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“I missed you, darlin’.”
“Before or after you met up with rustlers?”
He grimaced. “Not buying my story, huh?”
“A two-year-old wouldn’t buy that story.”
“It’d be real helpful if you could see your way to pretending.”
She resisted the downward pressure of his hand. “Not likely.”
He pulled harder.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “You’re going to hurt yourself!”
“Darlin’, if you don’t know I’m working on stealing a kiss, I haven’t been doing my job right.”
Heat surged into her face, but it didn’t deter her from pointing out the idiocy of the statement. “You can kiss later. Right now, you need to be sewn up.”
“I want to be kissed now.”
She was weakening, which explained how her last token protest ended with a whisper against his lips. “This really isn’t the best idea—”
He opened his mouth and she lost all thoughts. His breath, his taste, it was all so dearly familiar. She braced one hand on the other side of his body. With her free one, she cupped his cheek. Her mouth opened over his and her defenses scattered like flies. She’d come so close to losing him. One more inch and the bullet would have insured she’d be alone forever. More desperation than passion poured into the kiss.
He pulled back a fraction. “I missed you, darlin’.”
“You could have been killed.” It came out on an anguished moan.
“Nah,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes. She felt his lips graze each lid before brushing her cheeks. “I just got me a wife.” His hand cupped her belly. “Maybe even got a start on a little one.” He absorbed her start with his touch. “You can stop your fretting. I’m not going anywhere, Elizabeth.”
As irrational as it seemed, she took great comfort in his conviction. For a few precious moments, they rested forehead to forehead, hand to belly, and let time drift. He was here now, she told herself. She’d take care of him and he’d be fine. That’s all she had to do. Just take care of him.
The stairs creaked. Boot heels reverberated on the hall floor. While Asa watched, a small, satisfied smile on his face, she repaired her appearance. When there were two quick knocks on the door, Asa called an immediate “come in”. She shot him a glare. She would have preferred a few more moments.
Clint came in, carrying the empty porcelain basin.
“Cougar get sidetracked?” Asa asked.
Clint nodded to Asa and tipped his hat with his free hand to Elizabeth. “He sent me up with this, ma’am. He said you might need help?”
Elizabeth took the basin. The roses, painted in pink, cream and blue, looked so pretty. Cheerful. A direct contrast to what she was going to do.
She put the basin on the night stand and poured in some water. With her hands, she worked soap into the liquid. She dipped the cloth into the soapy water. Turning to Asa, she said, “I’ve got to clean the wound.”
Asa shrugged as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “We’re not going anywhere.” He touched the sheet she’d dropped by his side. “This to catch the water?”
And blood. She’d cleaned enough wounds in her time to know there’d be fresh blood. “Yes.”
Without her asking, he shifted his torso so he was half on the sheet. When he was done, his breath was coming in harsh pants. “That work?”
“Yes.” She’d replace the mattress if it didn’t.
Clint appeared at her side like magic. “If you hadn’t been in such a hurry to impress your wife with how tough you are, I could have helped you.”
Asa’s response was a glare.
Elizabeth felt Clint needn’t be so provoking. She was going to reprimand him for it when, in a miraculous move, he had Asa re-positioned without a groan of pain or further whitening of his countenance. Instead, she looked at him in amazement. “How’d you do that?”
“My uncle was a doctor. A body tends to pick up a few tricks here and there.”
“You probably need to be real strong?”
His smile was gentle. “I’ll show you the trick later.”
“Thank you.” She couldn’t put it off any longer. The step to the bedside seemed like a leap across a chasm. She’d done this literally hundreds of times without a qualm. There was absolutely no need for her to be squeamish now, she told herself.
It didn’t help.
Before she could touch him, Asa grabbed the last of the whiskey and tossed it down in one swallow. He closed his eyes and braced himself. “Go ahead.”
She didn’t start immediately. She waited until his breath evened out. When she thought he was ready, she gently touched the cloth to the top of the long tear.
His breath hissed. Hers stopped. A trickle of blood started to flow. She dipped the cloth into the wash basin again. The water tinged a hideous pink. She wrung the cloth until it was short of dripping. She took a breath and applied it again. Asa didn’t make a sound this time, but his eyes closed and his whole body clenched. With broken ribs, that couldn’t have been comfortable. As if in testament to her assumption, sweat popped out on his brow. She left the cloth on the wound to soak out the debris.
