Page 63 of Where You're Planted

“Obviously, I didn’t hear you.”

“Obviously.” He reached for her ankle again, and this time, she yanked her foot away, wincing at the sudden movement and glaring up at him with a storm of pain and indignation in her eyes.

“Stop moving and let me check it.”

“No. Not if you’re going to keep lecturing me.”

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack. Which you might have if you don’t take a breath and chill out.”

He threw his hands up in the air, turning and stomping away from her.

“You’re being an ass,” she added.

“I’mbeing—” He clutched his chest, whirling back around. “Let me see your goddamn ankle, Tansy.”

“No.” She lifted her chin for good measure. “It’s not going to get worse while you calm down.”

He clutched his hips, shaking his head at her. She wasn’t wrong that he was being a bull about this, stamping around, blowing steam. He could see that. But it wasn’t fair to ask him to be a goddamn butterfly instead.

She drew in a long, slow breath, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Swear to God, if you try to coach me to breathe right now, I’m gonna lose my shit.”

But then he remembered what Amy had said about the old feelings he hadn’t dealt with. He wasn’tangryat Tansy. He was worried. And the magnitude of that worry was fueled by things that had nothing to do with her. The fact of this loosened the vice around his chest enough for a slow breath.

She finally gave him a nod and pulled her hand from her ankle.

His eyes flitted from the bruised, swollen joint to her face as he turned her foot. Again, she sucked in a pained breath and squeezed her eyes shut.

The single word that escaped his throat was rough, laden with something between agony and apology. “Sweetheart.”

Her eyes shot open, snagging him, exposing him.

Jack cleared his throat. He didn’t know where that had come from. “Lift your arms,” he said. “I’m gonna carry you.”

She did the exact opposite, crossing her arms over her chest. “No way.”

“You can barely stand me touching it. How else are you going to get out of here?”

“I was looking for a walking stick before—”

He let out a frustrated laugh. “My God, Tansy. I might be an ass, but you are pathologically incapable of accepting help.”

“I don’t need you tocarryme. That would be humiliating.”

“Fine.” He reached for his radio at his hip. “Ian, I need you to bring the Gator out to the back property. I’m about a two-minute walk into the trees south of the creek access. Drive in as far as you can.”

She flailed for the radio, eyes wide, but he easily evaded her reach.

“Did you find Tansy?” Ian asked.

“Yep. And she can’t walk. She hurt herself.”

“Be right out.”

“You’re the worst,” Tansy snapped.