Page 84 of Freeing Lark

“You have a hole in your shoulder and a fever.”

The corners of his lips rose. “I’ve had worse.”

She stared at him. “That’s not funny.” He wasn’t sure he’d intended it to be. Lark grabbed the water bottle and held it to his lips. “Drink.” He took a couple of swallows. “More.”

He balked, knowing their supplies were limited. “I’ve been refilling it with rainwater,” she explained. “We have more outside. Drink.” He complied.

His brain slowly caught up. His clever girl. She’d figured out water. A fire. Shelter. She’d kept him alive.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Her eyes filled instantly. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?”

“You’re asking me if I’m okay?” She stood abruptly. “You’re the one with a bullet hole in your shoulder and a fever.”

That’s when Hoot noticed she wasn’t wearing much. His gaze dropped before he could stop it. She wore a sports tank top and a pair of panties. A very small, lacy, black pair of panties. Fuck me.

His eyes traveled over her shapely legs and the soft, feminine curves of her figure. She wasn’t fragile or impossibly thin. She was simply... Lark. A woman with a body that fit her perfectly.

And apparently one his fever-addled brain was more than capable of appreciating.

He shifted uncomfortably. Then noticed something else. His pants were gone. He looked down. Briefs. Nothing else. He closed his eyes for half a second.

Lark followed his gaze. Her cheeks turned bright red. “I⁠—”

She hurried across the cabin and grabbed her jeans. Hoot couldn’t help smiling. “Morning.”

“Stop.” She pulled them on as quickly as possible. Then glanced at him. “Do you want help with yours?”

He looked toward the pants lying beside the fire. “Probably better if I don’t move that much yet.”

“Right.” She nodded and immediately busied herself with the fireplace.

“I’ll get the fire going again. Then I’ll bring in more wood.”

Hoot watched her move toward the door. “Be careful.”

She looked back. “I will.”

Hoot hated this. Hated feeling so useless. Hated lying there, helpless while Lark did everything. Taking care of their water, keeping the fire going, making sure he had what he needed. It went against everything drilled into him during his years in the military. He was supposed to be the one carrying the weight, assessing the danger, making sure everyone under his protection had what they needed.

Especially her. Not being able to take care of Lark, to shield her from the fear and uncertainty surrounding them, left him feeling more vulnerable than the bullet ever had.

Once she disappeared outside, Hoot slowly looked around the cabin. Blood-soaked towels. The contents of his gear from his pockets scattered around.

Then something caught his eye. A tiny metallic object lay on the floor. He frowned, blinking several times to bring it into focus. Recognition hit suddenly. The bullet.

Except it wasn’t whole anymore. It was mangled. Hoot stared at it. Then his gaze dropped to his shoulder. And back to the bullet. Lark had pulled it out.

The door opened. She came inside carrying an armful of firewood. She dropped it beside the fireplace and looked up. Hoot was still staring at her.

“What?”

He pointed toward the floor. “Did you pull that out of me?”

She followed his gaze. Her expression became wary. “I had to.”