Free The Fox and her Bear (Mating Call Dating Agency, #2) by Lynn Red Page B

his butt-hugging jeans and that shirt that could hardly keep his muscles inside.”
    With a dumb smile on her face, Angie followed the rest of the way. Just outside the door, a grumble, and a crash. Hibby pushed past her. “He is still a bear, and he don’t like shots one bit. Come on in here if you think you can calm his ass down!”
    “Dawson?” Angie almost shouted as she entered the room to find him on all fours, crouched on the hospital bed with his ass in the air, sticking straight out of his split-open gown. There was also something else dangling there. She could only imagine his openness had something to do with opioids. “Dawson! Stop!”
    “No more Jell-O! No potatoes!” he roared, flinging the tray aside. “Milkshake!”
    “Get him a damn milkshake,” Hibby said to the two orderlies. “Don’t you two know anything?”
    “Yes ma’am,” one of them said, and both of them rushed out of the room.
    “What are you doing, Dawson? You should eat that Jell-O and be happy about it. Last time I was in the hospital, they wouldn’t let me have anything except ice chips. Also, what kind of luxury hotel is this? Mashed potatoes and milkshakes in an ER? Honey, that ain’t what I’ve seen. How did you manage all this food?”
    “We’re used to feeding bears,” Hibby cut in. “We know how they get unless they’re fed well, and fed often. Anyway, keeping them happy lowers our insurance rates.”
    The rage and fury in Dawson’s eyes almost immediately dissipated like clouds parting after a brutally hard rain. “Angie?” he blinked heavily. She was amazed he was coherent, with all of the drugs he’d been shot up with. “Is that you?”
    A moment later, she laid her hand on his back. “Lie down,” she said. “You’ve gotta calm down. And besides, your dong is hanging out of that gown.”
    He twisted his head around and looked at his cheeks, he started laughing as he repeated ‘dong’ over and over. His voice boomed, then he clutched his chest, groaned, and fell flat on his face.
    “That was quite a transition,” Hibby said. “Although it’s better this way. I’d hate to be the doctor checking his ribs if he was conscious.”

7
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    T he orderlies finally managed to get Dawson to suck on the very large, very chocolatey milkshake they brought, and the next time he came to, Angie was beside him, stroking the beard that had grown in the eight hours since last he shaved.
    “What the hell happened?” she asked when he looked like his brain was ready to process something. “They took x-rays, patched you up, and the doctor set you up with a bunch of bandages and—no! Stop! Lay down, jackass!”
    Dawson groaned heavily and clutched his bandaged side. “That... hurts.”
    “You have eight broken ribs and a gash the size of my arm down your side. What the hell happened? The cops that went to Tenner’s told me the whole place was a giant mess, you apparently saved a bunch of people’s lives when some guy went nuts and started chopping at you. You... shifted? And shook him around by the neck?”
    Dawson lifted his right arm, and let out a yelp of pain, then switched to the other to rub his head. “How much morphine did they pump into me?”
    Angie shot a glance at the drip mechanism. “Well,” she said, doing math in her head and chewing on her lip. “A lot. You were, uh, not very happy with the orderlies and then you got really pissed off about mashed potatoes and Jell-O they were trying to feed you.”
    “You can’t blame me,” he said. “I hate gooshy food. I’d rather eat a tin can out of a garbage can than mooshed up beans or potatoes or,” and then he shivered, “Jell-O. What flavor was it?”
    “Green. Er, lime, I guess.”
    “Green’s more accurate,” Hibby had come in at some point in the past few moments, and had another needle in her hand. “Sorry about this sweetie, but we’ve got to make sure you ain’t gonna end up gangrenous and rotten. That