“No,” she said. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t stitch your own bullet wound.”
“Sure I can. Can you make it sterile? Make sure that’s good to go?”
“Yes,” she said, swallowing hard.
“Then get the needle threaded for me. You got a curved one for sutures in that kit?”
“Yes.”
“I can use it. I used to ride bulls on the circuit. I’ve stitched buddies up a time or two—it’s okay.”
She nodded. She dug around in her kit and pulled out two different tubes of medicine. “One is for germs. One is for...to numb.”
She put some cream on her finger and spread it around the wound. Numbing cream. He could feel it start to work, his skin getting warm and fuzzy.
Then she poured the disinfectant right into the wound.
“Hell!” He growled.
That sucked.
“Sorry,” she said. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s all right. It’s all right.”
She threaded the needle, her fingers shaking, then handed it to him. He looked up at her. “Hey, why don’t you go in the other room.”
“Why are you taking care of me? You’re the one with the bullet wound.”
“I crashed your house. You didn’t ask for this. You don’t need to see it. Go clean up.”
She stood, but she didn’t leave.
He took a breath and gritted his teeth. And started to sew himself back together.
CHAPTER THREE
TALA WANTED TO CRY. She didn’t know this man. Didn’t know his name, didn’t know if anything he’d said about his life was true. But watching him do this—for himself, to spare her from the task was—it was too much.
She dropped back to her knees beside him. “Let me.”
“No,” he said, his voice strained now.
She knew it hurt. She knew it hurt terribly or he wouldn’t be pale like he was.
You don’t know him. You should call the police on him no matter what he says.
But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
For no reason at all, she trusted him.
Do you just trust him because your mom wouldn’t?
Well, it was a valid question.
But whatever. This was her life and she was making the choice to trust him. To help him. And if things went south, she had a shotgun in her closet. Sawyer Garrett, the head of Garrett’s Watch, had insisted she have a weapon and some training before she had settled into the house.
Bears, he’d said.
He had no idea.
She swallowed hard, feeling her earlier indulgence beginning to rebel against the entire situation. Honestly, it was disgusting. And she might have first aid training, but that did not mean that she was actually fortified against cleaning out a gunshot wound. And watching a man stitch himself up.
“I feel like I should do something for you,” she said. “Even if it’s just putting a cold compress on your head.”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “Not sure that would help.”
“Can I...get you anything?”
“Whiskey?” He grimaced.
“How about tea?”
He frowned. “Tea?”
“Yes. I was drinking chamomile.”
For all the good that had done her. She was not feeling particularly calm now.
“Chamomile,” he said. “Chamomile. That’s what you smell like. That’s why it was familiar.”
“I smell like something?”
“Yeah. Well, chamomile is one of the things. And soap.”
“Oh.”
For his part, he smelled like gunpowder and sweat. Rain. She was surprised she didn’t mind it.
“I don’t have whiskey. I am sorry. I know that helps dull the pain and all that.”
“That’s all right.”
“I don’t drink,” she said.
“I see.”
She might not have whiskey, but she could talk. And keep him talking.
“One of those evil things that my mother warned me against. And honestly, I might not agree with everything she taught me, but when I set out on my own, there was so much to do, so much to consider. It didn’t seem like a great idea to dull my senses. Not ever, really. So... On that score, I stayed pretty much the same. I do like sugar though.”
“Right.”
“I do have lemon bars. Would you like a lemon bar?”
“I don’t think I could eat.”
“No. I can see that.”
He continued to stitch himself up, his movements maddeningly slow, his hand steady.
She had no idea how he was keeping his hand so steady.
“I’ll get you some blankets.”
She turned away and went down the hall, grabbing a folded flannel blanket out of the closet. By the time she came back, he was done. His head was resting against the back of the couch, his eyes closed, and he was breathing hard.
Obviously, it had been a lot more difficult than he had wanted to let on.
“Real talk, what’s going to happen if your brother finds you?”
“He won’t,” he said, his tone hard. “I lost him. I hid my car in the woods. I was trying to get to... It’s a place he doesn’t know about. It doesn’t matter. But the point is, there’s nothing connecting me to any of this. Even if he found my car, he would have no idea which way that I went.”
“But if he did...”
“I’m armed,” he said. “And I won’t let him get to you.”
Her heart jumped in her chest. “Okay.”
“You have a lock on your bedroom door?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Lock it.”
And she didn’t know if he meant to keep his brother out, or to keep him out. But it didn’t much matter. She disappeared into her room and locked the door, turning off the lights and getting into bed. Breathing hard, she pulled the covers up over her head.
And she asked herself how in the world a quiet night grading papers and watching murder mysteries had ended with a big, dangerous, wounded man on her couch.
Nothing so exciting had ever happened to Tala. She was beginning to think that excitement was overrated.