Chapter Fifteen
Those black eyebrows went up, but he began unbuttoning his shirt. With every button that was opened she saw more and more
of his chest, his stomach, and she went breathless again. A diamond of hair centered his chest, then more lightly spread across
his muscled pectorals and in a narrow line down the ridges of his abdomen. She wanted to put her hands on him, stroke him,
but his eyes were still a bit feral with arousal and she knew if she did the cut on his back wouldn’t get taken care of.
He tossed the flannel shirt across the back of a chair, and turned so she could examine his back. She caught a soft breath.
At least he’d put a gauze pad over the wound, though it had bled through. The pad was small, about three by three inches;
discolored skin surrounded it. The cut itself might be small, but the impact hadn’t been. She reached up and gently tugged
at the pad, but though the edges were free the center of it was stuck.
“What happened?” She continued lifting the edges of the gauze, leaning close in an effort to see the actual wound.
“I was cutting firewood and a tree kicked out, knocked me down. It isn’t much, nothing that even needs a stitch.”
“But it’s still bleeding.”
“I can’t reach it to put clotting powder on it.”
“Well, the gauze is soaked through, and it’s stuck to the wound. I need to soak it off with warm water. Where are your first-aid
supplies?” Yes, she agreed with him that the wound obviously wasn’t serious, or he wouldn’t be moving as easily as he was,
but his shoulder still needed to be properly bandaged.
“The bathroom,” he replied, after a long pause that told her he was teetering on the edge of telling her to back off, that
kiss notwithstanding. Sela began working up her determination, because damned if she was going to leave here without first
taking care of him.
“Lead the way,” she said, and held her breath.
For a few seconds he didn’t move, then she could see him mentally tell himself “What the hell,” and led her through his bedroom
to the bath. She stayed right on his heels, not taking the time to stop and look around because a delay might prod him to
change his mind. His well of patience with people was woefully shallow. She did get a quick look around; her impression of
his bedroom was the same as his living quarters: spare, functional. Even the area rug was more for function than decoration,
helping keep the cold from his feet. His bed was covered with a dark green blanket, no bedspread. There was one pillow.
The bathroom was more of the same, larger than she’d expected, double sinks, both a tub and a separate shower with a glass
door. It smelled of soap and felt somewhat humid. It had been so long since she’d encountered that combination that she skidded
to a stop, her brow knitting in puzzlement. The shower door was open, and she noticed that the floor of the shower was damp.
Not only that, the towel hanging on the rack looked recently used.
“You . . . your shower still works?” And though the wood-burning stove was in the living area, the bedroom and bath were warmer
than she’d have expected, certainly warmer than hers was.
“Gravity system, and solar panels for heating the water.”
Hot water. She swallowed a moan. She missed television, she missed being able to go to the grocery store and buy whatever she wanted,
she missed central air and heat, but most of all she missed being able to take a hot shower.
He got out an impressive first-aid kit and placed it on the vanity, then lowered the lid on the toilet and straddled it backward.
“Just put some clotting powder on it and I’ll be fine.”
Sela unzipped the sturdy black kit and spread it open, looked through it to see what was there. She took out antiseptic wipes,
antibiotic salve, the envelope of blood-clotting powder, some adhesive bandages, looked for some disposable gloves but didn’t
see any and mentally shrugged. Somewhat hesitantly she turned on the hot-water faucet, because despite what she was seeing,
believing verged on a miracle. The water began flowing.
“Oh my Lord,” she said softly as she picked up the soap and began washing her hands.
“What?”
“Running water.” Her hands were clean. She didn’t bother drying them, just took two pads of gauze, held one under the water,
and then plopped it over the bloody one on his back. The other pad of gauze she pressed against his skin below, to catch the
red rivulets. When the bandage was soaked, she gently peeled at it again. The stuck part released a little, but more blood
began welling up.
“Just pull it off, get it done,” he said, glancing over his bare shoulder at her.
Maybe that was the best way, because it was going to bleed regardless. The pad was soaked, she couldn’t get it any wetter.
Wincing a little, she caught hold of the upper edge of the pad and gave it a firm pull. It came free, and she immediately
slapped it back over the wound and put as much pressure as she could on it.
“Use the clotting powder.”
“Just dust it on?”
