by Nicole Helm
He unlocked the door, pushed it open, then turned to her.
She held up her hands to ward him off. “If you pick me up again, I’m going to deck you.”
With quick efficiency, he moved her hands away and swept her into his arms again. Why did her stomach have to do flips every time he did that? And why couldn’t she muster up the energy to actually punch him?
“Guess you’re going to have to deck me.”
She was so outraged she couldn’t do anything but squeak as he marched her to the back of the cabin in maybe ten strides. He went straight into the bathroom and gently placed her on the floor again.
“Take off your clothes.”
For a full ten seconds she could only stare at him. “I most certainly will not.”
“You’re bleeding God knows where. We need to get you cleaned up and patched up. Now. Shirt and pants off. You can leave your underwear on if you want to be weird about it, but I’ve got to see what kind of injuries we’re dealing with.”
“Weird ab—” She could feel fury and frustration somewhere deep underneath the pulsating pain of her body, but she couldn’t seem to change any of that irritation into action. She leaned against the wall, trying to make it look like she was being casual, not needing something to prop her up. “Not the time to try to talk me into bed, Brady.”
“Don’t mess with me right now. Take off the clothes. I’m an EMT. I’ve seen plenty of naked women and manage to control myself each and every time. I have to see what kind of injuries you have so I know how to patch you up. Lose the clothes, Mills.”
“How about you listen to the woman with the injuries. I’m fine. Just a bit banged up. I’ll take a shower—alone, thank you very much. If I need a bandage, I’ll ask for your expert services.”
It didn’t have the desired effect—which was to get him to back off. She figured it might at least hurt his pride a little if she took a shot at the EMT side of his profession. She knew Brady took the paramedic stuff very seriously, that he’d once wanted to be a doctor. Acting like all he did was slap on bandages should offend him.
But he merely narrowed his eyes at her. “What are you trying to hide?”
She bristled, her tone going up an octave. “Nothing.”
“Bull,” he returned. “You want to be difficult? Fine. I’ll do it myself.”
He moved toward her, and if she’d been 100 percent she would have fought him off. She would have done whatever it took to keep his hands off her.
But she was beaten up pretty good. There wasn’t any fight left in her, there was only fear, and she was very afraid she’d cry if she let him take her shirt off her.
So, she whipped it off herself. It wasn’t about being shirtless in front of him. Her sports bra was hardly different than a swimsuit or what she’d wear to the gym. But she knew his reaction to her wounds was going to...hurt somehow.
He swore, already leaping for the little cabinet under the sink. In possibly five seconds flat he had a washcloth pressed to the stab wound. She hadn’t dared look at it herself, but maybe she should have, judging by the utter fury in his gaze.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
“It’s not that bad,” she said weakly. Maybe it was bad enough to have mentioned it. She’d only wanted to handle it herself. She didn’t need him manhandling her and...
She blinked, desperately holding on to the tears that threatened. She didn’t want to break down in front of him ever again. That one time in his apartment over Mak was bad enough. This would be worse.
Because she wasn’t sad or upset. It was the adrenaline of the fight wearing off. It was the need for release. She didn’t want to be petted or taken care of.
She wanted to be alone. To handle it herself. To build all her defenses back without someone here...taking care of her. Because if he took care of her, he’d see all the marks of how she’d failed to take care of herself.
What kind of cop was she, then?
She looked up at the ceiling, didn’t answer his questions and definitely didn’t dare look at him. She blinked and blinked and focused on staving off the tide of tears.
But then he did the damnedest thing. He rested his forehead on her shoulder and let out a shuddering breath. Something deep inside of her softened, warmed, fluttered. Without fully thinking through the move, she lifted her arm that didn’t hurt too much and rested her hand on his head.
“I’m okay. Really,” she managed to say without sounding as shaky as she felt. “Just a little flesh wound.”
The sound he made was some mix of a groan of frustration and a laugh.
“You’ve fixed worse on people,” she reminded him. “Your own brothers in fact.”
He shook his head, but lifted it from her shoulder. He didn’t look at her, his gaze was on the washcloth he was pressing to the wound. “All right.” He blew out another shaky breath, but the inhale was steadier. He seemed to shrug off the moment. When his eyes finally met hers, they were clear, steady and calm. “Let’s get you really cleaned up, and I’ll see what I can do for the stab wound.”
Chapter Thirteen
Brady instructed Cecilia to hold the towel firm against her wound. Even the brief glimpse he’d gotten told him she needed stitches. He was no stranger to stitching up his brothers, but mostly as a paramedic that skill was left to doctors at the hospital.
He started the shower and tried to focus on the practicalities. She didn’t just have the stab wound. She had bruises and he’d need to make sure she hadn’t broken anything. He’d also need to check for a head wound because she’d dozed off in the truck—whether exhaustion as the adrenaline wore off or loss of consciousness he couldn’t be sure until he examined her.
