Page 64 of Hearts at War

The fact that she touched me, that she reached out to me and grabbed my arm, had to be important. Until now, she’d been consistent in keeping her distance. The only time we’d touched or came close enough to make contact was when we were both asleep.

“It’s not that bad,” I argued, not trusting how quickly she’d change her tune.

“It’s bleeding through,” she said, tugging on my arm to coax me into her place.

“I can handle it.” I followed, slowly, cautious about her behavior and mine. I’d been waiting to have a chance for her to open up to me. An invitation into her cabin was a hell of a sign of trust. With this volatile moment, though, I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing. When a woman asked a man to back off, that was a clear warning every man should obey, including me. But what was the protocol when they changed their mind quickly?

“It’s the least I can do.” She frowned at my arm, releasing it when she seemed to assume I would continue walking with her. “It’d be hard for you to reach up like that.”

It would. The wire had sliced me up high and more onto my back than down my shoulder and upper arm. And they weren’t dinky, short gashes, either.

“Why are you acting so off?” I asked when we reached her door and she unlocked it.

I was confused, and I wasn’t sure what made her ping-pong around so many emotions to behave this erratically. Asking her directly seemed like the best move.

“I’m acting off?” she replied.

Don’t be delusional, Heather. “Yes. Telling me to go then begging me to come inside.”

I did, though. I stepped into her cabin and let her close the door behind me.

“I’ve had an, um, stressful afternoon.” She walked further into the one-room space, casting her gaze down low. “But I don’t think it’s fair for you to say that.”

“To call you out on acting like a walking contradiction?” I sat at one of the dinette table’s chairs when she gestured for me to be seated there. She busied herself in the cupboards below the sink, seeming to search for something.

“I don’t think it’s fair for you to say that,” she said, putting me on the spot when she stood and faced me with a first-aid kit in her hands. “You don’t know me to be able to determine when I’m acting ‘off’ or unusually.”

I twitched my lips to the side, fighting a smile. “I suppose you’re right there.”

“There’s no supposing about it,” she argued mildly as she walked toward me. She put the slim box on the table and rested her hands on the back of the other chair.

“I agree. I don’t know you all that well.” I gave in to a single laugh. “But I’m supposed to let you clean up my wound?”

She rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows a little about first-aid.”

I held her gaze for a long moment, giving this connection between us a chance to solidify and strengthen. So many unspoken things passed between us, but I was confident they were rooted in awareness. Maybe even the start of a minor friendship.

I cleared my throat, snapping out of the draw to simply look at her and appreciate that we could talk. That she wasn’t, in the end, pushing me away. “I don’t know you all that well, Heather, but despite my better judgment, I want to.”

She didn’t speak as I pulled my thermal shirt off. It wasn’t easy to remove it with the thick, wet bandages coiled around my bicep, but the rest of my maneuver went smoothly. With one tug of my hand, I had the garment off my chest and other arm, over my head. It was snagged and bunched above the bandages though.

When she didn’t move, staring at me, I tried not to let her heavy-lidded gaze get to me. Lust was good and well, but this wasn’t the time to indulge in it.

Blinking quickly, she tore her stare from my chest and approached. She firmed her face into a more serious expression of concentration as she helped me with my shirt at my wound. “How did this happen?”

Again, she was deflecting. I told her that I wanted to get to know her, and she didn’t reply about that remark at all. Her asking me about my injury was a direct opposition. She was, again, asking me about myself, and I wondered when she’d let me do the same to her.

“I was out fixing fence, and something snapped.”

“Barbed wire?” she guessed.

I laughed once, watching her focus on peeling my bandages off. “No. We don’t need the herds getting hurt.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t know much about ranches?”

She shook her head, teasing my nose with the shake. The movement freed her long tresses from being bunched over her opposite shoulder, and with the slight unravel, the sweet scents of her shampoo reached me. I drew in a deep breath, calming under her touch.