She shrugs. “A couple of hours.”
“A couple–” Apollo snorts hard enough he disturbs some stray tendrils of her hair. She lifts her chin to glare at him.
If looks could kill, she’d end a man where he’s standing. Luckily, Apollo is a horse and doesn’t give a shit as he releases another huff of air.
He likes her.
Which is more than I can say for the rest of the crew. Only I can turn him out and feed him, but I wouldn’t dare saddle him up and ride him. We all avoid him; a few near misses with his back legs have warned us all away.
First the dogs. Then the bull. Now the fucking horse.
What the actual fuck is happening!?
Not something I need to think about right now, not when she’s rubbed her hands raw and got hurt when she was pulled down.
“Come on,” I go to place an arm around her, but she shoves at me and in my crouched state, I go down onto my ass, landing in the dirt.
“I am perfectly capable,” She snaps at me.
I stare in bewilderment at her, shocked silent.
How the fuck am I meant to survive two months of this?
CHAPTER 12
Ido not have the patience for this.
Not this house, not this ranch, and certainly not this fucking cowboy.
“Hold the fuck still!” He bites, forcing my hands under the lukewarm water at the basin. My hands sting like a motherfucker, my leg is throbbing, my ribs smarting, but do I tell him that? No, the fuck I do not.
I do as I am told and remain still, but I curl my fingers into my palms, stopping the direct hit of the water to the wounds. I don’t want to tell him it hurts so bad it has a lump lodged in my throat. I haven’t cried yet, and I’m not about to start now, especially not over a couple of popped blisters. I took a bullet in the thigh and a boot to the ribs anddidn’t shed a tear, andthisis what takes me out?
Ha. Not a fucking chance.
“Elena!” He growls. “If these get infected!”
Who knew sweeping and cleaning out stables could do so much damage? My poor hands have never seen so much labor.
I’ve touched all sorts of shit today, literally, so reluctantly, I unfurl my fingers, gritting my teeth but not making a sound when the water hits the raw, open blisters. The water turns pink before it swirls around the drain, and Knox is gentle as he uses a cloth to wipe away the caked-on blood and dirt.
“Are you incapable of taking care of yourself?” He grumbles, almost as if he’s talking to himself.
“I’m twenty-six.” He winces when I say it, but I ignore that. “Not five. I know my limits.”
“Do you?” He hits back. “Any sane person would have stopped at the first blister and dealt with it, and here you are, seven blisters, all split and worn down to the point they bleed.”
“I just figured it was normal,” I offer a crumb of truth.
He grunts something inaudible and continues to wash my hands, ensuring they’re clean and free of dirt before he picks up a clean towel to pat them dry only to inspect them again. After a few long seconds, he mumbles and then reaches for a tube of cream on the counter.
“What’s that?” I pull my hands back.
“Scared of a little antiseptic?” Thick brows lift.
It feels like a challenge, but the wordantiseptichas the hair on my arms lifting. This is going to sting like a bitch.
He squeezes some of the ointment onto the end of his finger and then dabs a small amount onto each open blister. The burn starts immediately.
