covered her hand with his own and leaned into her touch. A moment of weakness—a tell for those watching. And there were plenty watching this little exchange. ‘I’m going. I was just enjoying the party, that’s all.’
He took one breath and then another. Stepped forward.
And the world went black.
‘STUBBORN, ISN’T HE?’ Rowan said to the hovering bride, in an attempt to put her at ease, while a local doctor recently persuaded to make house calls ordered the groom and one of her agents to lay Jared West on his back on the bed.
The bedroom décor was a mix of rainbow meeting Venetian chic, and the unconscious Jared looked decidedly out of place in it—never mind his hastily cobbled together wedding attire. Once a wolf, always a wolf … no matter what clothes he wore.
‘You have no idea,’ Lena said glumly. ‘I should have let you escort him to hospital the minute he got here.’
Jared’s eyelids lifted mere millimetres—just long enough for him to glare at them momentarily before they lowered again.
‘What’s his name?’ asked the doctor.
‘Jared West,’ said Lena. ‘Pain in the arse extraordinaire.’
The doctor grabbed a small flashlight and bent towards the patient. ‘Jared? You with me?’
Jared grunted what might have been a yes.
‘I’m going to check your pupils for responsiveness to light. This won’t hurt.’
‘Not concussed. Concussion was three days ago. I’m over it,’ Jared mumbled, but he proceeded to co-operate.
‘Glad to hear it. Does that diagnosis come with a medical degree as well?’
‘Comes with experience.’
‘Is he always this argumentative?’ Rowan asked Lena from the end of the bed.
‘Yeah, that’s him. He prefers to call it persuasion.’
‘Got any bumps on the head?’ the doctor asked his newest patient.
‘Couple.’
Jared let the doctor examine them.
‘What about your neck? Any stiffness there? Movement okay?’
Jared had his eyes closed when he answered. ‘My neck’s okay. Shoulder’s wrecked.’
So much for the busted eardrums theory, thought Rowan with a sliver of relief. If Jared could answer the doc’s quiet questions without watching the older man’s lips, he wasn’t deaf.
‘You’re not deaf,’ she said, and was rewarded by the faintest curve of Jared’s lips. ‘There goes a week’s wages for at least half of my agents.’
‘Yeah, but the other half will be richer for it.’
‘What’s he like when he really smiles?’ Rowan asked.
Maybe it wasn’t an entirely appropriate question to voice, but it never hurt to be well informed and armed for the battles ahead.
‘I haven’t seen it for a while,’ Lena said. ‘But historically it tends to be pretty lethal. Nations fall. Angels weep. That sort of thing.’
‘Amen,’ Jared mumbled.
‘See, if he wasn’t all beat up I’d thump that arrogance out of him,’ offered Lena. ‘Because I love him.’
Her eyes filled with tears and she turned away before her brother could open his eyes and see them.
The doctor picked it up, though, and his next words were soothing. ‘He’s conscious, he’s coherent—’
‘No blood coming out of any orifices. I’m perfect … Got any painkillers?’ the patient said next.
‘For what?’
‘Ribs.’
‘Sit up and let’s have a look at them.’
Jared moved to a sitting position on the edge of the bed with a little help from Trig. He also accepted help when it came to the removal of his borrowed suit jacket, but he unbuttoned the shirt beneath it himself.
He took his time, but Rowan figured that the delay had more to do with Jared’s current lack of fine motor skills than with any real desire to delay the process. Finally the shirt came off, to reveal a sweat-stained bandage held in place with silver electrician’s tape.
‘I dislocated my shoulder at one point as well. But I got it back in.’
‘Yourself?’
‘A bathtub helped.’
‘Jared, can you raise your arms above your head?’
‘Last time I tried that I woke up two hours later, facedown on the deck.’
‘When was that?’
‘Three days ago.’
‘Any additional problems since then?’
‘A crucifying lack of sleep.’
‘Jared, I’m going to check your lungs and heart. Then you’re going to raise your arms for me while I do it all again, and then you’re going to lie back down while I examine your ribs more thoroughly.’
Jared nodded.
Rowan tried to afford the man some privacy, but it was hard not to stare at the spectacular bruising that bloomed across his sculpted chest as the doctor unwound the bandage. He’d taken a beating, this man. And then some.
The doctor listened to his lungs and heart with a stethoscope and then poked and prodded around his stomach and lower still while everyone else stood and watched. And then, as the patient began to raise his arms and the doctor began to press on his ribs, he passed out again.
‘May as well keep going,’ said the doctor as he caught him and eased him back onto the bed with impressive nonchalance.
Jared came round moments later but stayed right where he was, encouraged to do so by the doctor’s hand on his shoulder.
The examination continued and the doctor finally made comment. ‘Without access to X-rays, I’m thinking he has four substantially cracked ribs.’
‘Show-off,’ muttered Lena, her voice ragged with worry. ‘What else?’
‘Soft tissue damage—as you can see. Probably some compression damage. Do we know what hit him?’
‘We know there was
