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She made a face. “No. But I’ll tell your grandfather the truth. Stay here and I’ll find some first aid supplies.”
She thought he was going to refuse, grab his dog and head out into the night. After a long moment, he shrugged.
Now she only had to do her best to be clinical and cool while she tended to his wound. She would have to touch him for the first time in more than a decade.
No problem, right?
Chapter 6
This was probably the dumbest thing he had ever done. Worse, even, than letting down his guard against a drunk idiot outside a Portland bar.
As Wes waited for Hannah to return, he quickly finished putting together the bed, twisting the screwdriver with probably more force than the job required. All the while, anticipation thrummed through him at the knowledge that she would be coming back soon, that she would put her cool hands on him, that she would be closer than she had been since he left town.
She meant nothing to him, he reminded himself. And he had certainly made damn sure he meant nothing to her.
He was laying down the slats on the bed when she returned carrying a box he assumed contained first aid supplies, along with a box of bandages in various sizes.
When she saw he had finished the project, her mouth tightened. “As stubborn as ever,” she muttered again. “Pull up your shirt and let’s see what we’re up against.”
With every instinct warning him this was a huge mistake, Wes gripped the bottom of his shirt and lifted it just enough for her to see the bandage covering the four-inch-long slashing wound.
She hissed in a breath and he looked down to see pink edging the bandage.
“We need to clean that off,” she said. “Come into the bathroom.”
Though he wanted to assure her he didn’t need her help, he found himself following her as she led the way to a cozy guest bathroom across the hall from the bedroom they were working in. She dampened some gauze and gently probed the area around his wound.
Wes gritted his teeth—not from pain, though there was without question some of that. He was far more aware of Hannah’s cool fingers as she wiped away the blood.
Her touch was gentle, clinical even, but it still sent sparks of awareness through his body and he had to work to keep his breathing steady.
He could smell the faint scent of her shampoo, feel the warmth of her breath on his skin. It was maddening how much she still affected him after all these years.
“This doesn’t look too bad,” Hannah murmured, her brow furrowed in concentration. “It looks like only one small area was bleeding. It seems to have stopped now. But you really should have it checked out properly, especially if it’s been two weeks since you were injured.”
Wes swallowed hard, acutely aware of how close she was standing. “I may have messed things up trying to lift Kodi into the truck a time or two while we were on the road.”
“And I imagine working to fix up your grandfather’s house isn’t helping anything.”
“Probably not,” he admitted.
“What happened to the guy who did this?” she asked, gesturing to his wound.
“I arrested him. He’s now in jail, facing charges for assault on a police officer and a K9 police officer, as well as the original assault charges from the bar fight.”
“Are you still enjoying your work?” she asked as she wiped at the spot carefully, then patted it down.
He considered her question. “I’m good at what I do. Most of the time, anyway. Until I let a drunk idiot get the jump on me while I’m busy trying to contain another drunk idiot.”
As she applied Betadine and waved her hand to dry it, he could feel his abdominal muscles contract at the air stirring his skin.
“What about you? You’re still enjoying the music therapy thing?”
“I am.”
“What exactly do you do as a music therapist?”
She shrugged. “A bit of everything, really. I do some one-on-one therapy with people struggling with mental health issues. I work with neurodivergent students at the schools and I also go into nursing homes and retirement communities like the Shelter Inn. I have more clients than I have time for. I’m thinking about taking on an associate or two to help share the load.”