Free Hero at Large by Janet Evanovich

her lip. “Maybe it’s not broken?”
    â€œI’m sure it’s broken. I’m getting good at recognizing broken bones.”
    â€œMaybe we should put some ice on it.”
    â€œI don’t want ice,” he ground out. “I want to go to the hospital.” He lowered himself gingerly onto a stair and held out a sock. “Just help me put this damn sock on…and this damn shoe. And then you can drive me to the damn hospital.”
    Chris glared at him and tugged the sock onto his healthy foot. She slipped his running shoe on and tied the laces. “I don’t see what you’re so damn mad about. It isn’t as if it’s entirely my fault.”
    â€œNot entirely your fault?” he sputtered. “Lady, you’re a fruitcake. I suppose you think I saw your boot coming down, and I slipped my toe underneath it on purpose.”
    â€œYou know perfectly well what I mean. You…you take advantage of me.”
    â€œWell, you’re not going to have to worry about it anymore. I can’t afford to break any more body parts. At this rate, I’ll be a paraplegic by Friday. And God forbid what might happen if I ever got you into bed! A man would have to be crazy to take his clothes off anywhere near you.”
    Chris grit her teeth and held his other sock out to him. “Do you want me to put this on you?”
    â€œDon’t touch my foot!” he shouted. “Just get me a towel so I don’t bleed all over my truck.”
    By the time she returned with the towel, he’d already hobbled out to the curb.
    Â 
    Chris stopped for a light and nervously cracked her knuckles. It had been a long, silent ride to the hospital. Ken slouched in the seat next to her, staring stonily straight ahead, his arms crossed infront of him. He hadn’t said a word since they’d left the house, and Chris was afraid to begin conversation. What on earth do you say to a man after you’ve broken his toe? And his arm. Glorioski, Mr. Callahan, I’m really sorry! Chris felt tears burning behind her eyes. Thank goodness for the darkness, she breathed. This is awful enough, I don’t need to have him see me crying. I don’t even know why I’m feeling such anguish over this whole silly episode. She blinked back the tears and decided it must be hormones. The man was hell on hormones.
    She heard him rustle in the seat beside her, and knew with a sinking heart that he was watching her. His fingertips brushed across her cheek.
    â€œWhat’s this for?”
    Chris ignored the question. She turned into the hospital lot and cut the motor. “Would you rather I come in with you? Or should I wait here?”
    â€œI’d rather you tell me why you’re crying.”
    Chris stared miserably down at her warm-up jacket.
    He reached over with his good arm and hauled her across the seat, onto his lap.
    â€œBe careful! Your arm! Your toe!”
    He kissed the tears on her cheek and nestled her into the crook of his arm. “Honey, when I’ve got you on my lap I can’t even feel my arm or my toe.”
    Chris closed her eyes and buried her flushed face into his shoulder.
    His lips feathered lingering kisses in her orange curls. “You like me, don’t you?” he said in a husky whisper that sent her heart tumbling in her chest.
    She couldn’t speak. She was overwhelmed with a rush of conflicting emotions. She did like him. Even more horrible, she might be falling in love with him. How else to explain the lump that was becoming a permanent fixture in her throat? How else to explain the sense of dread—of impending doom—of unwanted, fingertip-tingling excitement? She nodded her head yes, and pressed her cheek against his chest.
    â€œAnd you’re sorry you broke my toe?”
    She nodded again.
    â€œIs there anything else?”
    Chris sighed. There were about a million other things, but none she wanted to say out loud. And