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“You didn’t hear it?” Callum said, attention still on the medical kit.
“I was down here, in the bunker, putting Sophie to bed.”
“It isn’t a bunker. It’s a…granny flat.” He seemed pleased at that description.
Jack shared a smile with his mum. It was definitely a bunker.
“Did Sophie go to sleep okay?” Callum p
ulled out some sterile wipes, tugged up his shirt and started dabbing at the wound on his side.
Isobel rushed over and took it out of his hand. “I’ll do it.” There was a deep gash along the line of his bottom rib. It was still bleeding a little, and there was dirt embedded in it. “You need a shower. This needs to be washed out properly.”
“There are clean cloths under the sink,” Callum said. “See if you can get the dirt out here.”
Isobel wasn’t happy with that plan, but she went searching for a cloth, listening to Callum and Jack as she ran it under the tap.
“Sophie,” Callum said. “She okay?”
“I told her Mum was with you.” Jack smirked. “She seemed to think that made Mum safe, so she went to sleep. What happened at the house? What do you mean it blew up?”
“The intruders filled the house with gas. There isn’t anything left of it.” Callum paused, as though unsure of how to say anything else. “I’m sorry,” he said at last.
“Yeah, me too.” Jack looked a little lost. “I’ll go upstairs and call the three witches.”
“You can do it from here.” Callum nodded to the old-style phone on the wall. “Use the landline. I need to go up and get a change of clothes and deal with this wound.”
Jack nodded and headed for the phone. He stopped when he saw it. “Dial? It has a dial? When were you born? The Stone Age?”
Callum grunted and gathered up his medical supplies.
“I’ll come with you,” Isobel said. “Help clean you up.”
“What?” Jack dropped the phone receiver, and it dangled by its spiral cord.
Isobel felt her cheeks burn. “I don’t mean shower with him. I mean bandage his wound.”
Jack frowned and looked like he didn’t quite believe her. Whatever. She grabbed the rest of the medical kit and looked at Callum. “You coming?”
With a shake of his head, he followed her. They went straight to the master bedroom, with its en suite. Isobel put the kit on the dresser before walking over to Callum. Wet cloth in hand, she tugged up his shirt.
Callum’s hand covered hers, and she stilled.
“I don’t need help,” he said. “It’s stopped bleeding.”
“Let me take care of it.” Let me take care of you.
She hated to see him injured. She hated even more that she was the cause of it. If she hadn’t dragged him into her mess, he would have been safe at home instead of dealing with the intruders at her place. The thought of the intruders reminded Isobel of watching Callum fight, and her mind turned to darker, sultrier places.
Slowly, Callum released her hand. She reminded herself that she wasn’t there to gawk at his perfect abs, she was there to clean out his wound, but as soon as she saw the tattoo around his belly button, that thought flew out the window. Suddenly, the gash on his side wasn’t the most interesting part of him.
“You have a tattoo?”
“Several,” Callum said.
“Oh.” She was distracted, her attention firmly on the tribal design that curved over his stomach and framed his belly button. She traced it with her fingertips and watched his muscles ripple under her touch. “Does it mean something?”
He cleared his throat. “Not that one.”