“It takes more than that.” He leaned forward some. “Pour it on and pat it in with your fingers.”
She tore open the envelope and poured some of the white granules on the bloody wound, then used her finger to wipe most of
it into a pile where the bleeding was worse, where she then patted it in as he’d instructed. After a few seconds the clotting
began, and in less than half a minute the bleeding had stopped.
In silence she began cleaning around the wound, then, when the bleeding didn’t resume, she gently blotted away the stained
granules. The skin was broken in a jagged pattern, rather than a cut. The area around it was swollen and bruised. “Too bad
we don’t have ice,” she murmured, then paused. “Or do you?”
“Not at the moment.”
Indicating he could have ice if he wanted it bad enough. “What don’t you have?”
“No satellite television, air conditioner, or internet.”
“I miss all three of those,” she admitted softly, blotting the wound with an antiseptic pad. “Not as much as running water,
though.” She examined the jagged edges. “I think you do need a stitch or two.”
“Not bad enough for me to go hunting someone to sew me up, unless you’re volunteering. There are sutures in the kit.”
“I’ll try if you want me to.” Dubiously she eyed the wound. “I’ve never done anything like that before, though.” She didn’t
know how she would stomach sticking a needle through his skin, but come to that, just three months ago she wouldn’t have thought
she could handle any of the things that defined her life now. She had, and if Ben needed stitches she would manage that, too.
“Just stick some butterfly bandages on it, that’s all it needs.”
She didn’t quite agree with that, but used more antiseptic pads to make certain the wound was clean, then applied antibiotic
salve. As she worked she became aware that this certainly wasn’t the first time he’d been hurt. A puckered scar formed a white
star close to his waistline on the left. A long, narrow ridge bisected his back from the left shoulder across his spine to
wrap around his rib cage on the right. The pad of his right shoulder, right above the current wound, bore a small, thick scar
as if the muscle had been gouged. This would be yet another scar, given the unevenness of the break in the skin.
She didn’t know much about the military but she did know he’d been in service and his was a warrior’s body, a living testimony
to pain, sacrifice, and a spirit of steel. With these scars he’d either seen combat or maybe had a hell of a vehicle accident.
She put her money on combat. Perhaps he’d always been a solitary person, but she thought his withdrawal from people had more
to do with his experiences than his personality. Her heart swelled with pain for him. She would have stroked those scars,
but sensed that he wouldn’t welcome it. However he had gotten them was his past to share or not.
As gently as possible she pulled the ragged edges together and positioned several butterfly bandages over the wound, then
covered that with a thick gauze pad that she taped into place. “I’m not a doctor, but I’ve seen plenty on television, and I doctored plenty
of Olivia’s boo-boos. Don’t chop any wood for a week, and don’t get this wet.”
He glanced over his shoulder and this time she definitely saw amusement. “How am I supposed to shower?”
“Ah . . . okay, don’t shower for two days. If you’re not doing hard manual labor, you won’t be getting all that dirty and
sweaty, right?” She began putting the first-aid kit to rights. “But keep an eye on it. If it shows signs of infection, don’t
ignore that. Come down to the valley and I’ll do something. We have a couple of herbalists who can make a good poultice.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He got to his feet and turned to face her, and wow, his chest. Sela quickly looked away before she embarrassed
herself again. She had regained her equilibrium thanks to the way he’d kissed her, but that didn’t mean she’d lost her memory
of how he’d so easily said “no” to her offer.
He put his hands on her waist just as he had before, his thumbs rubbing on each side of her navel in a subtle but potent caress
that made her nipples and vagina tighten in response, made her want to flow toward him until their bodies were touching. Part
of her was still astonished that he was touching her, and that astonishment kept her in place though she couldn’t stop herself
from putting her own hands on his muscled forearms. “I’ll be there tomorrow morning, and I’ll talk to the valley people,”
he muttered, his sharp green gaze on her mouth, then moving down to her breasts. “When we have sex, it won’t be because of
any negotiation or part of any deal. It’ll be because we want it. Are you clear on that?”
Mutely she nodded. When they had sex. Like it was inevitable.
It was.
She accepted that. Wanted that. The only question was the one he’d pointed out: When?
“I have to get back,” she said, wishing the when was now even though she knew it wasn’t. She needed to check on Carol, see
about supper. Thank goodness Nancy had volunteered to stay with Carol tonight, because Sela was fast running out of steam.
