Chapter 5
FIVE
One minute, Frankie was chewing out Waylon—unfairly, he felt—and the next she was clawing at her arm and making panicked sounds.
“What? Did something bite you? Bee sting? Shit, are you allergic?” He shrugged off his pack, ready to find and break the ampule of epinephrine and draw it up to give her a shot, as he studied her for signs of anaphylaxis.
Frankie shook her head violently. “No, no, it’s a really bad splinter,” she said in a shaky voice.
Waylon relaxed. Is that all? Not much of an adventurer, is she? Then again, Frankie hadn’t signed up for the Adventure Buddy Club on her own. Steph had fooled her, too.
“Here, let me see.” Waylon reached for Frankie’s arm and she flinched as she took a couple steps back, her hand covering her wound. He thought she was just being stubborn until he saw the whites surrounding her irises and realized she’d flinched out of fear. He’d seen that look a million times from patients.
He softened immediately. “Hey, whoa now. You’re okay,” he said gently, offering her a reassuring smile. “I’m not going to hurt you. We’re Buddies, remember?”
Frankie’s breathing slowed. She nodded and smiled reflexively. “Sorry. You probably think I’m some crazy germaphobe.”
“You don’t need apologize.” He reached out tentatively. “Can I see your arm? Because you were right about Mr. ER Guy. I’m a paramedic.”
“Figured.” She swallowed hard, still clutching her arm as she took another step back.
But now it was starting to make sense to Waylon—the way Frankie’s lip curled when she got a good look at his shirt. Maybe it wasn’t him specifically she didn’t like. Maybe she wasn’t too crazy about medical personnel in general.
“My shirt gave it away, huh?” He grinned.
She nodded.
“Let me get my first aid kit.” He set his backpack on the bridge and unzipped the top, then pulled out a red bag with a white cross on it. He unzipped it, took out a small bottle of hand sanitizer, flipped the cap open, and squirted it into his palm.
Frankie took one look at the bottle and went pale. She backed up against the railing and looked like she was considering jumping into the river.
“Well, now I know for sure you aren’t a germaphobe or you’d be all over this stuff,” Waylon joked, trying to get her to relax.
She covered her nose and looked away, wrapping her other arm tightly around her torso. “I’m… sensitive to the smell of some hand sanitizers. That happens to be one of them.”
“This?” He turned it and looked at the label, as if he didn’t know it was one of the sanitizers he’d swiped from the hospital, a brand you couldn’t buy in a grocery store.
That’s when it hit Waylon like a punch to the gut. How could he have been so blind?
She was overly worried about a splinter—no, a puncture wound by something that God knows how many people ran their dirty hands over. She obviously didn’t like hospital personnel. And not only did she not like the smell of the hospital sanitizer, she had a visceral reaction to it.
Add to that she was thin, too thin. Her hair had to be cropped short under that beanie, and she got winded way too quickly for someone her age. The signs were all there—signs he’d been too self-absorbed to notice.
Frankie had spent some serious time in a hospital, and not that long ago, he’d wager. He was good at treating acute trauma, broken bones and heart attacks. He wasn’t used to dealing with chronic diseases, but that was no excuse for missing the most obvious thing in the world.
Frankie had been a cancer patient. Maybe she still was.
And she wanted off the battlefield, not to be reminded of it.
But that’s all Waylon seemed to be. Without ever meaning to, he was a walking, smart-talking reminder of everything she wanted to put behind her. No wonder Frankie wanted nothing to do with him. And if Stephanie knew how she felt and still set her up with him? Yeah, she had more reason to be hostile than he did.
At least outwardly.
“I won’t use this one, then,” he said softly.
When he snapped the cap shut, she dropped her hand. She looked surprised that he was humoring her—until she caught the sincere look in her eyes. Frankie blinked, then nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate that. Buddy.”
When she smiled, not only did her eyes brighten, the whole day got brighter. Waylon couldn’t help but stare a moment longer than was polite. Then he snapped himself out of it and finished putting away the sanitizer. He opened his water bottle and poured some into his hands, rubbing them together to rinse off the sanitizer. He wiped his hands on his cargos.
“Better?” He held his hand up, palm out .
Frankie hesitated. She leaned forward, one foot still back, like a skittish woodland creature ready to bolt into the underbrush, and sniffed. She nodded and said, “Better.” He dropped his hand and her shoulders relaxed. “I’m not sensitive to all sanitizers,” she added quietly. “Just… certain brands, I guess.”
