The young nurse gave Morgan Joyce a radiant smile. Ever since that afternoon, she'd thought he was incredibly handsome and alpha—the perfect man, in her eyes.
"Then I'll take care of Mr. Joyce's wound."
Hannah Hale said nothing, simply taking cotton swabs and alcohol from the medical kit and handing them to her.
"Mr. Joyce, let's go sit on the sofa over there. It might hurt a little while I'm treating your wound, but I'll try to be as gentle as possible."
The young nurse's voice was soft and sweet. After hesitating for a few seconds, she tentatively placed her fair hand on Morgan Joyce's arm. "Mr. Joyce, let me help you sit down."
"No need."
With a cold demeanor, Morgan Joyce shook the young nurse's hand off his arm and walked over to the sofa on his own.
Hannah Hale glanced at Nathan Redgrave, then looked down to take alcohol and cotton swabs from the medical kit. "Sit down. I'll take care of your wound."
"Where exactly are you hurt? I'm so worried."
