Blue-Eyed Devil by Lisa Kleypas Page A

you needed a ride.” Staring at me, he added slowly, “But now I’m wondering if maybe you don’t need to go to the emergency room.”

    I shook my head, panicking. “No. No. Don’t want that. Don’t take me there — ”

    “Okay,” he soothed. “Okay, no problem. I’ll take you to the airport. Let me help you to my car.”

    I didn’t move. “Promise we’re not going to the emergency room.”

    “I promise. I absolutely promise.”

    I still didn’t move. “Can’t get on a plane,” I mumbled. It was getting really hard to talk. “Don’t have my driver’s license.”

    “It’s a private plane, Miss Travis.” His gaze was kind and pitying.

    “You won’t need your license, or a ticket. Come on, let’s — ” He broke off as he saw my torn bleeding feet. “Christ,” he whispered.

    “No hospital,” I muttered.

    Without asking permission, Oliver sat beside me. I watched as he took off his shoes and socks, slipped his bare feet back into the loafers, and carefully put his own socks on me. “I’d give you the shoes,” he said, “but there’s no way you could keep ‘em on. Will you let me carry you to the car?”

    I shook my head. I was pretty sure I couldn’t tolerate being held by anyone, for any reason, no matter how briefly.

    “That’s all right,” Oliver murmured. “You just take your time, then.” He stood and waited patiently while I struggled up from the bench, his hands half raised as if he had to stop himself from reaching for me. “Car’s over there. The white Cadillac.”

    Together we walked slowly to the car, a gleaming pearl-colored sedan, and Oliver held the door open as I crawled in. “Would you be more comfortable with the seat back lowered?” he asked.

    I closed my eyes, too exhausted to answer. Oliver leaned down, pressed a button, and eased the seat back until I was half reclining.

    He went to the other side, got in and started the car. The Cadillac purred smoothly as we pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road. I heard the sound of a cell phone being flipped open, and a number being dialed. “Gage,” Oliver said after a moment. “Yeah, I got her. Headed to DFW right now. Have to tell you, though . . . he knocked her around pretty good. She’s a little out of it.” A long pause, and Oliver answered quietly. “I know, man.” More talking on the other end. “Yeah, I think she’s okay to travel, but when she gets there . . . Uh-huh, I think so, definitely. I’ll let you know when she takes off. No problem

    There was no softer ride than a Cadillac — the closest thing to a mattress on wheels — but every delicate bounce sent fresh aches through my body. I tried to grit my teeth against the pain, only to gasp at the burst of fire in my jaw.

    I heard Oliver’s voice between the loud throbs of the pulse in my ears. “Feel like you’re going to get sick, Miss Travis?”

    I made a small negative sound. No way was I going to do that — it would hurt too much.

    A small plastic trash receptacle was settled carefully in my lap. “Just in case.”

    I was silent, my eyes closed, as Oliver maneuvered carefully through the traffic. Lights from passing cars sent a dull red glow through my lids. I was vaguely worried by the difficulty I had in thinking coherently . . . I couldn’t seem to come up with any idea of what would happen next. Trying to grab hold of a coherent thought was like standing under a big cloud and trying to catch raindrops with a teaspoon. I felt like I would never be in control of anything again.

    “You know,” I heard Oliver say, “my sister used to get beat up by her husband. Pretty often. For no reason. For any reason. I didn’t know about it at the time, or I would have killed the son of a bitch. She finally left him and brought her kids to my mama’s house, and stayed there till she got her life back together. Saw a shrink and everything. My sister told me the thing that helped her the most was to hear it