Page 17 of Hunting Justice
He closed his eyes and exhaled. Crisis averted. “Thanks for helping me.”
She tilted her head. “Of course. Have you forgotten the weeks you played doctor while I was confined to the couch?”
He froze.
Her neck and cheeks flamed bright red, indicating she realized her faux pas.
To save her from embarrassment, he brushed her comment aside. “How could I forget your concussion, since I’m the one who gave it to you?”
Noelle closed her eyes for a moment and chuckled. “There is that. But seriously, you didn’t have to spend all those hours with me. I never blamed you.”
“I know you didn’t, but I felt bad.” She’d hit the dirt, and his stomach had sunk. The memory of her motionless body still made him sick.
“Make no mistake, though. I appreciated your kindness—and our friendship that came from it.”
“Me too. The friendship, that is.”
“Okay, quit stalling. The shorts help to treat your legs, but you need to lose the shirt so I can clean your cuts and scrapes.”
He raised a brow. “Bossy much?”
“Um, yes.” She laughed.
Jonah raised the shirt over his head and tossed it aside. His muscles chose that moment to complain. He let out a low moan as he lowered his arms.
“First things first.” Noelle dropped three ibuprofens into his hand. “Take those.” She found two bottles of water in the refrigerator and handed him one.
As if he’d refuse pain meds at this point. He thanked her and took the pills.
She dropped two in her hand and swallowed them dry before reaching for her water.
He grimaced. “How do you do that?”
The bottle paused next to her lips as the creases in her forehead deepened. “Do what?”
“Take those without something to drink.”
She shrugged, then took a sip and set the water on the table. “When you’re desperate, you’ll take medicine however you can. It’s a habit, I guess.” Without another word, she retrieved the first-aid supplies and dabbed a square of hydrogen peroxide-soaked gauze on his shallow lacerations.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth at the cold solution on his bare arms and chest. Her gentle touch surprised him. Almost as if she knew how uncomfortable the multiple cuts were.
After she’d finished cleaning and treating his wounds with a triple antibiotic cream, she tossed the used supplies in the trash and washed her hands.
Jonah eased the clean shirt over his head and down his torso, careful not to let the material scrape the injuries. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, how about we get you over to the couch so you’re more comfortable.”
He stood and pointed to the chair. “Nope. It’s your turn.”
“Excuse me?”
He gestured to the road rash that required cleaning. The abrasions ran up her forearm and under her shirt sleeve.
She shook her head. “I’m good.”
“Elle. You hit the ground hard when you tackled me.” The hurt in her eyes…or was it fear?…tugged at his heart and confused him at the same time. “I want to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m fine. Really.”