Page 62 of Deathmarch

The superbright LED headlights blinded Allie. She squinted, blinked, silently cursing the driver. She couldn’t see a damn thing, didn’t understand why anyone felt the need to have headlights strong enough to X-ray people.

She turned away.

The engine revved, and the sound was aggressive enough to make her swivel back, just in time to see the SUV jump the curb without slowing.

Flipping idiot. Can’t drive either.

Allie twisted out of the way, or thought she did, until the end of the front fender clipped her. The car hit her hard enough to knock her off-balance, dammit, and then the weight of the buffalo coat finished the job, pulling her to the pavement.

“Allie!” Harper roared in the distance as pain shot through Allie’s ankle, right before her head smashed against the curb.

Chapter Sixteen

“Allie!”

Harper noted the license plate as he sprinted toward her instead of jumping into his pickup to chase after the guy.

She wasn’t getting up, which made Harper’s freaking heart stop.

“Allie?” He ran across the street and dropped to his knees next to her on the sidewalk.

Her eyes were closed. She wasn’t moving. The coat might have cushioned her body, but her head had been unprotected.Dammit, dammit, dammit.

“I’m here. Hang in there.” He dialed 911, identified himself as an off-duty police officer, then he gave the B and B’s address. “I need an ambulance for a hit-and-run. Victim unconscious. Likely head injury,” he said before giving them the SUV’s make, model, and license plate.

“Ambulance is on the way, sir. Would you like me to stay on the line?”

“No, thank you.” He hung up and called the station to relay the SUV’s information so everyone on duty would be on the lookout. Then he brushed Allie’s hair out of her face. “Dammit, Allie. Wake up.”

As if she’d heard him, she blinked, but couldn’t focus on him. Her expression dazed, her voice weak and rough, she had to work to push words past her throat. “What happened?”

“Car hit you. Are you cold?” She was lying on ice-cold concrete.

“No.” She moved to rise.

He held her back. “Stay down. Ambulance is on its way.”

“What car?” She squinted, then groaned. “How did I get here?”

“I walked you home after your performance at the high school. We said goodbye. I walked off, and you ran after me. You wanted to tell me something. Do you remember what it was?”

“Last thing I remember is being up on stage.”

Possible concussion. “Where do you hurt?”

She thought about it for several seconds as if she had trouble making her brain work. “My head and my right ankle.”

Her scalp was bleeding, some of the blood trickling to the pavement, looking more black than red in the low light. Harper ripped off his scarf and folded it, then he carefully cradled her skull and lifted her head so he could slide the scarf under her, cushioning her from the hard surface and the cold.

He lifted her hand and held her palm against the cut on her scalp. “Press here. I’m going to check your foot.” When she flinched, he added, “I’ll be careful.”

He moved over, still on his knees, and loosened her laces, then tugged her mid-calf-length 1800s-style boot off inch by inch, pausing when she hissed.

“Keep going,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “I can feel my foot swelling. If you don’t get that boot off now, it’ll have to be cut off.”

As he freed her at last, she hissed again.

“Sorry. It’s done.” He tipped the boot upside down. “It’s all good. See? No blood pouring out,” he joked lamely as he set the boot next to her. He reached under her long skirt and petticoats, lifting them just enough to see what he was doing, then, as gently as if he was trying to relocate a spiderweb, he peeled off her old-fashioned wool stocking. And he didn’t have one sexual thought.That’show damned worried he was about her.