by Vicki Tharp
When the water hit the back of his throat he almost spat it back out. It was cold and crisp and clear, and the complete opposite of the hit of whiskey his mind had somehow expected.
With a cough, he swallowed it down and wished to hell he’d packed a bottle of whiskey in his saddlebags. What had he been thinking?
That Mac was counting on you. That you didn’t want to let her down. Again.
That you don’t have a problem. That you don’t need it.
Well, he didn’t need it.
But he sure as hell wanted it.
He bent to take the canteen from Sidney when another pain shot up his leg like someone at the carnival had hit the plate with a honking-huge sledgehammer and the weight had shot up, ping, ping, pinging the bell that was his brain.
He grunted through the worst of the agony. Something was wrong. He got phantom pains, but they’d been less and less frequent as the days since the amputation wore on. Now they were hitting harder and stronger than ever before.
He thumbed open the buckle of the thigh strap on his holster, unfastened his belt, and dropped his jeans to the tops of his boots.
“What are you doing?” Sidney didn’t say it like she was alarmed, just curious. By the way her eyes traveled down his body, maybe even a little interested.
He bit the inside of his cheek. Hard enough to taste blood. The last thing he needed right now was a raging hard on.
He plopped his ass on a saddle pad and worked the socket on his prosthetic until he could pull his stump free. He rolled down the sleeve, then the stockings beneath. Rubbing the exposed skin, he crossed his stump over his knee to get a good look at the end.
“Fuck,” he ground out. “I was afraid of that.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Hematoma.” Gently, he rubbed the end of his leg where the skin was bruised and a pocket of blood had developed.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t know it was that bad.” And now that his leg was out of the socket, the hematoma grew worse. If he didn’t do something now, there was a good chance he wouldn’t get his prosthetic back on without excruciating pain.
Sidney didn’t divert her gaze from his leg like his ex-wife had. She didn’t cover her mouth and try to pretend she wasn’t going to throw up like one of his old high school buddies had. She didn’t even have that half-pained, half-pity half smile that his parents tried to hide. She simply said, “Tell me what to do.”
“Seriously?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
Her green eyes narrowed, her lips tight, her short-cropped hair spiked in all directions after running her fingers through it. She was stone cold serious. If the Irish had badass fairies, she was their poster child.
“Small red duffel packed on Donkey. First aid supplies.”
She retrieved the bag and dropped it on the saddle pad. Before he could grab the bag, she wrestled his prosthetic out of his pants leg, then removed his other boot and pulled his pants off the rest of the way.
He grinned and said, “This isn’t exactly how I’d pictured you getting me naked.”
* * * *
The growing fire chased the worst of the cold out of the cave. Sidney stacked Bryan’s prosthetic on top of his jeans.
“So, how did you picture me getting you naked?” Sidney’s nipples pebbled and heat rushed up her face and suddenly she felt hot. This was like having phone sex, without the relative anonymity of the phone.
“Fewer horses, for one,” he said.
“Bigger fire,” she added.
He raised his injured leg. “Less bruising and blood and…”
“More wine.”
He laughed. “Wine would be good.”
“Or maybe some whiskey?”
“Sorry to disappoint you sweetheart, but this is a dry cave.” He thickened his voice with some sort of John Wayne accent that he couldn’t quite pull off. “No spirits within a half day’s ride.”
The smile slid from her lips. “Why?”
He looked her in the eye but didn’t hold it. Instead he pulled the first aid kit between his legs and started rummaging around for what he needed. Bandages, sterile needles, Betadine scrub pads. He laid the supplies out in a neat row in the order he’d need them.
Then he shrugged like he wasn’t going to answer her, but finally he glanced up. “To prove I don’t have a problem.”
“To yourself or to me?”
“Does it matter?” He opened the pack of presoaked Betadine pads and started scrubbing the end of his stump. “I thought the horses rode well today.”
“Uh…thanks?” It took her brain a second to reengage after the abrupt subject change. Clearly, he had said all he wanted to say about his drinking. She went with it. “Found a few holes in their training I want to fix before Dale puts the string up for sale, but overall, I’m pleased.”
“Pleased?” Bryan said with a laugh. “That’s like Einstein saying his theory of relativity might come in handy. You kicked ass.”
He didn’t say it like he was trying to butter her up or make her feel better. He said it like he believed it. Like it was the obvious truth. Sidney’s chest tightened, so full of pride it made it hard to breathe, and her grin made her cheeks hurt. “I kinda did, didn’t I?”
He smiled back. “That’s what I love about you, Irish. You didn’t let Hockley beat you. You put your head down and worked your ass off and trained a string of horses that are going to demand top dollar. If he doesn’t buy them, I guarantee he’ll be first in line for the next ones. If he isn’t, he’s more of an idiot than I’d thought.”
Her throat closed and it was a moment before she could speak. “You mean that, don’t you?”
He glanced up from what he was doing and looked at her. Really looked at her, as if he were trying to see behind her carefully crafted facade, behind what she put out there for the world to see. It made her feel naked and exposed and wholly transparent.
