Page 133 of Here With Me

It’s a miracle Donut didn’t hurt himself, and I’m thankful he’s at least okay.

“Was there only one? Where’d it come from?”

“That’s all I saw, but your brothers are searchin’ the entire trainin’ center and other barns to be sure. Tripp saw Craig by the barn doors. He musta released it, then waited to make sure Donut reacted.”

“God, he’s like a parasite that won’t go away. I remember Tripp rushin’ out. Did he find him?”

“No. Tripp called the sheriff, and they’re on high alert for him. He wasn’t at his house when they went to question him.”

I groan at the thought of him still on the loose. “I didn’t even do anythin’ to him.”

“My best guess this time is he’s pissed about Delilah. He somehow knew you’d be practicin’.”

“He’s not gonna quit till he kills me,” I say, and then my eyes get too heavy to keep them open.

“Well, the good news is you don’t need surgery. The bad news is you will if you don’t stay off your foot. Rest is key.” The doctor looks at me, and I want to argue that I can’t be off that long. But with my parents, Gramma Grace, and Fisher standing in the room, there’s no fighting it.

They’re going to make me stop training until I’m fully healed.

“I’ll make sure she stays off it,” Fisher says, and I hold my breath as I wait for my parents’ reaction. “I feel responsible for what happened. The least I can do is help her through the recovery.”

We haven’t had more than a couple of moments alone to talk, but I see him struggling with the guilt and the reminder of what happened with his daughter. As soon as Donut reared and I felt my foot get stuck, I immediately thought about how this would affect Fisher and tried like hell to get myself out. I hadn’t expected Donut to pummel me, or I would’ve tried harder to move faster.

Gramma grins as she looks back and forth between us, and I swear, she knows something.

“It’s not your fault, Mr. Underwood,” Momma tells him. “I told her trick ridin’ was dangerous.”

I nearly roll my eyes out of my head. “Ridin’ always is when there’s a snake in the arena. Wouldn’t matter if I was sittin’ on him regularly or hangin’ off the side.”

“If that were the case, you wouldn’t have this many injuries.” She tsks.

I don’t bother arguing since I’ve already told her the full story.

“We’ll send you home with some painkillers for the discomfort, but ultimately, time and patience are your key to healin’,” the doctor says.

Two things I don’t have right now.

Once the nurse brings in my discharge papers, Dad pulls around his truck, and they roll me outside in a wheelchair. They’re sending me home with crutches and a boot I already want to rip off.

“Oh God.” I wince, sucking in a sharp breath. Breaking three ribs on the same side is a pain I’ve never experienced before.

“Take it easy now,” Momma says when I try to stand on my own.

Fisher’s at my side, holding me up with one hand and resting his other on my back as I hunch over.

“Can you jump in?” he asks softly.

I look up at the open door. “Doubtful.”

Without another word, he wraps an arm underneath my knees and lifts me. I quickly grab his shoulders as he carries me the last two feet to the truck and sets me down on the seat.

“No point in makin’ ya suffer when I can help you inside myself,” he says as if to explain it aloud with my parents behind him.

“So strong, Fisher.” Mom squeezes his bicep. “Don’t be strainin’ your back while liftin’ her now.”

“Gee, thanks, Momma,” I deadpan, struggling to buckle myself in.

She stands next to him as Dad puts my crutches in the back.