But first and foremost she had to get the grime and blood off of her. She could stand and she was lucid, so a quick shower was the best option.
The fact she hadn’t even acted like she was in that much pain just about did him in. Why had she hidden it? To what purpose?
He couldn’t focus on that. He’d nearly fallen apart when she’d finally taken off her shirt and he’d seen that deep, bloody gash.
It hadn’t even occurred to him she was that hurt. She’d been acting so...flippant. At least when he’d worked on his brothers it had always been pretty visible how bad off they were up front. And when he dealt with them he’d have privacy after to rebuild his defenses.
There wasn’t going to be any privacy here until the Elijah threat was taken care of.
Still, he was a trained EMT. He should have a better handle on his reactions and he would. He would.
“Do you think you can handle a shower?”
“No. Why don’t you sponge bathe me, Brady? Of course I can handle a shower. You know, if you give me some privacy.”
“Sorry. I’m not going anywhere until we know you didn’t suffer a head injury.”
“I didn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Wouldn’t I know if I got knocked in the head?”
He didn’t look at her, even to give her a raised-eyebrow look. “Does your head hurt?”
She was stubbornly silent, which was as clear a yes as an immediate denial would have been.
“I’ll keep my eyes closed.” He moved away from the shower that was going, nice and hot, enough to make the room a little hazy.
“You don’t have to be that much of a gentleman. I don’t think a glimpse of nipple is going to send you into a crazed sex haze.”
Still, Brady kept his back to her and the shower. “Use soap,” he instructed, trying to pretend like she was a child who needed to be told what to do. Not someone some warped part of his brain wanted to see naked.
Which could not be considered, so he focused on the next. He had a first aid kit in his pack. It had the appropriate disinfectant. He didn’t have anything strong enough to numb the area where she
’d need to get stitches. That was going to be a problem, because while he was in no doubt she’d handle it, he wasn’t so sure he could handle giving her that much pain.
“Probably gonna need a little help with the sports bra,” she said after a few seconds. “It clasps in the back, but...”
She didn’t come out and say one of her arms hurt, but that was clearly the implication. She couldn’t get them both behind her back, which was a bad sign. “You have to be in a lot of pain,” he said flatly, turning to face her.
She still held the cloth to the gash on her side. “I’m alive, Brady. Managed to hold off four guys, one with a knife and one with a gun. I’ll take the pain, thanks.” She frowned. “What pack of four morons only brings one gun to kidnap someone?”
“The kind that aren’t allowed to kill you,” Brady said wryly, motioning for her to turn around so he could unclasp her bra for her. “Elijah will want to hurt you himself. Trust me. It’s why my brothers and I are still alive.” He focused on that, not the smooth expanse of her back.
She shivered—he was sure because of what he was saying, not because his fingers brushed her bare back to unclasp the bra.
“So, why doesn’t he come after us?”
Brady forced himself to drop his hands and turn around again. “That I haven’t quite figured out. Do you need help with anything else?”
“No. I think I can manage.”
Brady focused on finding a towel rather than the sound of her taking off her pants or stepping into the shower. He breathed in the heavy, steamy air and refused to think about showers or nakedness, because the naked woman was hurt and bleeding with a potential head injury. He wouldn’t even be able to determine if she had breaks or fractures. He wasn’t a doctor. He didn’t have the right equipment.
He should take her to a hospital. It left them with less control of the situation, but she’d get checked out. Fully checked out. It had to be worth the risk.
The water stopped and Brady heard the clang of the curtain rings moving against the shower curtain rod.
He held out the towel, keeping his gaze and body angled away from her.
The towel was tugged from his hands. “God, do you have to be so noble?” she demanded irritably as if it were some flaw.
“I don’t know how to respond to that.”
“Of course not. I managed to stay upright in the shower. Are you going to let me walk on my own or do I get the princess treatment again?”
“Put pressure on that gash,” he instructed, rather than answer her question. “We should—”
“If you mention the word hospital I won’t be responsible for my reaction, Brady. You’re a trained, licensed EMT. You can check me out.”
“You need stitches.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not. I can tell without even a full examination that it’s deep, long and in a bad spot. We bend and move our sides far more than we know. If you don’t get stitches, not only is it going to scar, but we’re going to have to watch out for too much blood loss. Infection is a near certainty, and just plain not healing is an even bigger one.”
“He says, from experience,” she replied sarcastically.
She didn’t know the half of it. “I know my way around a knife wound personally and medically, Cecilia.”
“Get in a lot of knife fights?”
He ignored the question. Just closed that whole part of him off, encased it in ice. Had to or he’d never get through this.
“Oh, turn around for Pete’s sake,” she muttered. “I’ve got the towel on.”
“A hospital would be a better bet,” he insisted. Though he did turn around and face her, he kept his gaze on her eyes. Refused to dip to even her nose. Didn’t check the towel placement or if she was putting pressure on her side where the gash was.
“Surely it’s not that bad.”
