Yanking him to a stop, I asked, “You’re hurt?”
Bravado existed in his gaze but he couldn’t hide it. He looked away, gnawing on his bottom lip. “I’m all right.”
“You can tell me.”
He sighed, glancing at the sand beneath our feet. He still wore his sneakers—scuffed and highlighter green—while I wore my silver ballet flats. Blisters had formed on my instep and big toe, but I couldn’t take them off—not yet. Not until I found my handbag and the pair of flip-flops I’d hurriedly packed before boarding the helicopter.
What I wouldn’t give for my suitcase.
I had sunblock in there. A floppy hat. A first-aid kit.
Everything I didn’t think I’d need for an overnight stay had suddenly turned into every precious requirement.
“Ouch.” Conner flinched as I ran my fingers along his wrist.
The skin puffed with swelling, red with discomfort.
My stomach twisted. Not only was Galloway, myself, and Pippa hurt, but it looked like Conner was as well.
Damn, were we all in pieces?
I delivered the news as gently as I could. “You’re going to be okay, but...”
“It’s broken, isn’t it?”
I glanced up, meeting his angry, fearful eyes. “I think so.”
He huffed. “Figured.”
“It doesn’t mean it can’t be set.”
“How? Do you see a doctor and an X-ray machine around here?”
I smiled at his morbid humour. “Not exactly, but humans healed from breaks long before a doctor had the ability to make plaster casts.”
Conner stiffened. “Whatever.”
Sliding my fingers from his wrist, I took his hand. “May I?”
His eyes widened but he nodded.
Guiding him toward the border of where the forest met the beach, I sat down in the soft sand, taking him with me. Switching to face each other, I gently felt his wrist again—just as I’d done with Galloway’s leg.
Unlike Galloway, my lungs didn’t asphyxiate with overpowering desire. I didn’t understand my snappy shyness or nonsensical attraction toward him. When he’d looked down my top and seen the cut from the seat belt, I’d wanted to slap him for thinking he had the right to protect me but also for the way his eyes burned with lust.
The opinionated Englishman rose full force in my thoughts. Conner and I had been gone for over an hour, but the annoyance Galloway caused still simmered.
What was his deal? I was only trying to help, but he kept growling at me as if he couldn’t stand to have me near.
He’d wanted me (unless I misread the way he watched me) but that had no place here.
We didn’t have time for egos or desire. Not now. If this truly was an island and we were the only people on it, we had to stick together and find some way to survive side by side.
Conner didn’t move as I felt along the bony angles of his wrist.
I had no idea what I was feeling for. Sharp edges? Misaligned ligaments? Even if I did, I wouldn’t know if it was normal or wrong. Plus, if I did somehow know what was wrong, what on earth could I do about it?
I couldn’t even offer generic painkillers, let alone assure him he’d heal intact with no ill effects. However, I knew from experience that fake confidence was better than panicked horror, especially where children were concerned.
Smiling brightly, I let him go. “I might be wrong. It could just be a nasty sprain. But let’s be on the safe side and make you a splint. How does that sound?”
“A splint?”
Grabbing a straight-ish stick, I nodded. The bark had weathered into the silvery softness of driftwood. It wouldn’t stab him and would hopefully keep his bone in line to heal. I didn’t know how long it would take to knit together, but this was all I could offer.
What can I use as a bandage?
Twisting in the sand (killing my ribs in the process), I looked for a possibility. “Yes, you know? Like a cast but without the plaster.”
Dammit, there was nothing to wrap his arm with. The only thing I could think of was my top. I wasn’t precious with my clothes and didn’t hesitate.
Dropping the stick, I grabbed my hem and ripped the soft cotton with my teeth. With a quick yank, a section came away. I repeated it so I had a few strips to use.
“You just ruined your top.” Conner rolled his eyes. “I don’t see a mall to buy another one.”
Laughing as if he’d told the funniest joke, I grabbed his wrist again and placed the stick on his forearm. As a quick addition, I picked up a newly fallen leaf and wrapped it around his skin to protect him as much as possible from the stick. “Oh, well. I’m not exactly going for best dressed or a fancy party, am I?”
Conner grinned. “I guess not. However, I’d still vote for you as prettiest girl, even though you are completely filthy.”
My hands froze. I could barely deal with Galloway and his snide comments and he was closer to my age for sexual innuendo arguments. Conner was too young. How did I deal with pubescent testosterone when it was just him and me and no referee?
I forced myself to meet his eyes. “How old are you, Conner?”
“Thirteen. Why?”
“And Pippa? How old is she?”