“Three.”
“He said as if it’s no big deal.” She shook her head in disbelief.
“Comes with the job.” He recapped the tube.
She couldn’t decide if she was disappointed or relieved when he stepped back to study his handywork.
“The one on your left shoulder and…?” She let her question dangle.
“Right thigh.” He sat on the stool next to her and patted the outer edge of his denim-clad leg. “And groin.” He grimaced. “Two inches to the right and that one would’ve turned me from a bull into a steer.”
She shuddered at the thought of all that pain. And despite having made a concerted effortnotto think about it, the picture of Charlie’s riddled body bloomed to life inside her head.
“Does it hurt?” she asked quietly and then made a face of self-disgust. “Sorry. That was a dumb question. Ofcourseit hurts.”
When tears threatened again, she looked up at the punched tin ceiling tiles. She’d always loved the kitchen at Black Knights Inc. It was huge and industrial, but the brick walls and the tin ceiling lent architectural interest and warmth.
“I was thinking about Charlie,” she admitted hoarsely. “About how much he must’ve suffered.”
“Honestly, for me the pain didn’t come until later. In the moment it was more of a shock. I felt the impact and a sort ofburn. But it wasn’t excrutiatin’ or anything. I’d bet, given what you’ve told me ’bout McClean and how many rounds he took, he didn’t feel much of anything. The poor bastard was probably dead before the pain could set in.”
I hope so, she wished silently.
Aloud she said, “Thank you, Fish. There’s comfort in that.” Then she looked around at the empty kitchen and the countertops strewn with dirty measuring cups, sticky mixing bowls, and the occasional dusting of flour.
She’d felt what needed feeling, as Fisher had said. It was time to get busy again. “Welp.” She nodded firmly. “Guess I should clean up.”
When she scooted Peanut off her lap, he meowed his dissatisfaction. But before she could stand, Fisher stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Why don’t ya let me do that. You head upstairs and run yourself a bath.”
She shook her head. “I need to bake that last loaf of sourdough and?—”
“I got ya.”
She lifted a dubious eyebrow. “In what world? You can’t boil an egg without it turning into a rubber ball.”
“But sourdough is easy. Ya bake it at 450 degrees for twenty-five minutes with the lid on. Then ya take the lid off and bake it for an additional fifteen minutes. And once ya take it out, ya set it on the coolin’ rack.” He pointed to where her first golden loaf of sourdough sat.
She blinked like he’d just revealed himself to be an alien wearing a Fisher skin suit. “How in theworlddo you know all that?”
“I’ve watched ya bake a hundred loaves of the stuff over the years. Reckon I learned through osmosis.”
“You never cease to amaze me.” She shook her head.
His expression was teasing. “I’m goin’ to take that as a compliment.” Then he stood and grabbed her hand to pull her up next to him. “Now, go on upstairs and hop in a bath.”
A long, luxurious soak in a tub full of fragrant bubbles did sound wonderful. She’d been moving since the moment she woke up. But now that she’d stopped, she could feel the stiffness in her joints and the soreness in her muscles.
“Yes, sir. Sergeant Major, sir.” She offered him a mock salute.
“Sassy.” He smacked her ass when she turned to leave.
She jumped at the shock of it. He looked just as shocked when she slowly glanced over her shoulder.
“Hellfire and damnation.” He shook his head. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know where that came from. It just happened sort of automatically. But I never should’ve?—”
“It’s okay, Fish. What’s a little ass-grabbing between friends?”
He still appeared apoplectic. But her words had his expression softening. “I’d be mighty honored if ya thought of me as a friend, Liza. Mighty honored, indeed.”
