She complied. Bit her lip, scrunched her eyes closed, and just generally looked like someone about to face a firing squad, but complied. To distract her, he said, “If it makes you feel any better, Wing once nicked his forehead on a propeller blade.” As gently as possible, he peeled the shirt off her.
“That must have been awful for him.”
“He took it in his stride.” Pointing two fingers at her face, and then at his own, he said, “Your eyes stay here, on me. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Great. Where was I?” He folded her arm back and looked at the wound. Not too dirty. Not too deep. Just some nasty road rash, really. “Oh, yeah. Wing calmly made a compress out of a wad of paper towels and walked back to the terminal.” He pressed the washcloth against her torn elbow. She sucked in a breath and stiffened, but her color remained good. After a second, he lifted the cloth and noted the bleeding had pretty much stopped. “Mad took one look at him, his eyes rolled back in his head, and”—he folded the cloth and pressed the clean side to her other elbow—“boom. He toppled like an old tree in a high wind.”
“Poor guy.”
“Yeah. Wing still gives him grief.” He brought her other arm down and tossed the cloth in the sink. “Want some good news?”
“I could use some.”
He tapped her arms, just above her elbows. “These aren’t bleeding much. How about I draw you a bath in that big ole tub. You have yourself a soak while I get my first aid kit from the car. When you’re done cleaning up, I’ll doctor the cuts, and then you’ll be good as new.”
He’d have a permanent hard-on, but she’d be fine.
Chapter Thirteen
“How many consecutive days without an accident?”
Izzy looked up from her laptop screen to see Bridget smiling at her from the doorway of Trace’s office. She glanced at her watch. “Three days, eight hours and twenty-seven minutes.”
Yes, she did feel like a walking version of one of those industrial workplace signs. But this was a record for her since coming to Captivity, and after what would go down in the annals of town history as the “Great Captivity Goose Attack,” she considered it a personal victory.
“Not too shabby a way to roll into a Friday,” Bridget said, and lowered herself into one of the guest chairs. She pulled the front of her Captivity Air sweatshirt away from her chest and fanned air into it. “Jeebus, it’s hot in here.”
“Sorry.” Izzy put her toasty feet closer to her space heater and dialed the output down a few notches before hitting save on her current spreadsheet. She’d just finished off the employee and contractor list. It was a lean operation, with full-time staff consisting of Trace, Bridget, Mad, Wing, and Lenna Klukwan, who served as a sort of office manager, ticket agent, gate agent and all-around taskmaster. She was, however, on vacation until Monday, so Izzy had yet to meet the indominable Lenna.
“Hey, if you like it, and Trace can handle it, that’s all that matters. And speaking of my brother, has he called you?”
“Not since this morning. Why?” Trace had flown to Anchorage earlier in the day to take a couple guests from the inn to catch their flight back to the lower forty-eight, but he planned to return in time to drive her to the inn.
“He’ll call once he knows for sure, but I think he’s going to stay in Anchorage tonight. Lenna’s redeye gets in super early tomorrow morning, and I can’t go fetch her because I have to make a run to Juneau for some supplies Dr. Devan ordered, so…”
She nodded. “So, I’m on my own this evening.”
“Well, I had an idea about that.” Bridget leaned in and rested her forearms on her thighs in a move so reminiscent of Trace, Izzy couldn’t help but smile.
She pushed her laptop aside and propped her elbows on the desk. “What’s your idea?”
“Okay. Trace has this weird notion that he shouldn’t bring you to the house overnight, because I’m there, and it would—I don’t know—make everyone uncomfortable. I think that’s a load of crap.” Her deep amethyst eyes flashed. “It’s a big house. There’s plenty of room. What he really doesn’t want is to do anything that would require him to extend reciprocity to me, but that’s also a load of crap because I don’t have any plans to bring a guy home. I can go to Juneau to get lucky, or Anchorage, or to the Goose, for that matter. So, anyway, I’m thinking we can break down this particular wall while he’s out of town. Come over to the house tonight. Lilah’s coming over, too. We’ll pop some corks, eat some dinner, and have ourselves a girls’ night in.”
“That sounds fun. Uh, wait. Is Lilah old enough to drink?”
“Izzy, it’s Captivity.”
“I’m, like, an officer of the court.”
Bridget sat back and waved a hand. “Don’t worry. She doesn’t drink. But she works hard. Takes online college courses in the morning and works at the inn almost every afternoon. She needs a night off as much as any of us. A night away from mama, too. Though I love Rose, she is a strict one when it comes to her baby girl. Join us. What do you say?”
Guilt warred with a strong urge to accept the invitation. How long had it been since she’d enjoyed a girls’ night of any kind? Drinks with Danny didn’t count. He was a dear friend, but still, at the end of the day, a man. But this extension of friendship was offered as a result of false pretenses. She really should find a polite way to refuse. And yet…
“I’d love to.”
Dammit.
Bridget smiled brightly, turning her lucky assemblage of features from merely beautiful to ridiculously stunning. “Great.” She surged to her feet. “It’s a plan.” At the door, she paused and looked back at Izzy. “Pack a bag and spend the night. That way neither of us has to drive after we’ve popped those corks. It’s a big house. You can have Trace’s room.”
“Um, we’ll see.” One drink plus dinner wouldn’t incapacitate her, and the weather report called for clear skies, so she fully anticipated driving home, but saw no benefit in insisting on it upfront.
After Hurricane Bridget swept out of the office, Izzy pondered the turn of events. Girls’ night. What was the harm?
Probably none. Assuming Trace did, indeed, decide to stay the night in Anchorage. Her phone chose that moment to ring, and although she expected Trace to call, the tone told her it was Chuck on the line. She rushed over to shut the office door, and then answered.
“Hi, Chuck.”
“Hi, Izzy. How’s Captivity treating you?”
Well, Chuck, it’s trying to kill me, or at least maim me… “It’s fine. Great.” She returned to the desk and sat. “I’m making good progress.”