Page 63 of Winning His Wager

“It’s probably not, Fletch. She has a high fever. Has she been vomiting?” She had no doubt he would know. She suspected he was as up in Dylan’s business as Ben was up in Dusty’s.

Those Tyler men were beyond what mere mortal men were capable of being.

Nate Masterson came over.

“What have we got going on, guys?” he asked, in his big rumbly voice.

The other doctors on call tonight were right there too.

“Let’s get her into a room,” Shane said.

Dixie suspected getting Fletcher to step back was going to be a bigger problem than they realized. He wasn’t going anywhere and had a death-grip on her sister. “Fletch, I’ll stay with her. Why don’t you go to the lobby. Call Ben?”

You know, get your brother here to keep you calm and out of the way and everything?

“I’m not leaving her. Reese and Martin were calling the inn, the rest of you. They were with us when we found her.”

Dylan opened her eyes and looked around for a moment. “Dude, this is so not our ceiling, Fletchie darling. Totally the wrong color and the lights really hurt my eyes.”

Her words were weak, but they were there. Fletcher pulled in a deep breath.

“You are at the hospital, brat. We brought you here. You scared me.”

“Don’t feel so great. Someone needs to call Marin. Can’t cover the desk tonight.”

“No, that you can’t,” Dixie said as Cloe came in. Dixie couldn’t take care of her sister now. Against hospital policy, but she wasn’t leaving her.

Nate and Eric and Shane were there. They got Dylan from Fletcher and onto a gurney. They were big, strong men, and Dylan looked so small.

Dylan looked so young, so breakable. It scared Dixie. No denying that. This was her baby sister—she might not have had her forever, but this was her sister, too.

Cloe took her stats. “Temp, 103—” She rattled off the numbers.

They weren’t good. Nate hit the button to send an alert. They would need more hands now. Dylan’s pressure was too low. Her heart rate too high. Dixie’s mind just kept running over what it could be as she stood by her sister’s head.

Laney came in. Dixie stayed out of the way—keeping one hand on Fletcher’s broad chest. He just stood there, watching.

Like his entire world was on that gurney.

Dylan cried out. Laney had inserted the catheter for the IV now. Fletcher flinched.

Nate leaned over her. “Dylan, you are at the hospital. Dr. Paterson is going to be taking care of you.”

“It hurts.”

“Where? Tell me. Dixie is here too. We’re going to take care of you.”

“Where’s Fletcher?” she asked, in the smallest voice. “He’s here, right? He’s okay?”

“I-I’m right here, honey. Just worried about you.”

“Okay. Good.” She jerked, almost jackknifing right in front of them. “My side. Stomach—side. Really hurts. Think…flu. Feels bad…”

Dylan almost screamed when Eric pressed on her lower right abdomen. Dixie knew what was coming next the instant Eric and Shane started tossing out phrases she’d heard before. Laney was already grabbing for the supplies she’d need for a blood draw.

Shane was already on the phone, calling for an OR and a CT scan first. Thank God Eric was the on-call surgeon tonight. He was just right there. No waiting for him to get there. Dixie knew as the words flew around exactly what the most likely diagnosis was.

“Is she allergic to anything?” Shane asked.