Sweetly Isolated (The Swallow Barn Cottage Series, Book 1)

Draw First Blood

"Could you get me a bag of frozen blueberries from the freezer, please?" Tina muttered and opened her eyes.

Wow, that's too close for her comfort! Holyoake was kneeing near her, leaning to her face. His bright eyes - the colour would be called cerulean in a romance novel - were framed by thick fluffy lashes. Like a husky dog.

"Maybe I should ring up the surgery," he said in an uncertain tone.

Tina tried to sit up and groaned. She felt his palm lay on her back between her shoulder blades - blimey, that's one bloody large hand! - and he pushed her up gently.

"I'm alright," she said. "No need to bother Dr. Fenton."

"You might have a concussion," he said.

"Wouldn't be my first one," she muttered.

Her hand flew up to her forehead. Oh no, is this a goose egg?!

"Clementine– I mean, Ms. Popplewell, I highly recommend you to call a medical specialist," he said.

What's with the robotic voice?! 'Highly recommend' and 'a medical specialist.' Posh git. Tina touched the bump growing on her forehead and hissed.

"Blueberries, please," she reminded him, and he grudgingly got up and went to the fridge, throwing her alarmed looks.

He rummaged in the freezer and returned with her bag.

"And no, I don't need a 'medical specialist,'" she mocked his intonation.

She'd gesture quotation marks too, but her hands were busy: she was pressing the blueberries to her forehead, while trying to pull herself up grabbing the oven door handle.

"Here, let me– Allow me–"

He was still talking in this odd tense voice, and she grasped his - scorching, massive - hand and got up. Suddenly the buttons on the placket of his shirt were in front of her. He smelled like something citrusy and expensive.

"Do I have a bruise on–" she started to ask and lifted the bag off her forehead.

His skin grew suddenly greenish pale, his eyes rolled back, and he started sinking on the floor. Tina gasped, dropped her blueberries, and tried to support the man - 'tried' being the key word. He was probably four times heavier than her! He swayed - and took her down to the floor with him.

"Oh bugger," Tina breathed out and decided to let go of his log-like arm.

She wasn't helping his situation one bit anyroad. He was now sitting, his back against the oven, breathing in short shallow pants, his eyes closed.

"Mr. Holyoake?"

No matter what they showed on telly or described in books, fainting was a very slow process. Tina had seen it before, and had gone through it herself. To her it usually felt like she was on a boat, sloshed, and both her legs had fallen asleep. Then the world would go sepia coloured, and the floor would lunge towards her face. She didn't envy the man at the moment.

"Mr. Holyoake?" she tried again. "John?"

Tina shortly wondered if her urge to slap him across the face was simply the manifestation of her sharp dislike for the man, since she knew one wasn't supposed to slap, shake, or throw water on a fainting person.

"Just a–" he muttered and swallowed. He was now ashen and perspiring. "A moment. I'm– I'm not good with blood."

He swallowed again.

"Am I bleeding? Why didn't you say so?"

Tina grabbed the edge of her counter, pulled herself up, and looked at her reflection in the kettle.