accustomed to being manhandled. Nor was she accustomed to someone dictating to her. In light of the fact that she was on eye level with the fly of his tight jeans, she said as calmly as possible, "Thank you for what you've done, Mr. Boudreaux, but I think I need to let a professional look at this."
"Some consider me a professional." He knelt down in front of her again. "Besides, I refuse to take you to the hospital and you'd never get there under your own power." His eyes lifted to hers again. His were mocking. "Of course you could always get your brother-in-law to take you." He returned his attention to the bleeding wounds. "But you'd have to get to Belle Terre first, and I don't think you'd make it."
"I'll need a rabies shot." Even as she spoke the sudden realization aloud, she felt ill at the prospect of getting the series of painful shots.
Reaching around her for a leather pouch at the rear of the pirogue, Cash shook his head negatively. The light picked up strands of gold in his long, brown, wavy hair.
"None of Jigger's dogs would have rabies. They're too valuable."
She watched with mingled fear and curiosity as he withdrew several opaque brown bottles from the pouch. None were labeled. "Are you referring to Jigger Flynn?"
" Oui ."
"Is he still around?"
Cash snorted a laugh. "Every whore in the parish would be out of business if he ever left."
Jigger Flynn's name conjured up childhood fears. Flynn was a reputed pimp and bootlegger, the occupation from which he'd derived his nickname. "My mother used to tell my sister and me that Jigger Flynn kidnapped little girls who didn't behave," Schyler said.
"She wasn't far off."
"At our house, he was one and the same with the Boogey Man. We would stare at his house with awe and fear whenever we drove past."
"It's still there."
"Somebody should have locked that reprobate behind bars years ago."
Cash smiled around a soft chuckle. "Not a chance. The sheriff's office provides some of Jigger's most frequent customers."
Knowing that he was probably right, Schyler nodded vaguely. She'd also been distracted by Cash's low laugh. It had touched an erogenous spot deep inside her. She pulled her arm from his grasp. "What is that?"
He had soaked a wad of cotton with the clear liquid from one of the brown bottles. He lifted it to her nose. The smell was pungently recognizable. "Plain ol' everyday rubbing alcohol. And it's going to burn like hell. Feel free to scream."
Before she could properly brace herself for it, he applied the alcohol to the scratches on her forearm. She felt the wave of pain approaching before it crashed over her full force. She was determined not to scream, but she couldn't hold back the choking sound that escaped before she rolled her lips inward and forcibly held it back.
Her stoicism seemed to amuse him. He was grinning as he laid aside the blood-soaked cotton. "This will help stop the stinging." Quickly he uncorked another of the bottles he'd taken from the bag and, using his lingers, dabbed the contents onto her wounds. Now cleaned of blood, they didn't look so serious. After liberally smearing them with the unguent, he bound her arm from wrist to elbow with gauze. "Keep it clean and dry for several days."
"What was that you put on it?" Amazingly the wounds had stopped stinging.
"One of my mother's homemade salves." At her startled expression, he grinned sardonically. "It's got bat's eyes and ground spleen of warthog in it." His eyes glittered in the lantern light. "Black magic," he whispered.
"I never believed that your mother practiced black magic."
His grin settled into a hard line of bitterness. "Then you were among few. Did the dog bite you anyplace else?"
Schyler nervously wet her lips. "He snapped at my ankles, but—"
She didn't get a chance to finish before he flipped back her skirt and lay the hem well above her knees. Cupping the back of her calf in one hand, he lifted her foot to his thigh and turned it this way and that beneath the
"Some consider me a professional." He knelt down in front of her again. "Besides, I refuse to take you to the hospital and you'd never get there under your own power." His eyes lifted to hers again. His were mocking. "Of course you could always get your brother-in-law to take you." He returned his attention to the bleeding wounds. "But you'd have to get to Belle Terre first, and I don't think you'd make it."
"I'll need a rabies shot." Even as she spoke the sudden realization aloud, she felt ill at the prospect of getting the series of painful shots.
Reaching around her for a leather pouch at the rear of the pirogue, Cash shook his head negatively. The light picked up strands of gold in his long, brown, wavy hair.
"None of Jigger's dogs would have rabies. They're too valuable."
She watched with mingled fear and curiosity as he withdrew several opaque brown bottles from the pouch. None were labeled. "Are you referring to Jigger Flynn?"
" Oui ."
"Is he still around?"
Cash snorted a laugh. "Every whore in the parish would be out of business if he ever left."
Jigger Flynn's name conjured up childhood fears. Flynn was a reputed pimp and bootlegger, the occupation from which he'd derived his nickname. "My mother used to tell my sister and me that Jigger Flynn kidnapped little girls who didn't behave," Schyler said.
"She wasn't far off."
"At our house, he was one and the same with the Boogey Man. We would stare at his house with awe and fear whenever we drove past."
"It's still there."
"Somebody should have locked that reprobate behind bars years ago."
Cash smiled around a soft chuckle. "Not a chance. The sheriff's office provides some of Jigger's most frequent customers."
Knowing that he was probably right, Schyler nodded vaguely. She'd also been distracted by Cash's low laugh. It had touched an erogenous spot deep inside her. She pulled her arm from his grasp. "What is that?"
He had soaked a wad of cotton with the clear liquid from one of the brown bottles. He lifted it to her nose. The smell was pungently recognizable. "Plain ol' everyday rubbing alcohol. And it's going to burn like hell. Feel free to scream."
Before she could properly brace herself for it, he applied the alcohol to the scratches on her forearm. She felt the wave of pain approaching before it crashed over her full force. She was determined not to scream, but she couldn't hold back the choking sound that escaped before she rolled her lips inward and forcibly held it back.
Her stoicism seemed to amuse him. He was grinning as he laid aside the blood-soaked cotton. "This will help stop the stinging." Quickly he uncorked another of the bottles he'd taken from the bag and, using his lingers, dabbed the contents onto her wounds. Now cleaned of blood, they didn't look so serious. After liberally smearing them with the unguent, he bound her arm from wrist to elbow with gauze. "Keep it clean and dry for several days."
"What was that you put on it?" Amazingly the wounds had stopped stinging.
"One of my mother's homemade salves." At her startled expression, he grinned sardonically. "It's got bat's eyes and ground spleen of warthog in it." His eyes glittered in the lantern light. "Black magic," he whispered.
"I never believed that your mother practiced black magic."
His grin settled into a hard line of bitterness. "Then you were among few. Did the dog bite you anyplace else?"
Schyler nervously wet her lips. "He snapped at my ankles, but—"
She didn't get a chance to finish before he flipped back her skirt and lay the hem well above her knees. Cupping the back of her calf in one hand, he lifted her foot to his thigh and turned it this way and that beneath the
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