Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)(49)

Then he heard a sickening thud.

Adam whirled around, terror knotting in his throat. “Holly?” He couldn’t see her head in the stall. He raced forward, tossing down the bedding and rushing to the stall. Sure enough, she was on the ground, covered in hay, her face contorted as she clutched her leg. “What happened?”

“Kicked me,” she managed tightly as the horse danced far too close to her, nostrils flaring. “I might not be much help after all.” Her voice sounded as if it was on the verge of breaking.

Blood was roaring in his ears. He knew he should chastise her—horses kicked when someone handled them wrong—but he couldn’t find it in his heart to yell at her. She was in pain and all he wanted to do was make it go away. He took the halter of the stomping, agitated horse and led it out of the stall, careful to put himself between her and the horse. When it was safely out of the way, he moved back to her side, dropping to his knees. “Where does it hurt?”

“My pride and my leg,” she said, trying to smile.

She had her hands tightly clasped over one calf, and blood pounded in his ears. She could have a broken bone, a shattered leg. Horse kicks were dangerous. He should have known better than to ask her to help. Holly was a waitress, not a rancher. Just because she thought she could handle herself didn’t mean she could.

Adam ran a hand down his face. “Do you think you can stand? Should I call an ambulance?”

“I’m okay,” she promised him, trying to smile. “Just feeling stupid.”

He helped her get to her feet, and to his relief, she could stand. She grimaced with pain when she put weight on her leg, so he looped an arm around her waist and put another behind her knees, bridal-carrying her out of the barn.

Holly whimpered a small protest. “Really, I’m fine.”

Adam ignored that. Hannibal raced around them in dizzying circles, no doubt thinking they were playing a game. He carried her to the house, pausing only at the door so he could let them in, and then carried her over the threshold and set her gently on one of the couches in the living room. The house smelled like warm vanilla and fried chicken and his stomach growled. He ignored it, too.

Nothing mattered until he was sure Holly was all right.

He gently laid her legs out on the sofa, running a hand over her jeans as she shrugged off her coat. “I’m going to take your shoes off.”

“It’s really all right, Adam—”

She went silent at the look he shot her.

Adam carefully sat at the end of the sofa, propping one of her sneakers up on his leg. He undid the laces and eased it off, caressing her ankle and running his fingers up the leg of her jeans as far as he could, looking for broken skin. He’d seen some nasty horse kicks in his day. Hell, all he could think about was the time his older brother had gotten kicked so hard it split the skin and he’d had to have ten stitches. Inwardly, he wondered where the closest hospital was, in case he had to take Holly there. Casper? Sheridan?

Holly hissed with pain as his fingers grazed the swell of her calf. That did it. He set her legs down—carefully, so carefully—onto the sofa and then began to unbutton her jeans. “We’re getting these off of you. I need to see what your leg looks like.”

She didn’t protest. All she did was whimper and lifted her hips so he could slide the denim down her body. A moment later, he had the jeans off her and ran his hand over one soft, far-too-fragile calf. A bruise was darkening on the side. He kept stroking her leg and her knee, making sure that she didn’t flinch with pain as he touched her. Other than the bruise on the meat of her calf, everything seemed to be intact. No swelling, no breaks.

He felt like he could breathe again. Jesus. “You’re lucky. I think it was just a warning kick.”

“So lucky,” she said sarcastically, putting a hand over her eyes. “I feel stupid. I’m sorry. I was trying to help.”

“Your heart was in the right place, even if the rest of you clearly wasn’t.” He rubbed her good leg absently. “I have to go finish in the barn. Stay here?”

She nodded, eyes closing.

He practically raced out of the house, aware of the loose horse and everything he still had to get done. He had to take care of the barn, and yet . . . he needed to tend to Holly. To his relief, when he returned to the barn, the horse was standing nearby, nosing at an empty feed pouch. He put him in a fresh stall, and then quickly got to work.

An hour later, he returned to the house. It had taken forever to finish up, and he worried Holly would have disobeyed and put pressure on her leg while he was gone. When he entered the house, wiping his freshly-washed hands clean, he was relieved to see that she was in the same spot he’d left her, eyes closed and curled up on the couch. “How’s it feel? Can I get you anything?”

“I should be asking you that,” Holly confessed. She sat up, wincing at her leg. “You want me to make you something for dinner?”

He frowned. “You don’t need to take care of me.”

“That’s literally my job.” She stood up. “You—”

As was their custom, he pulled her into his lap like he did every night. He did it without thinking, mostly because he wanted her off that leg and to take care of herself. Of course, once she settled in against him, his arms were full of gorgeous, sexy Holly in nothing but her panties and T-shirt.