I cringe, returning to a state of concern and guilt. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't joke around when your finger is falling off."
"It's fine. I'm lucky actually. It could have been a lot worse."
I don't want to imagine "worse." It would definitely involve the retrieval of his finger off the floor, and I'm not made of strong enough stuff for that.
We stop at a red light, and I study him, trying to assess how bad he really feels. He opens his eyes and rolls his head to face me, like he knows I'm staring at him. I should look away, but I don't. As a result, we're locked in another one of our stare downs, but not our usual hate-filled one. Instead there's this other intensity to it, and I'm afraid to admit what it might be. Something has shifted between us these last few days, and my feelings for him are rapidly changing.
I don't even register the horn honking behind us until he smiles slowly and says, "Green light."
I tighten my grip on the wheel and take a deep breath. I cannot have these feelings for Seth. Number one, I have enough issues to deal with in my personal life right now. Number two, we live hundreds of miles apart. Number three, he's so different from me in every way: carnivore, Southerner, soldier.
"Why are you more freaked out about this than I am?" Seth asks.
"Freaked out about what?" My voice sounds more high pitched than normal. Has Seth just read my mind? It's like he knows I was thinking about our relationship. If so, he's more prescient than Isabelle.
"About my injury," he says. "What else would I be talking about? Turn onto the highway at the next light."
"Right, that's what I thought you meant," I say. "I told you, I'm just not good with blood. You're used to seeing people's guts and bones and—" I flap my tongue around, unable to say anything else.
"I'm sorry I had to ask you to do this," Seth says. "If Renata and Herb were home—"
"No, it's fine. Now we're even. You saved me from the chickens, and I'm bringing you to the E.R."
I follow Seth's directions and swing the car onto the ramp to the interstate, picking up speed.
"I saved you from getting swept away in a storm," he says. "So I think you still owe me one. I'll call that in later."
There's teasing in his voice, and I'm not sure what he means by "call it in later," but I really want to find out.
"You didn't save me from the storm," I remind him. "I made it to the barn just fine without your help."
My tone is light, not salty like it would have been a few days ago.
"Are we still not talking about what happened in the barn?" he asks.
"What happens in the barn, stays in the barn," I say, using my best mob boss accent.
"Huh. That's disappointing. I have thoughts about what happened there. A lot of thoughts."
Dirty thoughts, obviously. My toes curl inside my sandals at the thought of his lips and hands on me.
"Care to share some of those thoughts?"
"I'm sorry," he says with a sigh. "Not allowed to discuss it here. Those are your rules. We'll have to meet up in the barn if you want to find out."
He. Is. Impossible.
* * *
The hospital waitingroom is packed, which Seth says is unusual for a random Tuesday evening. He checks in at the registration desk while I scope out two empty chairs for us. There's a secretary and a security officer behind the desk, and Seth has a brief conversation with them before the woman hands him a clipboard, and he joins me in the waiting area.
"Do you know them?" I ask when he sits down next to me.
"Yeah, I pretty much know everyone in the E.R. That's the problem. I'm never going to live this down."
I gesture toward the clipboard he's holding. "How are you going to fill out forms in your condition?"
"I'll manage," he says stubbornly.
