soul. Her own secrets. “I'll see what I can do."
He nodded, a grin of relief nudging the wide, firm mouth. “I never would have thought you the doctoring kind."
“Why not?” Her fingers quaked when she considered her task of cutting into Cole. Her Cole.
“You could never sit still for long."
“Neither could you,” she said, pushing her palm against his chest. To her surprise, he obeyed and laid back in the grass.
“You used to fidget when I took you to the drive-in."
“It's long closed.” She grimaced at the sore leg.
“Too bad. I would have liked to do that again—"
“You're not staying that long,” she said, her heart racing. He couldn't stay. He just could not.
“And you drummed your fingers on the restaurant table because I ate too slowly."
The small talk was getting on her nerves. She reached for her scalpel and huddled over his leg. “I did it to bug you. You always ordered two desserts. No girl in her right mind could eat that much and not become wide as a barn."
“Not you, Laurel Lee. You had those skinny long legs—"
“Will you shut up, please.” Now she was the one with the fever, her fingers trembling as she gently explored the mottled flesh, trying to find the entry point of the bullet. But the thought niggled her: He remembered those little things about them back then. A feathery warmth tugged at her.
“This is bad, Cole. I shouldn't try this. And you shouldn't want me to. Grab some courage and common sense and get to a hospital."
Popping up to his elbows, he spat through gritted teeth, “I don't give a damn about courage. Mike's play at being captain courageous got him killed. Just do it. All I want is justice."
Justice? It stunned her. It's what she'd dreamed of getting from him for years. The same reckless Cole still lurked under this almost unrecognizable taller, more muscular version of the man she'd fallen in love with once. Now he called recklessness, justice? Maybe he deserved the pain she was about to inflict, at his own insistence.
Sucking in a steadying breath, she poised the scalpel, her other hand gripping his cool, tanned calf muscle.
To his credit, he barely flinched when she lanced the wound. But when she wiped away festering pus and blood with a towel, making him roll over slightly to slosh disinfectant quickly behind, he howled like a dog hit by a car. “Yeoooowww, woman! Have mercy!"
“I was beginning to think you weren't human."
“Got the bullet yet?"
A sickly chill trickled through her. “Still in there."
“Get it, Laurel Lee."
She needed him fixed up and out of her life before the bad memories—and pain—began to thunder back. She knew they would, given time.
She plunged deep into the cut with a tweezers.
“Woman, what the—"
With a great sense of relief, and with the breeze cooling her perspiring forehead, she pried open one of his fists and plunked a ragged, bloody pellet into his palm.
He lolled back on the grass, still wincing. “Thank you. I think."
“You're welcome,” she said, relief crawling through her.
She couldn't take her eyes off his whiskery jawline, or the firm muscles of his neck leading like steel bands to the juncture with his shoulders. Her lips parted, tingling, remembering how tentatively she'd kissed him once upon a time in the hollow of his neck. How they'd lay in grass just like this, pointing out faces in the clouds. She realized, deep down, she longed to taste his skin, his firm mouth, to lay there beside him. To compare the sensations. Then and now.
When she picked up her only needle and began poking at his flesh to suture, he cursed, “Nurse Nightmare, what tool is that? A pitchfork?"
“I usually use these on raccoons, possums and dogs. Of course, they're laid on the bench in the animal shed and knocked out with medication or tied down."
“Sounds positively comfy."
“I'll only take a couple of necessary stitches here. You need major human antibiotics and another go at those stitches with more
He nodded, a grin of relief nudging the wide, firm mouth. “I never would have thought you the doctoring kind."
“Why not?” Her fingers quaked when she considered her task of cutting into Cole. Her Cole.
“You could never sit still for long."
“Neither could you,” she said, pushing her palm against his chest. To her surprise, he obeyed and laid back in the grass.
“You used to fidget when I took you to the drive-in."
“It's long closed.” She grimaced at the sore leg.
“Too bad. I would have liked to do that again—"
“You're not staying that long,” she said, her heart racing. He couldn't stay. He just could not.
“And you drummed your fingers on the restaurant table because I ate too slowly."
The small talk was getting on her nerves. She reached for her scalpel and huddled over his leg. “I did it to bug you. You always ordered two desserts. No girl in her right mind could eat that much and not become wide as a barn."
“Not you, Laurel Lee. You had those skinny long legs—"
“Will you shut up, please.” Now she was the one with the fever, her fingers trembling as she gently explored the mottled flesh, trying to find the entry point of the bullet. But the thought niggled her: He remembered those little things about them back then. A feathery warmth tugged at her.
“This is bad, Cole. I shouldn't try this. And you shouldn't want me to. Grab some courage and common sense and get to a hospital."
Popping up to his elbows, he spat through gritted teeth, “I don't give a damn about courage. Mike's play at being captain courageous got him killed. Just do it. All I want is justice."
Justice? It stunned her. It's what she'd dreamed of getting from him for years. The same reckless Cole still lurked under this almost unrecognizable taller, more muscular version of the man she'd fallen in love with once. Now he called recklessness, justice? Maybe he deserved the pain she was about to inflict, at his own insistence.
Sucking in a steadying breath, she poised the scalpel, her other hand gripping his cool, tanned calf muscle.
To his credit, he barely flinched when she lanced the wound. But when she wiped away festering pus and blood with a towel, making him roll over slightly to slosh disinfectant quickly behind, he howled like a dog hit by a car. “Yeoooowww, woman! Have mercy!"
“I was beginning to think you weren't human."
“Got the bullet yet?"
A sickly chill trickled through her. “Still in there."
“Get it, Laurel Lee."
She needed him fixed up and out of her life before the bad memories—and pain—began to thunder back. She knew they would, given time.
She plunged deep into the cut with a tweezers.
“Woman, what the—"
With a great sense of relief, and with the breeze cooling her perspiring forehead, she pried open one of his fists and plunked a ragged, bloody pellet into his palm.
He lolled back on the grass, still wincing. “Thank you. I think."
“You're welcome,” she said, relief crawling through her.
She couldn't take her eyes off his whiskery jawline, or the firm muscles of his neck leading like steel bands to the juncture with his shoulders. Her lips parted, tingling, remembering how tentatively she'd kissed him once upon a time in the hollow of his neck. How they'd lay in grass just like this, pointing out faces in the clouds. She realized, deep down, she longed to taste his skin, his firm mouth, to lay there beside him. To compare the sensations. Then and now.
When she picked up her only needle and began poking at his flesh to suture, he cursed, “Nurse Nightmare, what tool is that? A pitchfork?"
“I usually use these on raccoons, possums and dogs. Of course, they're laid on the bench in the animal shed and knocked out with medication or tied down."
“Sounds positively comfy."
“I'll only take a couple of necessary stitches here. You need major human antibiotics and another go at those stitches with more
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