“No.” She tightened her hold on Ink.
“Brown eyes,” Ink said in a low voice. “Hack needs to check you over.”
“I’m fine. I don’t want some doctor poking at me.” She tried to keep her Little under wraps around the strange doctor, but she was so tired that all her shields had come crashing down.
“If I promise no poking, will you let me check you over?” Hack asked.
She shook her head, wincing as it thumped painfully.
“Betsy, behave,” Ink said warningly.
“It’s all right. I know Littles sometimes have trouble with doctor’s visits. It’s scary.”
She let out a squeaking noise. He knew? Had Ink told him?
“Hack is used to dealing with reluctant Littles,” Ink told her in a low voice.
“Indeed I am. Many of my patients are Littles. And when they’re good and let me check them over, they get to choose a piece of treasure from my treasure box.”
Treasure?
“Button, you need to let go of me and let Hack look you over if you want the treasure,” Ink bribed.
That was just silly. They couldn’t bribe her with treasure. Could they?
“How about this, Daddy will sit down with you on his lap. He won’t let you go while I check you over. Would that be all right?”
She thought about it. Seemed like she wasn’t getting out of this, either way. So she nodded reluctantly.
“Good girl,” Ink told her in that low rumble.
Shoot. She was goo in his hands.
Ink settled on the bed and turned her on his lap. She had no choice but to look at the doctor.
Hack. Unusual name.
Then again, once she saw him, she could tell he wasn’t a usual doctor. He wore black motorcycle boots, ripped dark blue jeans and a tight black T-shirt that highlighted a thick, muscular body. Tattoos rippled up his forearms. They looked tribal. His skin was a deep olive, his hair black and cut short.
He winked at her as her gaze hit his jade-colored eyes.
“Hello there, Little one.”
“H-hi.”
He opened a scuffed duffel bag. That was his medical bag? When he pulled out a stethoscope and a small blood pressure machine, she guessed it was.
“Are you sure he’s a doctor, Ink?” Her big side was pressing forward, anxiety filling her.
“What do you call me?” Ink murmured in her ear.
She blushed, glanced up at him. Worry was there in the lines on his face. He seemed stressed.
“You look tired, Daddy,” she said, reaching up to brush her finger under his eye.
“Haven’t been sleeping much,” he admitted. “Needed my button beside me, safe in my arms.”
The doctor cleared his throat and Betsy drew her hand back, jumping slightly. How had she forgotten he was there? He was a stranger.