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“Yes, sir.”
He grunted again, rummaged through his bag for a second, and went to shower.
After slapping on some makeup and running a brush through her hair, she recorded a quick video using the kitten as a prop. She was still debating whether to comment on being shot at when the water turned off.
She hurried to pack up, slipped into her flip-flops, and stood at the ready when he came out of the bathroom. Wearing only shorts. Yowsa.
“Is there anything left in the first aid kit to cover this up?” He nodded at the angry red wound on his upper arm.
“Noah, we gotta have someone check that. I think you need stitches.”
“We can stop for some butterfly bandages and maybe some of that super glue for wounds. In the meantime, is there a big enough band-aid or any gauze and tape left?”
She looked through the kit and found the biggest bandage she could. “This will have to do. The gauze is gone.”
He sat on the bed while she dried his shoulder, applied some ointment, and jerry-rigged some bandages to protect the wound. They both stood.
“I understand what you mean now,” she said. “Any chance you could cover all that up?” She made a circular motion around his broad chest. All that naked skin was distracting and making it impossible to think about anything other than being wrapped up in those big, strong arms.
“What?” he teased, flexing his pec muscles one at a time. “This bother you?”
“I don’t have the self-control you do,” she said. “You better put those guns away.”
He chuckled. “This gun?” He flexed his good arm while the injured one hung useless.
Was he trying to tempt her? Well, two could play his game. She sauntered over to him, laid her hands on his chest, and slowly slid her fingers up to his shoulders and down his biceps.
His smile was gone, and his neck muscles tensed. “Daisy?”
“Yes?”
“You’re playing with fire.”
“You started it.”
She could tell the instant he lost his internal battle. Bad arm and all, he scooped her up and tossed her gently onto the bed.
“Ah,” she squealed.
He covered her laugh with a kiss that took her breath away.
“Let the record show,” she said. “That I was ready on time.”
“Noted,” he said before resuming the kiss.
Just as things were heating up, the cat meowed, and Noah’s stomach roared. “Reality check.” He stopped what he was doing and rolled off of her.
She sighed. Stupid reality.
They packed up what little they had and left. Noah returned from checking out with a small cardboard box. “The clerk said the cat was a stray, and we’re welcome to it,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Even gave me a box for it.”
“Oh, look, Mr. Fluffy Pants. Mr. Noah brought you a bed.” She wadded up Noah’s bloody T-shirt, placed it in the box, blood side down, and laid the kitten on it. “He loves it.”
“That’s disgusting,” Noah said. “Both the bloody shirtandwhat you’ve named it.”
“The shirt’s a goner anyway. I’m open to suggestions on a name.” She took his silence to mean he didn’t have a better idea.
They made a pitstop for coffee and breakfast sandwiches, Daisy posted her video, and they sped out of town. At the first sign of civilization, they stopped at a box store for medical supplies and pet paraphernalia.