“Good to know,” Waylon said. “Do you have any that you like, that I can use?”
She giggled—a beautiful sound to Waylon’s ears. “I do, but I doubt you want to smell like a field of flowers.”
“Try me.”
“Okay, it’s your pride on the line.” She reached into an outer pocket on her bag and pulled out a blue plastic bottle. She popped the lid and the crisp air filled with the smell of lavender.
“What a coincidence. It’s the same stuff I always use after my mani-pedis,” he joked.
This got him an actual laugh. Frankie giggling was cute, but her laugh was on another level—warm and sweet, and so welcoming that he laughed too. For a weird moment, he felt like he already knew her and—God help him—liked her.
Waylon held out his hand to take the bottle. After a long moment, Frankie gave it to him. He held up his other palm and she gave him the lightest high-five, like it was a truce.
And maybe it was.
“Now, let me see your arm.”
This time, Frankie rolled up her sleeve and extended her arm willingly. “It’s fine,” she said, color blooming on her cheeks. “I was just being stupid.”
Not if your immune system is compromised . He almost said it out loud but stopped himself. He was still making assumptions. And even if he was right, Waylon had already upset her enough. Most cancer patients he’d met were hyper-aware of cuts, colds, and anything that could risk infection. Immune systems worn down by chemo made every little thing a potential danger.
“You weren’t being stupid. Not at all. ”
That got him another smile. He took her arm, trying not to focus on the soft warmth of her skin beneath his touch, and examined the wound. It wasn’t as bad as he’d thought, given the blood smeared across her arm where Frankie had dug in, trying to tear the splinter out. She’d broken some capillaries and that made it look worse than it really was.
Frankie examined it with him. “I freaked out and made it worse.”
“It’s not that bad. Can I pull the splinter out and patch it up for you? I’ve got bandages.” He had a thought and smiled. “I might even have a Snoopy one.”
Her eyes widened. “How did you know I love Snoopy?”
“I saw the Snoopy pen you used when you signed the release form this morning.”
Frankie looked surprised. “I can’t believe you noticed something that small.”
Waylon shrugged. “Sometimes I’m better at noticing the smaller things than the bigger ones.”
She tilted her head, studying him. Waylon instantly regretted his words. Of course she’d read right into what he meant. She hadn’t mentioned cancer—she obviously didn’t want to. She couldn’t even stand being paired with a paramedic, for crying out loud.
“Well,” she said, breaking the uncomfortable silence, “are you going to fix me up so I can have my Snoopy bandage?”
Waylon gave a quick shake of his head, clearing his thoughts. “Yeah, right. Sorry. Hang on.”
He reluctantly let go of her arm and dug into his kit, on the hunt for his tweezers and an alcohol swab. He took her arm again and carefully wiped off the blood. Frankie seemed much calmer now as she watched him clean her scratched-up skin.
“Sorry, this might hurt a little,” he said as he readied the tweezers.
Frankie chuckled ruefully. “No worries. I have a pretty high pain tolerance. Do your worst.”
Waylon glanced up at her, catching the mischievous twinkle in her eye. Like her laugh, it felt oddly familiar, like a memory he couldn’t quite place. Then it was gone.
To her credit, Frankie didn’t even flinch when the tweezers grabbed the splinter and he pulled it out. The splinter was long, at least half an inch, but the wound was shallow, the splinter having gone in across her skin instead of straight into the meat of her arm.
Waylon wasn’t kidding about the Snoopy bandages. He was a Snoopy fan himself, and he always carried cartoon bandages for his younger patients in the field. If a kid was scared, he’d spill the bandages out on a nearby surface without a word and ask, “Which one do you like best?” The question usually distracted them. Once the kid picked their favorite, he’d grin and say, “Yeah, that’s my favorite one, too.” Then he’d ask them to tell him about the cartoon characters as he worked, and before long, the kid would be chattering away, too caught up to notice what Waylon was doing.
And of course, he used the bandage they’d chosen—a small prize for their bravery.
Grinning at the thought, he decided to try the same trick with Frankie.
“Which Snoopy is your favorite?”
“Oh, that’s easy. Snoopy pretending to be an ace World War I pilot.”
“Huh. Yeah, me too,” Waylon said, meaning it.
Frankie raised an eyebrow. “Really? I’d have figured you for a Joe Cool kind of guy.”
“Nope. Ace pilot all the way,” Waylon said, grinning. “I loved the Halloween special when I was growing up.”
