asked for your man first and you recognize me. I still want to ask you a couple more questions.”
Uggh. I just want to go home with Ford. Dana was perfectly, psychologically fine. Feeling annoyed, but unable to be rude to his boss’s partner, Dana just squinted his eyes at the cute man. He was just able to see Dr. Chauncey’s attractive face. He was classically handsome. He didn’t stop traffic, but if you were lucky enough to get to know him in any of his capacities, he became increasingly gorgeous. A brilliant doctor and friend to all of them, Dr. Chauncey was used to patching them up, whether in the hospital or the office… the man was solid, and Dana respected him. He was glad to be in his care because he knew he was being treated by the best and would only get the best.
“What day of the week is it, Dana?”
“Thursday.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a bounty hunter.”
“What’s my man’s name?” Cayson winked.
Dana almost rolled his eyes, but that would’ve probably hurt, instead he sighed softly and closed them, answering the question. “Quick.”
“What year will next year be?” Cayson asked, wording the questions slowly in that soft, soothing doctor tone, mindful of Dana’s headache.
“2018.”
“And who will the president be?”
“Oh god, don’t make me say it.”
“Alright. Your brain’s intact.” Cayson scribbled down a few things on his clipboard, then set it to the side to type on the computer imbedded in the wall. “I’m going to get the supplies to do your cast in here when your pain meds kick in more.”
“Cast?” Dana forced his eyes open again and flinched. His brain must’ve been pissed at receiving another command because a sharp pain began to pound furiously behind his right eye. Jesus, take me now.
“You broke your left wrist. You put that arm out to break your fall. Which I believe is what really stopped you from having more serious, internal injuries,” Cayson told him, watching him carefully.
Dana had been so still to avoid additional hurt he hadn’t realized why his arm felt so heavy and restricted. There was a huge splint on it, keeping it stabilized. “I… I.” It still hurt too much to talk. He could feel the fuzzy feeling of the narcotic spreading through him, but he needed it to hurry up and get to his head.
“Don’t try to talk. Just relax for a while. I got a cocktail going for you. I’m gonna try to get your headache to something you can tolerate, but you’re going to feel it for a while, I’m afraid. You got six stitches on your brow. That cut bled something wicked, too. You’ll have a scar, but I’m sure you don’t mind. It only adds to your appeal, Dana.” Cayson smiled sweetly, trying to make Dana feel better. He squeezed his shoulder in support. “Best news. Quick told me that’s not your primary shooting hand. Although, I know you’re badass enough to shoot with both.”
“You stroking my ego to make me feel better, Doc?” Dana’s mouth twitched.
“Nobody better be stroking anything in here,” Quick said, coming through the door with Ford right behind him, practically pushing him to the side.
Cayson shook his head, still looking at Dana’s chart, an adoring smile and soft blush creeping up his ivory cheeks. He didn’t bother to turn around, even when Quick came up behind him and put his arms around the doc’s narrow waist, Quick’s long, dark hair falling over his shoulder onto Cayson’s clipboard. “Roman, go on. Get. I’m working, here.” Cayson used his elbow to push at Quick’s chest.
It was funny to see him shove and boss Quick around when the doc was so much shorter and a lot less muscular than the huge bounty hunter towering over his back.
“Later,” Quick rumbled, not caring who heard, before he finally let Cayson go.
Dana tracked the movements of the man stalking farther into his room and around the foot of his bed, his hot, coal eyes so forceful, Dana gasped and fought not to close his eyes in fear. He not only saw but he felt everything Ford was feeling. It was all there in those damn eyes. Anguish, panic, fear, yearning… boundless love. The kind of all-consuming love that could drive you insane. And that’s exactly how Ford looked right now. Still in head to boot black on black. Those leather pants creaking with each step, making a frightening song, like the soundtrack to a horror movie as death drew nearer.