Faith’s mouth opened, but no words came out. She appeared torn, and a moment later, she dropped Hope’s wrist and shook her head.
“Nothing.”
Hope gave her a quick nod, assuming that she had simply been worried about the sight of blood.
A sweat had broken out over Graham’s brow, and his breathing was strained. Logan loosened his collar. His hair stuck to his forehead and his eyes were closed tightly as he winced at the slightest movement.
The storm clouds in the sky made the room appear darker than usual. It was also noisy and crowded, buzzing with maids and footmen delivering swathes of towels, boiling water, sheets, and extra pillows. Logan was helping Graham remove his coat and vest, though he ordered one of the maids to cut the shirt.
At first, it looked like he might be shot in the chest, and Hope unwillingly let out a small gasp of fear.
“Oh God,” she whispered into her fingers covering her mouth with her hand.
“It only nicked me,” Graham said, his gaze flickering to her.
“It did a bit more than that.” Logan pressed a fresh towel to the wound, causing Graham to gasp. Logan nodded towards Hope. “Hold this here.”
She nodded, replacing his hand as Logan set out to mix something that the maids had brought up.
“How did it happen?” Hope asked as he leaned back into the stack of pillows behind him.
“It was an accident. Michael wasn’t paying attention where he was bloody shooting,” Graham grumbled.
“He’s lucky he didn’t kill you,” Logan said, mixing his concoction. “Damn fool’s aim is miserable.”
“I don’t know about that,” Graham said. “A few more inches that way and he would have got me right in the heart. Augh!”
Hope hadn’t meant to lean into his wound, but the thought of Graham being shot in the heart had made her woozy.
“Sorry,” she said, glancing at Logan, who was mixing a bowl of brownish liquid. “What’s that?”
“Soap, salt, and scotch.” He gently brushed her hand from Graham’s chest and poured the mixture onto the wound.
“AGH! DAMN IT!”
She pressed her chin to her shoulder, attempting to keep herself from getting even more lightheaded. Taking a bracing breath through her nostrils, she felt a wave of nausea slam into her as the scent of blood overpowered her.
“Hope? I need more of the mixture,” Logan said.
Fighting to breathe through her mouth, she turned back and handed it to him. As he dipped the soapy alcoholic mixture into Graham’s injury, another frightful grunt came from the bed. Hope hand instinctively went to Logan’s forearm as she tried to push his hand away.
“Maybe you shouldn’t do that.”
Logan gave her a quizzical stare.
“It hurts, but we must clean the wound out,” he said slowly. “I promise you; he would be in far worse pain if we let it become infected.”
Hope nodded and removed her hand from Logan’s arm as he continued to clean the bullet hole. He proceeded to pour the rest on, which caused Graham to curse again.
“Easy,” Hope said, her palm coming to his forehead. She pushed back the hair that stuck to his skin. Beads of sweat rolled down his temple. “Be easy.”
Graham's gaze locked with hers as the his wound was cleaned. Though he flinched and snarled, he did not curse. Hope fought the growing tremors in her body, struggling to remain calm. Though she watched this massive bear of a man writhe in pain before her, she wouldn’t let him notice any of the fear that was gripping her. All she could do was stare at him when a knock at the door grabbed her attention.
“Well, let’s get to it,” a man said, coming into the room.
Though Hope had never met him, she was sure this was Dr. Hall. He was taller than both Graham and Logan—which was saying something, as both men were quite tall—but he wasn’t quite as broad. His dark brown hair was clipped short in a way that was popular with most young professionals, and while his face was handsome, it was partially hidden by a close-croppedbeard. His serious, hazel eyes flickered from person to person as he observed the situation.
“You cleaned it out?” he asked Logan as he came forward to assess the wound.