“Right? That’s my favorite part of the whole cartoon,” Frankie said, her eyes lighting up. “Snoopy’s imagination completely takes over, and he’s totally in his own world. I didn’t get it as a kid, though. I thought he really was wandering through some French countryside, looking at signs and running past crumbling buildings. Especially when he sneaked into the party the Peanuts gang was having—I thought they’d found some old, haunted farmhouse to throw their party in, which was perfect.”
Waylon chuckled. “Yeah, but it was probably just one of their suburban houses.”
“Exactly, but Snoopy’s imagination changed it completely. Pretty cool,” Frankie said with a shrug.
Waylon nodded as he peeled the backing off the bandage. “Well, let’s see. I think I’ve got one Snoopy pilot left.” He rummaged through his supplies, letting out a small sigh of relief when he found not one but two. “Hey, look at that.” He pulled them out and held them up for her approval.
Frankie’s face lit up with another hundred-watt smile. “Yeah, perfect.”
Carefully, Waylon placed a gauze square across the area she’d scratched up. He taped the Snoopy bandages over the gauze, covering it. Frankie inspected his work, nodding once, tiny smile as she ran a finger over Snoopy.
“Perfect.”
She looked down the path where the others had gone. “Think we can catch up with them?”
He followed her gaze. “They’re probably way up ahead by now.”
“We can catch them,” she said brightly, eyes twinkling.
He thought about how winded she’d gotten just walking to the bridge. “Naw, we should probably take it easy.”
Frankie stiffened beside him. All the light that had crept back into her eyes stole away again.
“I’m fine. It was just a splinter.”
“Are you sure you aren’t winded? We could wait here, or go back?—”
Frankie sighed and closed her eyes, looking pained. “No offense, but this is why I didn’t want to be paired up with you. I’ve had enough of medical personnel telling me what I can and can’t do.” She grabbed her pack and sprinted off the bridge.
Ah , so he was right. She had spent time in a hospital.
“Wait up.” Waylon slung his pack across his shoulder, not bothering with the other strap. He had to give her credit; when Frankie wanted to move, she moved . He had to run to reach her.
“See? I’m just fine,” she panted when he caught up with her. She slowed to a walk. “I can…do this.”
“Didn’t say you couldn’t.”
Frankie stopped walking. “Yes, actually you did.”
Shit . Yup, he did, in so many words, didn’t he?
She’s not my patient.
Waylon grinned. Elias had said the very same thing after he’d treated Wren when she’d escaped a burning building. Only, for Elias, it was an excuse to ask her out. The last thing Waylon wanted was to take Frankie anywhere.
Frankie cocked her head. “What’s that grin about?”
Before Waylon could respond, they both froze at the sound of rustling bushes under the think cover of pine trees. Frankie glanced toward the noise. “Swear to God, if that’s Stephanie sneaking up on us?—”
She didn’t get a chance to finish. It wasn’t Stephanie, or anyone else from the Adventure Buddy Club, or even a stray hiker.
They both froze as a massive nose appeared through the bushes, followed by a head adorned with the largest rack of antlers Waylon had ever seen. The moose emerged fully, towering over the trail.
“Oh, shit,” they said in unison.
“Okay,” Waylon began, his voice low and steady. “I don’t want you to panic.”
“I grew up in Montana,” Frankie said, keeping her voice calm but firm. “I’ve seen moose before.”
Waylon raised an eyebrow. The moose, now fully in the middle of the path, snorted and turned its head toward them, massive ears swiveling to catch every sound. Waylon searched the underbrush, scanning for movement. It was late September, the beginning of mating season when bull moose were notoriously unpredictable.
“Okay,” he murmured, keeping his voice even. “I don’t see any others. On the count of three, we’re going to slowly turn and head back to the bridge?—”
“Oops, nope. We’re not,” Frankie cut him off, glancing over her shoulder. Another moose emerged behind them, blocking their escape route.
“Oh, double shit,” Waylon muttered, his stomach sinking. “I think we’re in the middle of a herd.”
“Moose don’t herd, deer and elk do. I thought you said you knew moose.”
“I do, but I don’t think right now is the time to argue that.”
The first bull snorted again, shaking its head. The moose behind them stopped when it caught sight of the bull on the path. A tension filled the air so thick Waylon felt it fill his chest with every breath.