“What your parents did…” he started.
Just the mention of her parents made her feel less than. Less than worthy of her job, less than worthy of his friendship, of his concern.
“No. Don’t look away,” he said.
She sucked in a deep breath and mustered the courage to look him in the eye.
“What your parents did, that’s on them. I’m sorry I was in that group that doubted you. You didn’t deserve that.”
A lump lodged in her throat, strangling her vocal cords. All she could do was nod. When she felt the sting in the back of her eyes, she got up and headed to their packs like there was something important she needed to get. Like her grandfather used to say, “Cowboys don’t cry.” Well, neither did cowgirls.
At least not while anyone watched.
“You know,” Bryan said, sounding philosophical, “for a woman who preached to me about not being afraid to feel, you don’t seem to practice what you preach, sister.”
She pitched an apple at his head, but he caught it with a quick hand and a laugh.
“Asshole,” she said.
Taking her compliment with a smirk, he said, “That doesn’t make me wrong.”
When she settled back down next to him, he had a thick wad of sterile gauze pads at the ready and an unsheathed sterile needle in his hand. “This isn’t going to be pretty,” he warned.
“I’m tougher than I look.”
“Suit yourself.”
When he went to stick the needle into the hematoma she noticed his hand was shaking.
“Nervous?”
Something flashed in his eyes, but it might have been a flicker from the fire. He chuckled, but it came out forced. “It’s a needle.”
“Then why is your hand shaking?”
“Fine. You do it.”
That he never answered the question wasn’t
lost on her. If he didn’t have a needle phobia, why was his hand shaking? And why had her stomach sunk down to her knees?
“Get ready with the gauze. On the count of three,” she said. “One, two—”
“Ow! What the hell happened to three?”
“It’s a sixteen-gauge needle. You might as was well be shoving a garden hose through your skin. I thought it would hurt less if you didn’t know it was coming.”
“Christ. For future reference, it doesn’t.”
“Good to know,” she said as she pressed the gauze to the puncture, soaking up the fluid as he milked the trapped blood free.
After he’d gotten all the liquid out, he replaced the soaked gauze with a clean stack and she held it in place while he wrapped an ACE bandage around the end of his leg to apply pressure to keep the pocket from refilling.
“Better?” she asked.
“It’ll do for now. If it doesn’t get infected, we’ll be golden.”
Infected? Sidney frowned. “Shit, Bry—”
“Don’t worry. We got everything as sterile as we could. Shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”
“Maybe we should head back to the ranch.”
As if the weather gods had heard, the wind whipped across the mouth of the cave, throwing a curtain of water in the horses’ faces. The fire hissed and spit and dimmed for a few seconds.
The trail up had been steep and rocky. Hard enough going when it was drier. It would be merely treacherous if they led the horses out on foot—if they tried to ride down, it would be suicidal.
Bryan stared out at the falling rain. “Irish, we’re not going anywhere.”
CHAPTER TEN
The sun hadn’t fully set, yet with the storm, the back of the cave where they’d stored their gear got swallowed by the darkness. Sidney went to retrieve their bedrolls, making Bryan stay put because she didn’t want him to have to put his leg back on until the morning. The hard rock floor would be an unforgiving mattress, but it beat sleeping out in the rain. Well, it was more of a drizzle now, but that wouldn’t make sleeping in it any dryer.
“How do you want to set them up?” she asked when she returned with the gear. Then she noticed the saddles had been cleared to the side. “I thought I told you to sit tight.”
He stood on one leg near where he’d moved the saddles. “I can help. I have a sore stump, that doesn’t make me an invalid.” His voice didn’t have to be raised for her to be singed by its heat.
Her heart tripped on a lumpy beat. “I didn’t mean— I was trying to let you rest, I wasn’t trying to—”
“Sorry.” He grimaced. “That was uncalled for.”
Hopping over, he took the bedrolls from her hands, dropped them on the ground, and cupped her cheek. “I know you were trying to help. I appreciate it. Help is…” He swallowed hard, then continued. “Difficult to accept sometimes.”
“Yeah, I get that.” She pressed her cheek into his hand, liking his gentle strength maybe more than she should.
Stop. It.
She wasn’t going to think like that. They’d called a truce for the next couple of days and with that, she was calling a truce with herself as well. No more feeling guilty for liking a guy who had “heartbreaker” tattooed across his chest.
No. That was inaccurate.
She’d seen his chest. That expanse of tanned skin, the mat of black hair, and the thick muscles that created sweeping hills and enticing valleys, and there were no words of prophecy marring his perfect skin. He was just a man. A man with issues. Though she would be the worst hypocrite if she dared say his were any worse than hers. She wasn’t perfect. Not by a long shot.
“So how do you want to lay the bedding out?”
His smile was slow and sweet and grateful. “By the fire. Together.” The resonance dropped out of his voice when he said “together,” but it still came out sounding like a dare.
He traced her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb and raised a brow, waiting. For acceptance, or protest?