She wanted to curl up under a quilt on her couch, in front of a fire, and catch up on the sleep she hadn’t gotten the night
before.
He tilted his head toward the shower. “Want a shower before you go?”
She stared up at him, her lips parting. He couldn’t have offered her a new car and tempted her more. A shower! For two months
she’d been washing off with water carried from the creek and heated in a kettle in the fireplace, which wasn’t very efficient.
Washing her hair was a big deal and required waiting until she had the time to sit beside the fire to dry it. She worked hard
at basic cleanliness, and now hot running water was the ultimate in luxury to her.
He almost smiled—not quite, but almost. “If you could see your face. I take that as a yes. Towels and washcloths are there.”
He indicated the linen closet. “I don’t have any fancy-smelling soap or shampoo—”
“I don’t care!” she said hurriedly, already reaching for the buttons on her shirt. She stopped, blushed, and dropped her hands
before she found herself stripping in front of him.
“Take as long as you want.” He went out and closed the door.
Sela peeled off her clothes so fast she almost tore them. A shower! She was going to have a wonderful hot shower!
Ben threw on his shirt, then took the dog and went outside. He didn’t quite trust himself to be in the house, knowing he had
a naked woman in his shower—and not just any woman. Sela. Quiet, gentle Sela, who kissed him back with a fire that still had
his balls aching. It wasn’t just the way she’d responded, but the concern she’d shown over the annoying but definitely not
serious cut on his shoulder, and the gentleness of her touch as she tended to him. All his prior wounds had been treated either
in the field—not gentle—or in a military hospital—still not gentle. She hadn’t been treating a wound, she’d been taking care
of him. He couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, he’d been taken care of as himself rather than as a soldier, part of a fighting
force.
Talk about a surprising turn of events. From the second he’d seen her walking up the driveway, things had happened fast.
Shit. Sela had balls. Not actual balls, which he intended to eventually prove for himself, but when she wanted something she
was apparently willing to do anything to get it. She hadn’t even been asking for herself, but for the people around her, who
would never know what she’d offered and perhaps didn’t deserve that kind of sacrifice.
Sacrifice? He’d make damn sure it was neither a sacrifice nor a payment. He’d do what she wanted, no strings attached. Whatever
happened afterward would happen because they both wanted it.
He didn’t want to deal with the townsfolk, community folk, whatever the fuck they were. Wears Valley wasn’t a town. Whatever
it was or wasn’t, he still didn’t want to deal with them, but he was committed now and obviously they needed the help. Despite
himself he was concerned about the old couple, the Livingstons. They’d have a tough time emotionally dealing with what had
happened, and would need help getting past it and feeling secure in their home again.
He looked at the dog, bounding around and sniffing at everything. He hadn’t wanted the responsibility or the company of the
dog, but he’d gotten used to both. He patted his thigh and the gangly pup bounded over to him, body wiggling with delight.
Ben crouched down, scratching behind both ears. “I’ll miss you, boy,” he murmured, “but there’s a couple of old people who
need you more than I do.” There was a concept; he hadn’t realized he needed the dog at all. “Reckon you could be happy being
spoiled rotten? I don’t think you’ll get in much hunting, but you’ll have all the attention you could want.” Maybe the Livingstons
wouldn’t want a dog to take care of, though having a mountain cur in the house keeping guard might be just what they needed
to make them feel safe again. All he could do was ask.
And, fuck, that meant he’d have to do some hunting for them, to help them keep the dog fed. That was what was wrong with getting
to know people. It was like getting caught in a damned spiderweb, with more and more strands getting wrapped around him.
One of those strands was in his shower right now. He kept stroking the dog, but his thoughts had zeroed back in on Sela. When
he’d mentioned the shower . . . the expression on her face had been priceless—and arousing. He’d seen joy, wonder, and desire,
her soft dark eyes filled with longing. For a shower.
He had a hard-on. Again. Gingerly he straightened to give his dick room to stretch out, and realized that he wouldn’t be able
to walk away again. He wanted her to look at him that way. Admit it, own it, act on it.
He looked at the house, every hunter’s instinct in him on alert. There was a naked woman in his shower, and he wanted to be
in there with her.