Eye of the Storm by Renee Simons Page B

a handkerchief from her back pocket and dabbed at the blood staining the corner of his mouth and one eye. "Like what?" she murmured.
    "Like I was a wounded deer or some poor motherless calf."
    She chuckled. "An injured mule is more like it."
    He tried to keep from smiling, failed and winced when the gesture strained the cut at his upper lip. A sudden gust of wind lifted the hair from her face. He touched a damp strand that clung to her heated skin and noticed the flush accenting her high cheekbones and the sheen of moisture above her lip. "You're beautiful, you know?"
    "You're delirious." She sat back on her heels. "Can you walk to my car if I help?"
    "Where is it?"
    She pointed over her shoulder. "Over there."
    "No problem. I'm in good shape for a hike."
    "C'mon, Marine, it's not nearly as bad as all that." She gave him a smile. "Of course, if you feel weak, I could bring the car to you. . . ."
    Alert to the goading, he chuckled under his breath. "I had a drill instructor like you."
    "Did you?"
    "That D.I. was the meanest s.o.b . I ever met."
    She laughed. "Bet he got you moving pretty quick."
    "Never had a choice."
    She took him under the arms and supported him as they walked to her car. Every part of his body hurt and drawing breath had become difficult. The last time he'd felt this rotten had been in boot camp on Parris Island.
    "I think you should go to the hospital," she said. "For x-rays, just to make sure there's no concussion or broken ribs."
    "We have a doctor and a clinic in the village. Just get me back there."
    He slid inside and jammed his long legs catty-corner against the dashboard. He watched her as his head rested on the back of the seat.
    "What is it?" she asked.
    "You're a cop, aren't you?"
    "I thought you knew that."
    "Mac never told me, but there was something about the way you handled yourself and . . . did I hear Winter call you 'Officer'?"
    "I'm on recuperative leave from the Job. Pretty soon, I'll have to decide whether or not to go back."
    "Don't you want to?"
    Did she? She'd joined the McLaren "family business" as a way to make a contribution. Most of the time, she felt good about her job. Every so often she wondered if there was a better way to go than butting heads over a gun barrel. That same concern had forced her out of the FSA. At least that's what she told herself when she tried to rationalize why she'd left the Agency as suddenly as she had. How would she rationalize leaving the force?  
    "I had a close call . . . too close . . . I don't think I can hack it anymore."
    "What happened?"
    "I got caught in a shootout while answering a call to a break-in. Things were pretty dicey for a while but, as you can see, I'm still alive and kicking." She searched both sides of the road and saw only prairie. "How about pointing me toward the clinic?"
    "Two rights, a left, then a mile to the next right."
    "What did I interrupt back there?" she asked.
    "That should be pretty obvious."
    "Then let me rephrase the question: what provoked the testosterone trio to hammer you head first into the ground?"
    "Have I ever told you I admire your way with words?"
    "I think so. Answer the question."
    "Showing up at the powwow was just too confrontational to suit them. They decided to show me the error of my ways."
    "Do you want to press charges?"
    "Not my style," he said. "I'll handle them my own way." He pointed to a low building. "There's the clinic."
    The sign on the door indicated that the staff had set up shop at the campgrounds. "I should have thought of that," he said with a groan. "My brains must be scrambled. Take me to my mother's house."
    "Isn't it your house, too?"
    "In the old days, the tipi belonged to the wives, because they tanned the skins for the covers and cut new poles if their men weren't around. And they set up the tipis in each new camp."
    She smiled. "Very enlightened for the time and place."
    "My forefathers were never the savages yours thought they were."
    "I'll never understand their