He pressed a light kiss to the corner of her mouth. A zing of arousal lit her nerves and danced in her belly and made her mind up. “T—” The single letter squeaked as it came out. She cleared her throat. “Together.”
The way he looked at her, she expected him to kiss her again, and much more, but instead he pulled her into his chest and held her tight against him. There wasn’t anything sexual in the embrace. He didn’t grab her ass or grind against her. Not that she would have minded, but instead it was as if he held her as a quiet acceptance of what was to come, of what they would share.
Beneath her ear, his heart thudded perhaps a little harder and a little faster than normal. Much like her own. He kissed her on the side of her head and let her go and together they spread out the blankets in front of the fire.
After moving one of the saddles back for Bryan to use as a back rest, she checked on the animals, offering water from a collapsible bucket they’d left out in the rain. The horses were out of luck for grazing, but Bryan had packed grain with them for caloric support. If nothing else, it would tide them over until morning. Then she kicked a couple of manure piles over the edge, checked Two’s hobbles, and called it good.
When she got back to what would be their bed, Bryan was already under the covers, his shirt off, the blanket lying low across his bare abdomen. He’d propped his shoulders on the saddle with his hands behind his head, watching her with the same awe and reverence she’d seen on his face when he’d admired Mac’s new pair of night-vision goggles.
You could take the boy and girl out of the Marines, but you couldn’t take the Marines out of Mac and Bryan.
“What?” She was still dressed, but she was more conscious of every move, every gesture, as if she were bare-butt naked.
He folded the corner of the blanket back in invitation. His leg was bare. Her steps faltered. Holy shit. Was he completely naked? Suddenly what they were about to do was all too real. How long had it been since she’d had sex?
Impractical Sidney started flipping through a mental calendar and shook her head sadly as month after month slipped by. Not helpful, she admonished her alter ego.
This was so not how she pictured this happening.
Unmatched, sturdy, practical underwear. Sigh. A breeze blew through, and she caught a whiff of herself. She was pretty sure Donkey smelled better, and had less hair on his legs and—
“Sid, don’t overthink this.”
—and…and forget the hair on her legs, the hair on her head was stiff with dirt and sweat. Lord help him if he tried to run his fingers—
“Sid.” He raised his voice, with an equal mix of amusement and what sounded like exasperation.
“Right.” She sat down on the blanket beside him and tugged off her boots and then her socks, because even though her toes were cold, she’d be damned if she was wearing grandma panties and socks to bed.
Sidney grabbed the bottom of her T-shirt. “Should I…” take my clothes off, she finished in her head. She made a tossing motion with her head instead.
“Take them off, leave them on. Up to you. What you need to do is get out of your head.”
She hadn’t been shy with him out by the stock pond the day the horses were stolen. If anything, she’d been a little aggressive. So what made today so different?
You like him. Impractical Sidney sang it like a short, taunting song.
Of course she liked him.
Uh-uh. Capital L like. Not little L like.
Sidney growled in her head. Nothing pissed her off more than when Impractical Sidney pointed out the obvious.
“Don’t laugh,” she said, as she shucked her shirt and her jeans and crawled under the covers he held up for her.
When she turned toward him, he held her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her to look at him. The fire was to her back. Bryan was mostly in
the shadows, but the firelight danced in his eyes. “Why would I laugh?”
She tucked a thumb under her bra strap and let it snap back into place. “If Paul Bunyan had been a cross-dresser, I’m pretty sure his underwear would have been sexier.”
He traced a finger along the top edge of a cup.
After some thought, he said, “They are rather serviceable.”
She socked him in the arm, but she laughed. “You’re not helping.”
“If you got naked, the point would be moot.”
She faltered.
What. The. Freak! Impractical Sidney shouted, completely losing her mind. Why aren’t you naked yet?
Bryan settled further under the covers, bent his arm, and rested his head in his hand. He scanned her face and his eyes narrowed. “When was the last time you slept with someone?”
Impractical Sidney laughed. It had a hysterical ring to it.
“Guy or girl?”
He choked on whatever he was going to say next.
“Kidding!” Sidney said, before he got any dangerous ideas. “You first.”
He stopped laughing. “Honestly?”
She nodded.
He shrugged like it didn’t matter, but even in the low light his expression changed and she could tell that it did.
“Ten, eleven months ago. A few months after my divorce was final. One of the PAs at the rehab center I went to. It was a pity fuck, so not sure that really counts.”
“Eleven months is a long time, Marine. You saving yourself for the right woman?”
“Been there, done that, got the ‘just divorced’ T-shirt.” When he looked up at her he had a mischievous tilt to his lips. “Your turn.”
* * * *
Sidney’s turn to tell Bryan about her sex life. In a freaking cave, no less. Crapola. “I wasn’t expecting you to be…”
“Truthful?” His shadow, thrown on the wall, shrugged with him. “Got nothing to hide.”
“Just a choirboy.”
“Quit stalling.”
She groaned. “Okay, okay. So I had been seeing this guy, another horse trainer, for about a year when the news got out about my parents. Needless to say, he was too worried about the effects associating with me would have on his career to hang around a moment longer.”