“Uh,” Frankie whispered, her voice tinged with both awe and worry. “I think we’re in the middle of a standoff. Let’s slowly back into the underbrush on the other side of the trail?—”
“No time for that!” Waylon swept her up into his arms just as the bull in front charged right at them, aimed toward his opponent. He carried Frankie, dashing out of the way and into the trees just before a deafening crack filled the air. The two bulls collided, their antlers crashing together with bone-rattling force. Deep bellows echoed through the forest as the animals locked horns, muscles bulging, each trying to overpower the other.
Frankie slapped a hand over her mouth. Waylon glanced at Frankie, expecting to see fear and ready to reassure her, but instead she radiated excitement. Her eyes were glued to the battling moose, wide with wonder. Her body shook—not with fear, but with suppressed laughter.
“This is so cool,” she whispered, barely containing herself.
Waylon stared at her in disbelief. Frankie was having the time of her life, entranced by the spectacle in front of them. Waylon shook his head, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He told himself it was from their escape, and not from watching the feather-light pixie in his arms .
Too soon, she looked at him and said, “You can put me down, you don’t need to carry me.”
His first instinct was to tell her yes, actually I do need to carry you so I can feel you every time you shake with laughter, but he didn’t think that would go over very well.
Besides, the voice of reason in his head told him, aren’t you forgetting how you didn’t want to be paired up with a woman who would ‘accidentally’ fall into your arms? And here you are picking her up on your own.
Waylon let Frankie slip down out of his arms. He missed her slight weight immediately. He reminded himself that he preferred bigger ladies with nice curves.
She’s not for you. No woman is, not for long .
They eased farther back into the trees, moving slowly and quietly as the bulls squared off again. Waylon pointed in the direction the rest of the Adventure Buddies had gone.
“Let’s keep moving,” he whispered. “Just in case one of them decides to chase the other into the trees. I’d rather not become a speed bump for an angry moose.”
Frankie grinned but kept her eyes glued to the fight. Waylon had to admit, it was pretty amazing. He’d never seen anything like this before. The only moose he’d ever spotted were lone wanderers, and never this close.
The two moose circled each other, their bugles echoing through the forest like prehistoric trumpets, primal and powerful. When their antlers clashed, the sound reverberated like boulders colliding. Sure enough, one moose turned as the other charged. The retreating bulls thundered off the path right where he and Frankie stood moments ago. They crashed through the woods, snapping branches and trampling saplings and undergrowth as they went. In moments, they vanished, leaving the trail eerily quiet in their wake.
It was like the forest had swallowed them whole.
“Was that real?” Frankie whispered.
“I was kind of wondering the same thing,” Waylon admitted, still half-expecting the moose to reappear. “But I don’t think our imaginations could’ve broken trees like that.”
Waylon looked down to find the pixie beaming up at him, her smile full and unguarded. His breath hitched.
Damn .
“I bet Snoopy’s imagination could,” she said.
He snorted. “I think you’re right.”
The sound of approaching footsteps reached them.
“Waylon? Frank?” Stephanie called out, full of worry. “Are you guys okay?”
“We’re fine, Steve!”
“We’re alright!” Waylon called back at the same time. He and Frankie stepped back onto the trail to find the rest of the group rushing toward them, Stephanie leading the charge.
Stephanie clutched her chest dramatically. “Oh my goodness. Did we hear a moose?”
“You heard two of them,” Waylon replied. “A couple big bulls decided to have a fight, and lucky us, they picked right where we were standing.”
“Front-row seats,” Frankie added, shaking her head. “That was wild.”
The other Adventure Buddies continued back along the path, murmuring in awe as they examined the shattered saplings and trampled underbrush where the moose had retreated. Stephanie grinned knowingly at Waylon and Frankie.
“See?” she said, smirking. “This is why Adventure Buddies need to be paired up.”
“Oh, so you were planning for a couple of moose to charge us?” Frankie asked.
Stephanie shrugged, utterly unapologetic. “Well, it was turning into a boring walk. Had to spice it up somehow. You make a good team, by the way.” She winked and sauntered past them to join the rest of the group.
Frankie shook her head, her expression torn between disbelief and admiration. “You know, if anyone could conjure up a couple of moose, it’d be Stephanie.”
Waylon chuckled. “Can’t argue with that.”
Frankie gave him a sideways glance. “Wait a second—are we actually agreeing on something besides Snoopy?”
“Sure sounds like it.”
Frankie grinned again, and Waylon couldn’t help but grin back.