He tried not to let his irritation, and all the other feelings clawing inside his chest, get the best of him. “It’s not that good.”
“Right, but you’ve patched up worse,” she insisted.
“Yeah. Usually with help or better supplies. I had an actual medical doctor talk me through fixing up Cody after his car accident, and that was only until he could get to the hospital. I don’t have what I’d need to stitch you up, and you need more than a temporary solution.”
“I’ll be fine with a temporary solution.” She waved a careless hand. “Just do what you can.”
It was that carelessness, the utter refusal to listen to him that had his temper snapping. Every time his brothers came to him and said the same thing. Years of that, the past few months especially. Everyone was so sure they were invincible simply because he knew some basic emergency medical treatment.
He sucked it up and did his best, knowing it might not be good enough. What else was there to do?
But she didn’t seem to get it. She was seriously hurt, and he wasn’t a damn magician. “Did it occur to you—any of you ever—that you might not be fine? That I’m not a doctor. That I can’t just magically fix you all when you come to me bloody and broken because of Ace Wyatt.”
She stood very still, regarding him with a kind of blankness in her expression he recognized because it was the same face he put on when dealing with someone not quite stable.
“This doesn’t have to do with Ace,” she said, softly, almost sympathetically.
Which pissed him off even more. “It all has to do with Ace. Always. And forever. Now I need to find someplace to examine you, so stay put.”
* * *
CECILIA WAS ALMOST tempted to do as Brady ordered as he stormed out of the small bathroom. There’d been something painful about his little outburst. A little too much truth in his frustration. If she stayed put, he’d compartmentalize it away and they could focus on the real problems in front of them.
But the fact he had all of that... Insecurity wasn’t the right word. She was certain Brady understood his abilities, and knew he was an excellent EMT. The thing none of them had ever really thought about was the fact that doctors and EMTs weren’t supposed to work on their families. That’s when emotions came into play, and that put undue stress on the people doing the work.
The past few months, Brady had been tasked with working on some of the people he loved most in the world. They’d all asked it of him without a second thought—because it had been necessary. But no one seemed to think about the emotional toll it might put on the one cleaning up everyone else’s injuries.
Especially while he was still trying to heal from his own complicated injury.
Cecilia inhaled. She didn’t need to feel sorry for Brady. She was the one standing here wet, naked under a towel, bleeding and bruised. She was the one people should feel sorry for.
Trying to keep that in mind, she finally forced herself to move out of the bathroom and into the rest of the cabin. There was a kitchen/dining/living room all in the center, but right next door to the bathroom was another door.
It was open, and Brady was inside the bedroom fussing with the bedding. He’d already set out a line of first-aid stuff on one side of the bed. He didn’t even look up, though clearly he knew she was standing there.
“Lay down. Once I’ve made sure everything aside from the stab wound is fine, you can get dressed and we’ll decide what to do from there.”
“No broken bones, Brady. No head wound. I’ve had both, I’d know what they’d feel like. I’ve got one nasty cut there, and a much less nasty one on my back. The rest are scratches that don’t need any attention and bruises that could use some ibuprofen or some ice or a heating pad.”
“Lay down, please.”
She groaned at his overly solicitous tone, but she slid into the bed, still holding the towel around her. Once she was settled, Brady pulled the blanket up to her waist, then carefully rolled the towel up to reveal her abdomen without showin
g off anything interesting. Didn’t even try.
Seriously, would it kill the guy to try to cop a feel or something?
He’d put on rubber gloves and immediately began inspecting the stab wound on her side. He sighed and shook his head as he inspected it. “I know what happens to a wound this deep that doesn’t get stitches, Cecilia. We need to get to a hospital.”
“Let’s say we don’t—”
“Ce—”
“Hear me out. Let’s say we give it another couple days. You wash it out, bandage it up, and we try to get a few answers on Elijah’s whereabouts or plan. Then I go to the hospital and get it stitched up. What’s the risk of a few days?”
“Infection,” he said, so seriously as if that was going to scare her off.
“Last time I checked, they have meds for that. Which you should be well acquainted with.”
“I’m also well acquainted with what happens when you try to let a wound like this heal on its own but don’t actually take it easy.”
“How?”
“How what?” he muttered irritably. He grabbed some disinfectant from his lineup of first aid and Cecilia immediately tensed, waiting for the pain.
“How are you well acquainted with what happens when you don’t care of a wound like this?” she asked through gritted teeth, waiting for the sting.
He stared at her for a full five seconds like she’d spoken in tongues, holding the cotton swab in one hand. “I...have a dangerous job.” He focused back on her wound. “This is going to hurt.”
She snorted. “Look, I’m a cop too. I know we get into dangerous situations and we get hurt. I’m sure we’ve both got a few scars from work. But getting stabbed isn’t exactly a day at the office.” She hissed the last word out as the disinfectant stung like fire. “I think I would have heard about your stab wounds.”
