“Lemme have it.”
She upended the bottle, pouring its contents over the gash that cut across the bottom half of his thigh. Had the bullet been lower, or higher, or an inch to the left, for that matter, they would have been in some serious—even more serious?—trouble. When the disinfectant hit the torn skin, it fizzed and bubbled. White foam turned pink as it mixed with his blood, and big blobs of the stuff dropped onto the unpolished wood floor.
Bran didn’t utter a word. He simply sat there all Bran-like. His face showing not a flicker of pain. His lips never grimacing. A hiss never forming in his mouth.
That’s okay. Maddy did all those things for him.
“I’m starting to wonder which of us is wounded,” he said, tongue in cheek.
“Oh, piss on a log.” She harrumphed, digging back into the first aid kit for more supplies. “I, uh…I think you’re goin’ to need stitches,” she said when she pulled out the package of butterfly bandages. “These won’t do the trick.”
Bran looked down at the open gash, assessing it with a critical eye. “We could just wrap some gauze around it,” he said.
Maddy made a face. “I may’ve been born at night, but it wasn’t last night.”
“I’m fine,” he assured her.
Why do guys always do that? She’d had far too much experience with that whole keep-a-stiff-upper-lip nonsense from the men in her family to fall for Bran’s baloney.
“So, you’re tellin’ me if we were sittin’ in an emergency room somewhere, the doctor would just wrap some gauze around this thing”—she motioned to his thigh—“and send you on your merry way?”
“Well, no,” he admitted. “But—”
“No buts.” She searched through the kit for the suturing needle and thread. When she found them, she turned to Rick. “I’m assumin’ you’ve had first aid trainin’.” She held the wicked-looking curved needle aloft. “Mind doin’ the honors?”
Rick squared his shoulders and pushed away from the counter in the little kitchenette to take the needle from her. The instant they were side by side, she could see the look on Rick’s face again. That adoring puppy-dog look.
“I’m sorry about the girls,” he whispered just for her ears. “I should’ve done more to…” He let the sentence dangle, shaking his head sorrowfully.
“You did everything exactly right,” she murmured, squeezing his bicep and thanking her lucky stars that he was proving to have a level head on his shoulders, despite his age. “And when this is all over, I’m buyin’ you a drink. A big one. With multiple shots of tequila and an umbrella.”
His adoring puppy-dog look became decidedly less innocent as he searched her eyes. She shook her head and offered him a smile. One she hoped conveyed, You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, sweet pea. I’m currently a little hung up on the guy bleedin’ all over your floor.
And on that topic, when she glanced at Bran, it was to find his eyes narrowed, a considering expression wallpapered across his face. And…something more. Something that was hot and dark. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. But just when she thought she might have figured it out, it was gone. And he was back to being cool, calm, and collected.
Classic Bran.
She was the opposite of cool, calm, and collected as she watched Rick kneel and place the needle near Bran’s torn flesh. Her insides were mush, and acid burned the back of her throat. Since her patience was located near a spot you might call Rock Bottom, when Rick hesitated, she said, “What’s the problem? Do you need—”
“I-I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I don’t think I c-can do this.”
He was absolutely green. And swaying like a willow in the wind. She hadn’t had a lot of experience, but she’d say he was about…oh…ten seconds from lights-out.
Oh, for heaven’s sake!
“Stop lookin’ at the wound,” she instructed him sternly. “Look at me and breathe.”
When Rick glanced up at her, the look of self-reproach on his face had her taking pity on him. Poor guy hadn’t asked for any of this. Point of fact, neither had she, but since she’d been through something similar before—and really, she must have a talk with Fate, Destiny, and/or the Big, Bearded Cheese—she was better prepared to deal with the situation.
“I’ll do it.” Bran grabbed the needle and thread from Rick.
The thought of him suturing his own flesh had Maddy blanching. “Are you kiddin’ me?”
He flashed her the kind of focused, determined look you rarely saw. And when you did, it was usually on the face of a man who didn’t back down no matter what. He’s not kiddin’.
“Well, someone needs to fuckin’ do it and get it the fuck over with,” Mason said. “On account of we got three girls who need rescuing. Not to mention, Alex is still out there all by herself.”