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“No one should try to tame grizzlies. They aren’t meant to live in captivity. You can try, but you’ll get hurt. Collies on the other hand are domesticated animals.”
With that, I head inside.
“Blue…. Blue… Blue!” an annoying raspy voice calls out.
“What!” I look up the ladder at the man who owns the annoying voice.
“Get me the socket wrench out of the orange tool box.”
I’m ready to kill him. I’m ready to break a window, sneak into his bedroom tonight, put a pillow over his face and sit on it. The sick bastard would probably like it.
He’s been unbearable and pushy (typical grizzly) as all get out for two days. Thank God we’re almost done with this barn.
When I asked him yesterday if he needed to get back to his writing soon, he snapped at me. “And who’s gonna install the support beam? You?”
Whatever. I’ve given him all the breathing room he needs. The problem is now I can’t seem to get rid of him.
“That’s not the right one. The other socket wrench, the bigger one.”
Have you checked your asshole? ’Cause I think there’s something stuck up there. Gospel truth, I am one snide look away from saying it out loud.
I show him two more. Eyeballing them with the intensity of the sun, he grabs one and climbs back up the ladder. I turn around for one minute, one freaking minute, and somehow within that small window of opportunity, he falls backward.
“Shane!” Crouching down over him, I check his pupils first. “Did you hit your head?”
“No. My foot slipped.” He sits up. “Got the wind knocked out of me.”
“He alive?” Aidan asks with nary a raised eyebrow.
“Yes, I think,” I say, inspecting the patient’s face. Aidan goes back to framing the new wash stall they decided to build ‘since they’re at it.’
Shane glances at his forearm and sees blood. A nasty gash. “Let me look at it. I used to be a paramedic.”
His expression changes lighting quick. He searches my face while I inspect the wound. “You must’ve thrown out your arm and caught the edge of the table saw blade on your way down. You’re lucky this isn’t worse.” I can feel his eyes on me as I move his arm to get a better view.
Shane gets to his feet and walks to the water hose. Taking it from him, I turn on the water and pour it on the wound.
“I can stitch you back up if you’d like. I have a zip stitch suture kit.”
He looks somewhat surprised. For him, that is. For everyone else, it’s a resting face. Then with no direction from me, he takes his shirt off, peeling it over his head and exposing a chest that makes my fingers itch to explore. No, I am not immune. As much as I hate myself for looking, I look anyway.
His gaze meets mine. “Go ahead.”
My neck goes up in flames. I’m still mad at him, and we’ve already determined that I’m looking for another domesticated animal to share my life with, but he needs to be more careful how he speaks to me. What he just said could be misinterpreted as a green light to do unspeakable things to his body. He has no idea what a ticking time bomb of lust and frustration he’s dealing with.
“Not here.” I clear my throat. “In the office. “My med bag is in there.”
I keep it in the small office attached to the barn because that’s where I usually need it.
Shane follows me there and takes a seat in the armless chair. He inspects the wound with a grimace. It’s a bleeder. Reaching into the bag, I immediately open a sterile gauze package and hand it to him to stop the bleeding.
“You were a paramedic?”
I nod. “In L.A.” I take the supplies I need out of the med bag one by one. Alcohol, sterile cotton, the suture kit.
“Why’d you quit?”
The million-dollar question. I open the sterile cotton package and pour chlorhexidine alcohol on it. He searches my face. “Does it have something to do with the plate you have in your shoulder and the pins in your right leg?”
I don’t know why I’m surprised to hear him say it. He’s always been super observant and I don’t do much to hide the small scars I have on my body as a result of that night. I place the soaked cotton pad on his wound and he flinches.
“Sorry,” I say, fighting a smile.
With his opposite hand, he touches my elbow gently. It’s a fleeting gesture, but I feel it long after he takes his hand back. “We don’t have to talk about it.” His warm brown eyes take me in, flickering to the beauty mark and away.
I want him. I’m tired of pretending I don’t. I’m even more tired of him being stubborn about it because I know he wants me, too.
