“Damn, woman, you wanna argue with me. Just let it be. Let’s worry about Rowan right now.”
Apparently Zach wasn’t as approachable as she thought. Ro’s spirits fell, along with her hope that the commandos would rush in and save the day. Because that would be too much like a friggin’ movie. Men weren’t like that in real life.
Ro settled back against the picnic table and looked away from Zach. What little she could see of her surroundings had her forgetting her disappointment with individuals of the penis variety. The glow of the solar lights was muted, definitely not bright enough to be seen beyond the walls, and the giant branches of the towering oaks and white pines formed a canopy overhead. Ro could make out rustic, wood-sided buildings scattered around. The thump of a bag hitting the ground in front of her brought her attention back to the man—check that, now men—in front of her.
Piercing blue eyes assessed her from beneath black brows. His black hair was cut ruthlessly short, not shaggy like Conan and Zach’s. He didn’t smile, which made his knife-edged cheekbones stand out even more.
He met Ro’s gaze for only a minute before shifting his attention to Zach.
“What you need, Sawyer?” He sounded annoyed. Like he’d been in the middle of watching his team in overtime and had been interrupted. Except there were no games, no teams, and no overtime happening right now. Ro was pretty damn sure of that. What could she really have interrupted? His spank session? He didn’t need to look so put out by her. She was the one brought here against her will. Ro’s attitude fired into overdrive. As if Zach sensed her building tension, he squeezed her calf before he stood and stepped to her side.
“Beau, meet Rowan. Rowan, Beau.” Beau nodded at her, looking completely uninterested in her presence. “Rowan here twisted her ankle, and I’d appreciate it if you’d check her out.”
Beau didn’t respond; he just squatted before her without ceremony.
Without looking up at her, he asked, “Which leg?”
“Left.” Ro shrank back when he reached for her ankle.
“Babe, it’s okay. Beau will fix you right up,” Zach said.
“He looks like he’d just as soon amputate over handing me an ice pack,” Ro replied.
At that, Beau finally cracked a smile.
“I do have a handy saw for amputations, but I think I’ll leave it stashed tonight.” He looked up at Ro. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch getting this boot off. I’ll try to go easy, but there’s not much I can do about it.”
Ro had figured that. She nodded as he got down to the business of unlacing her boot, gritting her teeth as bolts of pain shot through her ankle. She gripped the edge of the picnic table and closed her eyes. She tried to think of her sister and her dad. Waiting at home for her. A warm hand covered her left hand and squeezed. She didn’t open her eyes, but grabbed it like a lifeline and squeezed back when the pain kicked up another notch.
Cold air hit her sweaty sock. Finally. Her boot was off. And then the sock. Ro let out a slow breath and opened her eyes, first looking down at Beau grasping her ankle, and then over to where her hand was clasped by another large, callused one. But that hand didn’t belong to Zach like she’d assumed. It was ... Conan. He’d appeared soundlessly, and for some reason ... offered her comfort? Ro was shocked. Amazed. Freaked out? She didn’t even know. She pulled her hand back, trying not to look at him.
“What’s the verdict?” Conan asked, actually sounding like he gave a shit. Which was strange, considering he’d threatened to kill her upon meeting her. She would’ve thought he’d gotten off on torturing people.
Ro sucked in a sharp breath and cringed as Beau manipulated her ankle. Conan’s hand grabbed hers again, and the shooting pains tapered off.
“I don’t think it’s broken. Could be a hairline fracture, but it’s hard to say without an X-ray. Which we obviously don’t have. Probably a bad sprain. Either way, she’s going to need to stay off it for at least a few days to start, but probably longer. Unfortunately, I have three pairs of crutches—old school wooden ones, built for guys our size. They’re not very adjustable and would be way too fucking big for her,” he told Conan, as though she wasn’t present.
“Hey, I’m right here and would appreciate you giving me the diagnosis, thanks.”
Beau looked at Ro condescendingly and said, “Okay, Rowan, your ankle is sprained. Don’t walk on it for at least a few days to a week. Keep ice on it for fifteen minutes at a time, and keep it elevated and wrapped up. Got it?”