afford the cost of an ambulance or a hospital.
Forcing her eyes open, she looked right into Sullivan’s vivid blue eyes.
She blinked once, twice.
“Hey,” he greeted her in a voice both gentle and calm. “Welcome back. You were out for a couple of minutes. How do you feel?”
Because she saw real concern in the depths of those incredible eyes, she tried for a smile. “Peachy.”
“Do you hurt anywhere?”
Hurt? Other than her pride? She took a minute to take stock. Her head throbbed, the nausea still churned her stomach and an ache beat on her left side below her waist. Too many sodas. So she’d cut back, switch to water and go back to work. “I’m fine. I missed lunch is all. I just got a little light-headed.”
“Lunch, huh?” He quirked a dark brow. “It’s ten o’clock. Does that mean you missed dinner, too?”
“Maybe.” She frowned, disliking being caught in a weak moment. “I’m fine now.”
To prove it, she tried to sit up. Immediately her head and stomach protested and the burn in her side flared again. Biting the inside of her lip, she tried to hide the hurt, continuing to move through the discomfort even as worry niggled at the back of her mind.
“Whoa, take it slow and easy.” He instantly offered support, his hands warm and strong on her back and upper arm.
Weak and hurting, she leaned heavily on him as she climbed to her feet. The effort cost her in pain and strength. In pride. Gratefully she settled into the chair her manager pulled forward. Stan had hovered behind Sullivan the whole time he tended to her.
She realized Stan had been the one to suggest calling 911. Pulling her shoulders back, she sat up straighter to show everyone she was fine. She couldn’t afford to be sick.
She focused on Stan. “I’m sorry for the trouble. I’m okay now. There’s no need for the hospital.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, black dots began to dance in front of her eyes. The same dots she’d seen before she fainted. Light-headed, she leaned forward in the chair letting her hair fall around her face to hide her condition from the men.
The black receded a bit, enough for her to feel the clamminess of her skin, the sweat breaking out on her brow.
No, not again. She fought off the dizziness, taking deep breaths. She needed to get back to work. She couldn’t faint again.
A gentle yet insistent hand on her hair pushed her head down between her knees. Immediately she felt the blood flow back into her head. But the ache in her side intensified, and she clutched herself.
“Okay, that’s it,” Sullivan said. “I’m taking her to the emergency room.”
“No,” Jesse protested. She tried to sit up, but his hand in her hair kept her from raising her head. Her gaze fixed on the dirty tile floor, she argued against any need for medical attention. “It’s just a headache.” She tried to convince him as she had herself. “Some aspirin and a burger, I’ll be fine.”
She pushed against the weight of his hand and this time he let her up. Biting her lip at the discomfort in her side, she glared into his blue eyes.
“You have no right to manhandle me. I’m not going to the hospital, and you can’t make me.”
Her irritation bounced off him like bubbles off stone.
“Okay.” He crossed his arms over his impressive chest. “Show me you can walk to the bar unassisted, and I’ll leave you alone.”
Jesse gauged the fifteen feet between her and the bar. Not so far. So she was a little light-headed. She’d still make it. She had no choice. She needed this job, which meant she had to make it to that bar.
Standing, more of a chore than usual, she caught her balance. Beginning by placing one foot in front of the other, she took one step, then the next. Sullivan kept pace with her. She’d blast him with a killer look, but she couldn’t spare the energy.
As Martina McBride proclaimed this one was for the girls, Jesse ran the gauntlet of eyes. The Green Garter catered to the Navy crowd. From ensigns to master chiefs, she had the attention of them all. This must have been what it felt like to walk the plank.
Except these men and women weren’t her enemies. She felt their concern, their sympathy. Somehow that made it worse.
Swaying, she caught herself on a table, holding her side with the other hand. A young man jumped up to help her, grabbing her elbow to steady her. Frantically she shook her head, trying to pull away. She had to do it on her own.
Too late.
Sullivan moved in. He wrapped an arm around her waist and led her toward the door. “Lean on me.”
His strength was too seductive to refuse. Knowing she’d fought as long and as hard as she dared, she accepted his support. Forcing down a burger wouldn’t cure her problem.
“Wait,” she pleaded when he led her outside to his black SUV, “I need my purse and coat.”
Stan appeared a moment later with both items. “Is she going to be all right?”
“I’ll let you know what the doctor says.” Sullivan lifted her into the front seat.
Stan handed through her purse and coat. “You need me to call anybody for you?”
Thinking of Tad’s goodbye note, she shook her head. He’d made it clear where he stood and it wasn’t beside her.
She stole a glance at Sullivan’s set profile. So strong, so sure, so confident he probably hadn’t made a mistake in his entire life. How could he understand her life had been one mistake after another? That every day she struggled to hold everything together.
Yes, going to the hospital made sense. If she had the money to pay for medical treatment, which she didn’t. Time for her to confess that truth to her companion.
She cleared her throat. “Listen, Chief…? Um, sir?” Exactly what did she call the man?
He glanced at her from the corners of his eyes. Looking back at the road, he held his right hand out toward her. “I’m Brock Sullivan. You can call me Brock.”
CHAPTER TWO
BROCK. Right, okay, proper introductions were good.
“I’m Jesse.” She placed her shaking hand in his. Immediate warmth and a gentle, steady grip enveloped her fingers.
“Nice to meet you, Jesse.” He released her to return his hand to the wheel. “But if you’re thinking of trying to talk me out of taking you to the hospital, save your breath.”
“You could take me home. I’ll be fine, I promise.”
He shook his head. “Jesse, you passed out. People don’t pass out for no reason. And you’ve been holding on to your side with a death grip. Something’s wrong.
