“Is your bedside manner always this reassuring?”
Her eyes stayed on the wound as she poured. “Only when people insist on inaccurate diagnostics.”
Pain detonated through his thigh—a live wire straight into his muscle. His breath hitched hard, his jaw locking down on a sound he refused to give voice to. He tasted iron anyway.
“QuikClot first. Stop the bleeding, then we'll glue you shut. This is going to suck.” She tore open the green-packaged gauze.
“Do it before I change my mind.”
She packed it into the wound fast, pressing down hard. Wyatt arched, a growl trapped in his throat as hot and cold warred inside him.
Fuck.
“That’s it,” she murmured. “Stay with me. You’re not going anywhere yet.”
Her hands didn’t falter. She worked fast, fingers sure despite the tremor that had lived in them minutes earlier. Her shakiness had evaporated—replaced by focus.
Sweat chilled his back. “You came back up.”
Her hands paused. “Yeah.”
As if climbing back toward gunfire and open sky had been the most obvious choice in the world.
She reached into her tool belt and pulled out a small tube.
He frowned. “Is that?—”
“Cyanoacrylate.” She twisted the cap. “It’ll hold for now if the cut’s clean.”
He huffed a breath that might have been a laugh if it didn’t hurt so much. “You carry superglue for first aid?”
“I carry it for repairs.” Her eyes met his. “You qualify.”
She leaned closer, and this time he felt it everywhere.
The warmth of her body. The brush of her knuckles against his skin as she worked. Even the way her breath caught when she had to press harder to seal the burning edges of his skin. He fought to keep his leg still, to override instinct because recoiling would make it worse—for both of them.
In less than a minute she’d glued him back together, sealing the wound before taping it tight.
He worked his jaw against pain-rigid muscles. “Why, Jen?”
She didn’t look at him. Just kept working. “You needed help.”
“You could’ve made it to safety.”
That made her glance up.
“Without you?” Her eyes held his, clear and unflinching. “No, thanks.”
His chest tightened, heat permeating where it didn’t belong.
Footsteps hurried toward them. Caro returned with water bottles. She dropped beside them and handed one to Wyatt before repacking the first-aid kit. Scared out of her mind, but still functional. Still trying to help, despite the tremor in her hands and the way her breath came too fast.
He’d seen trained operators fold under less pressure.
Jen had hired well.
Wyatt touched her elbow. “Hey. You’re doing fine. Better than fine.”
