Page 37 of Allie's Shelter

Her face paled and she gave a soft cry as she leaped to her feet. He was expecting a hug, or some show of gratitude, but she pushed him firmly onto a counter stool and ordered him to stay put.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re bleeding.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t noticed. Reaching for the twinge behind his ear, he jerked at her command to stop.

“Do not touch it.”

“Relax. I was—”

“Hush. It’s my turn to bark out a few orders.”

“At least get me a mirror so I can see how bad it is.”

“No.”

He might have grumbled about being treated like a wounded hunting dog, but he decided having her fuss over him was a helluva lot better than his experience with the Army medics. They were good, but none of the medics he knew were blessed with Allie’s soothing bedside manner.

Her hands were trembling when she started, but she steadied quickly as she washed the wound. She was so gentle he barely felt a thing.

“This really could use a couple stitches.”

He didn’t believe that for a minute. Even if she was right, it didn’t matter since he wouldn’t risk leaving the house. “There’s a whole load of stuff in the first aid kit. We’re not going anywhere until I get an all clear. I’m sure the superglue or a butterfly closure will do.”

She pressed another folded paper towel to his head. “Fine. Hold this a minute.” She adjusted his fingers and when she was satisfied he was applying the right amount of pressure, she met his gaze, her blue eyes sparking with irritation. “Where’s the kit?”

“Closest one is under the kitchen sink.”

He tortured himself with the delectable view of her perfectly curved backside as she bent to retrieve the first aid kid. She shot him a warning glance, as if she’d felt his eyes roaming over her. “How’s the pressure?”

“Building.” And not only in the cut on his head. “Find some gauze and a staple gun and we’ll call it good.” He barely stifled his smile as she grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a derogatory blanket statement about men.

“Head wounds are bleeders,” she declared. “And that’s a deep gash you’ve got.” She opened up the converted fishing tackle box. “Holy cow. You’ve got half an ER in here.”

“I like to be prepared. There’s a suture kit in there if you’re determined to see it sewn up.”

“Not me! A hospital, Ross.”

“What? It doesn’t have to be pretty. No one’s going to see the scar.”

She closed her eyes and he knew she was counting to ten. “Butterfly closure it is.” She found antiseptic ointment and butterfly closures and set them on the counter. “This might sting.” Because of the angle, he couldn’t see her face while she was working, but she glowered when she was finished. “That’s as good as I can make you.”

Well, she always had brought out the best in him. “Feels better already.” He smiled as he changed places with her. “Now it’s your turn.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve got a cheek full of splinters.” He winked. “We can’t leave them in there.”

“What!?”

“Relax.” He caught her hand before she could touch the scrape and splinters. “Nothing a pair of tweezers and some antiseptic ointment can’t cure.” He remembered how she hated splinters. It was her one irrational fear.

“Remember that end of year party our freshman year?”

“You are not helping,” she grumbled. “And it was our sophomore year.”

“Maybe it was. Close your eyes.”