23. Jamison #4
Sienna looked between us. “You are both insane. No one is touching my waterfall. It was barely a fall.”
Reeves said nothing.
I glared at him, while he opened the medical case, unmoved.
Sienna’s gaze dropped suddenly to my side. Her expression changed. This time sharpened by something delicate and guilty.
“Your holsters.”
I glanced down.
The leather across my ribs was soaked, darkened almost black from water. The shoulder rig had taken most of the damage. The secondary holster at my back had scraped against stone, one strap visibly torn near the buckle, etched Crow dialect along the leather edge had water trapped in the grooves.
Her face fell.
“Oh no.”
I frowned. “What?”
“Will the water ruin them?”
“Sienna.”
She came closer, forgetting for a second that she was angry, that she was nearly naked under my jacket. Reeves stood six feet away pretending not to witness the collapse of my self-control.
Her fingers hovered near the strap across my ribs.
“Can I check?” she asked.
Reeves became extremely interested in gauze.
Sienna realized what she had said half a breath later. Colour swept over her face, but she didn’t step back.
“Yes.” My voice came out rough.
She touched the leather with two fingertips.
Ridiculous. Obscene. I had taken bullets with less reaction. Her fingertips moved over the wet holster, careful along the Crow scripture burned into the edge.
“What does this say?” she asked.
I looked down at her bent head, my jacket sliding open again because apparently every object in the cottage had joined a conspiracy to kill me.
“It’s old Harlan Crow dialect.”
“I thought so.” Her fingers traced the marking without pressing. “But I can only read little pieces.”
Reeves looked up, faintly surprised.
I was worse. “You can read any of it?”
She shrugged, suddenly shy. “A little. I studied dynasty scripts for a while. Ballet donors use old family mottos in stage crests, and I liked knowing what the decorations meant.”
Of course Sienna Bellemere saw letters on old seals and bothered to learn the dead language underneath because beauty meant more to her when effort lived inside it.
“Crow dialect isn’t taught though, so I’m roughly guessing from other languages.”
“What piece can you read?” I asked.
Her fingertip paused at the strap across my ribs. “Blood remembers.”
My throat worked once.
“Yes,” I said.
She looked at the holster differently then. “These are old.”
“They’re bloodline issue.”
Her eyes lifted. “From your family?”
“From the Crow armoury. Harlan branch. Issued through the direct line.”
“How old?”
“This set was my father’s first. Altered for me.”
“Jamison.” Her hand went still. “The water could ruin them.”
“They’ve survived worse.”
“But the leather—”
“Can be treated.”
“The torn strap?”
“Reeves can have it repaired.”
Reeves nodded. “Already arranged.”
Sienna’s brows drew together. “Could I replace them?”
“No.” I softened my voice before the damage spread. “No, baby. You can’t replace these.”
Her fingers curled back toward her chest. “Because they’re expensive?”
“Because they’re mine.”
“But if you hadn’t jumped in after me—”
“Stop.”
Reeves shut the medical case a little too loudly, possibly to remind me, control my reaction.
She looked breakable and stubborn and furious and worried about dead leather because it had belonged to my father.
She was killing me in ways enemies had never attempted.
“I mean,” I said slowly, “that nothing on me matters more than getting you out of that water alive.”
I caught her chin gently, lifting her face before she could hide behind the holsters, concern that was easier than believing me.
“You are going to be my wife. If something has to be damaged between you and old leather,” I said, voice rough, “it will be the leather every time.”
Then Reeves cleared his throat.
A heroic interruption, because I was two seconds away from forgetting every rule I had made for myself and kissing Sienna Bellemere hard enough to make the waterfall jealous.
“Miss Bellemere,” Reeves said calmly, “you should be examined for secondary injuries. Head, ribs, ankle, and signs of water inhalation.”
She stepped back at once.
I hated him.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“That appears to be a family motto no medical professional endorses,” Reeves replied.
Sienna looked at me. “Do I have to?”
I could have said yes.
Easily. One word. Command. Husband-shaped even before the vows. Instead, I forced my hand open at my side.
“I want you checked,” I said. “You can refuse. I’ll hate it, complain, and become unpleasant to everyone in a six-mile radius, but you can refuse.”
Sienna stared at me as though the concussion accusation had returned with supporting evidence.
“What?” I asked. “I’m capable of growth under extreme circumstances.”
“No, really. Did you hit your head?”
“I can examine him after you.” Reeves said.
“Don’t encourage her.”
“Fine,” she said. “Reeves can check me if he checks you too.”
“No.”
Her smile disappeared. “Then no.”
I stared at her.
Reeves suddenly found the towels fascinating.
Unfucking believable.
“Fine.” I ran my fingers through my hair and felt I was surrendering to a lot more.