Not around me.
But right now, with the warm weight of her pressed up against me, for the life of me, I can’t help but think that this is exactly where she belongs.
ANNA
The warmth hits me the second he carries me inside. It smells faintly of coffee, wood smoke and…Wyatt.
The fact that I can think about anything besides the sharp pain in my thigh at the moment is impressive.
“Sit,” Wyatt orders, setting me down on top of the kitchen table. “I need to look at it properly.”
My gaze flickers down to my leg. Blood has soaked through the denim, dark and sticky. But I can’t see the wound. Not without?—
“Your pants need to come off,” he says what I’m already thinking. His tone leaves no room for argument. When I don’t move, he adds, “I can cut them off.”
I press my lips together and shoot him a look. “There’s no need for destroying clothing.”
He shrugs and nods toward my jeans without saying a word.
I swallow hard and shimmy to the edge of the table, leaning back a little so my fingers can find the button. “Still. You could have phrased it differently.”
A rough sound, half laugh, half grunt, comes from his chest. “Sweetheart, if I want your clothes off for any other reason, trust me, you’ll know about it.”
Heat climbs my neck, and my face blooms with heat. I have to look away as my fingers fumble the button. Somehow, I manage to get the zipper down, too and wiggle my backside on the table as I try to slide the fabric down.
“Here. Let me help.”
He doesn’t wait for a response before he reaches down and slides first one boot off, and then the other. I lean back on my hands while he grips the cuff of my jeans and gently slides each leg down and off. He takes extra care on my right leg where the cut is, but still, I wince as it moves over the affected area.
I should be bashful or concerned that I’m sitting on this rough cowboy’s kitchen table half naked, and maybe I would be if my eyes don’t land directly on my wound instead.
I suck in a breath when I see the jagged cut for the first time.
“It looks worse than it is.” His voice is so calm and gentle, it takes me off guard and distracts me from what’s in front of me.
My head jerks up to meet his eyes. Wyatt’s watching me with an unreadable expression. “Let me clean it up,” he says. “Then you can see.”
I nod and wait while he moves around the kitchen. He runs the water and fills a small bowl before bringing it to the table, along with a towel, a cloth and a first aid kit.
His gaze flicks to my bare thigh for a heartbeat, then jerks away. “May I…”
I nod. “Please.”
He sucks in a breath but doesn’t look up again as he gets to work. “You’re lucky,” he says gruffly. “Could’ve been worse.”
“It doesn’t feel lucky. Oh!” The first touch of the cloth makes me hiss, but it’s not just the sting. It’shim.
“Hold still.”
I nod and bite my lower lip, trying to relax while he does his work. His hands are big, work-roughened, yet impossibly gentle. Every brush of his fingers sends a pulse of awareness spiraling through me.
“You’re good at this,” I murmur.
He gives a quiet snort. “You can’t grow up on a ranch with four brothers and not have your fair share of experience patching up some scrapes.”
I’d heard about his brothers in town. There was a lot of talk about Wyatt and the Thorne boys coming back to Rock Creek after being gone for so long, but it was the first time I’d heard him mention them.
Something told me not to push it. Instead, I simply said, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
