Page 20 of My Christmas Biker
Brick didn’t have another choice. If he didn’t try to stop that truck, they’d run us off the road, and we’d crash in the icy, treacherous conditions. He’d total the truck and the Harley behind us in the chaos.
Brick reached for my coat and placed it over me. “Try to get warm, Ginny. I’m figuring out what we’ll do next.”
I was shivering too hard to answer.
We hadn’t driven for more than a minute when Brick smacked his palm into the steering wheel. “Fuck!”
“Is something wrong?”
“That motherfucker shot my radiator!”
I slowly sat up, bracing myself against the seat, and noticed the smoke pouring from the engine. One glance at the dash showed the gauge and the needle rising higher. The engine was overheating.
Shit. We wouldn’t be driving this truck any further.
Brick reached the same conclusion, slowing down until it was safe enough to pull over and park. He sighed as he turned toward me, his brows furrowed. One hand rose to swipe across my cheek, pulling away as he wiped blood on his jeans. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Baby. I’m gonna take care of you.”
“It wasn’t your fault. You did your best, Brick.”
He shook his head. “You need medical attention. We’re too far from a hospital or urgent care.” He reached into the center console and pulled out a first aid kit. After rummaging around, he found a large bandage and some antibiotic ointment. “This might sting,” he warned before applying it over the scratch and then pressing the bandage down.
Ouch. I bit my lip but didn’t cry.
“Good girl,” he praised for the second time today. “I’m proud of you, Sweetheart.”
“Thanks.”
“You have anything I could use to wrap around your thigh and keep the bandage in place?”
“I’ve got a scrunchie.”
He arched a dark blond brow.
“It’s a hair tie,” I explained. “A fat one.”
He snickered but didn’t make any jokes. “That’ll work.”
Brick reached behind the seat and pulled out my luggage. I unzipped the smaller case and found my scrunchie, yanking itout. With Brick’s help, I managed to slip it over my boot and jeans, tugging it in place around my thigh.
“Is it too tight?”
“No. I think it’ll work, but I don’t know how long it will last.”
“We just need it to hold onto. I can get you to safety.”
He didn’t say home, which alerted me. “Where are we going?”
“Slight detour. I’ve got a friend that lives in Green River.”
“How close are we?”
“Another hour with these roads. Do you think you can make it?”
On foot? No.
Wait. “Are we riding your Harley?”
“Yeah, Sugar. And we’re bundling you up before we step outta this truck.”