Free Driven by Fire by Anne Stuart Page B

thought grimly, but he had no doubt hers could be lethal. He’d learned long ago never to underestimate women. His side still hurt from her pulled punch.
    He turned his attention to Doc. “Can you take a look at her head when you’re finished with her leg? She caught a bullet graze a few hours ago, and I cleaned it up as best I could, but it could use your expert eyes.”
    “Don’t waste your flattery on me, boy. I can see that piss-poor bandage. I’ll get to it after I’ve seen to you.”
    “I’m fine,” he said in a flat voice, his hands tightening on Jenny’s.
    “Don’t you be telling me my business!” she snapped, though her hands were gentle on Jenny’s leg. “Now hold on tight, baby, and it’ll all be over in a minute.”
    Jenny obediently shut her eyes, though she made no effort to let go of his hands, and he had no intention of releasing her. He had his back to Doc, focusing on Jenny’s pale face, trying to distract himself. She looked like she was in pain.
    He heard the beginning of a rip, could feel the tug as it shuddered through her entire body, and Doc pulled out the shard of wood with a sound of triumph. Parker let out a shriek, tears of pain filling her eyes without warning. She quickly blinked them away. For a moment their eyes met, held.
    It took him a moment to realize he was rubbing his thumbs across the backs of her hands in an unconscious, soothing gesture. She tried to let go of him, not needing any crutch, in particular the help of her worst enemy, but she couldn’t seem to let go. And he couldn’t seem to release her.
    “Ouch!” she said weakly.
    “Won’t be much more,” the old woman said in a soft voice. “I just have to make sure I got all the splinters out of the wound before I dress it. Out of my way, boy.” She elbowed Ryder to one side. He released Jenny’s hand, one of them, but she clung to the other. He made no attempt to pull it free.
    “Now let’s have a look at that head wound,” Dr. Gentry said. “Woo-hoo, that was one close call! I take it the bullet was meant for you?” She turned to Ryder.
    “I don’t think so. Somebody blew up her house a few hours later. That’s why we’re here.”
    “You don’t say,” Doc mused. “I’ll change the dressing after I look after you.”
    “I’m fine . . .”
    “Cut it out, Ryder. I got eyes—I know when someone’s hurting,” Doc said briefly. She leaned over Parker. “You think you can sit up? I got you stitched up all nice and clean but I can’t give you anything for the pain until I check your head, and I have to make sure Ryder isn’t going to drop dead on me.”
    Jenny pushed herself up to a seated position, still looking slightly dazed. “Oh, I’m fine,” she protested.
    “I’ve never seen so many ‘fine’ people show up in my infirmary,” Doc Gentry said sarcastically. “Ryder, help her into the wicker rocking chair. She can watch while I deal with you, and that way I can keep an eye on the both of you.”
    The last thing he wanted was Jenny’s watchful eyes, but then he didn’t really have a choice. He scooped her up, trying not to flinch as she struggled against his left side, and dumped her into the ancient chair by the table, a chair that had held countless worried mothers over the decades.
    “That’s right. Now take off your clothes and get up on that gurney.”
    He gave Doc Gentry a stern look. “You know I’m not going to do that.”
    “Never seen you worried about modesty before. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before, though I do admit you’re a sight prettier than most.”
    “Never had an audience before,” he said in a cool, low voice that must have carried straight to Jenny’s ears. He glanced at her, but her eyes were closed, and perversely he snapped out her name. “Parker!”
    Her eyes flew open, and she looked blessedly cranky beneath the soot and blood. “What?”
    “Don’t fall asleep. We haven’t ruled out a concussion.”
    “You probably