“Ready?” she asked.
“Aye.”
Deliciouslywarmwater sluiced over his temples and the top of his head.Where had that come from?It felt heavenly, as did the feel of her hands in his hair. He tried to concentrate on that instead of her body, moving against his shoulder as she worked the knots from his hair, careful to keep the water from directly hitting his wound. Surprisingly, ’twas little pain. Mayhap due to all the other overriding sensations from Brie’s ministrations and the battle still raging inside his head.
How did the water continue to flow?She dinna stop to fill or pour. It flowed in a steady stream from a contraption she moved freely around his head. ’Twas truly magical; the flowing water, Brie, and how her hands eased the tension from his entire body when she only touched his head.
The water stopped, and he reluctantly began to rise.
“Not yet,” she said, pressing a wet hand to his shoulder. “Stay there. We’re just getting started. Unless you’re in too much pain,” she added, apprehension clouding her voice. “We can stop if you need to.”
“Nae, Brie. I’d like tae continue.”
“Okay then.” She put something in her hands and rubbed them together. “Lean back over there, then.” She smoothed her hands through his hair, spreading something fresh smelling down the length of it. Soap of some sort? Her fingers kneaded his scalp, gently scrubbing up and down in a light massaging motion.
“Am I hurting you? Making your headache worse?”
“ ’Tis actually better, I believe.” Mayhap it was. But he dinna care if it wasna. Did washing one’s hair always feel this good? He sensed Brie’s touch had much to do with it. The water came again, warm and soothing, rinsing away much of the tension in his muscles along with the frothy soap. The water ran off his hair a rusty brown at first, then slowly cleared.
Then it stopped again. “I’m going to clean around your wound a little better, so bear with me. It’s going to hurt, I’m afraid.” Her fingers worked gently at the back of his head, then she put water in a cup and gently poured it over the wound, repeating the process several times. Where the water had some pressure before, this was as gentle as a kiss.
She squeezed water from the ends of his hair, placed one towel over his shoulders and another over his hair, gently pressing to absorb the water.
“All done, Mac,” she declared. “At least with that part. Let’s let you get your head out of this sink, so you’re more comfortable.”
He almost regretted that it was over. Though he was ready to raise his head to see if it would ease the pressure inside, he wouldna have traded the experience for anything. His scalp still tingled, most pleasantly, from her touch.
He glanced at her clean, soft-looking furniture, yearning to stretch out on the longest piece, but he was still mud caked from the waist down. “May I sit at yer table?”
“That’s perfect while I work on your wound. Then you’re free to get in the shower.”
He felt foolish, letting Brie walk him to the bench. He was a bit weak yet, but no’ so much that he couldna manage on his own.
Gus got up, whined and came to sit beside Mac. “Don’t worry, Gus,” Brie said. “You’re next.” She laughed when he dropped his head again and covered his nose with a paw. “He hates baths,” she explained.
Mac envied Gus. If ’twas this pleasant having Brie wash his hair, what would an entire bath be like?
She gathered the bag and other things she’d brought earlier and set them on the table, near him. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she disappeared down the hall. In minutes she returned with a soft looking blanket, removed the damp towel from his shoulders and draped the blanket around him. “That should be more comfortable. There’s still a bit of a chill in here.”
“ ’Tis kind of ye, lass.” He pulled the blanket tight, it’s warmth surrounding him, like Brie’s gentle care. ’Twould be far too easy to become used to such things. He had to remember he dinna belong here. Even though he realized what a gift that could be, somewhere out there, something else waited for him.
Did Brie have someone…permanent, she did such things for? Someone who honored her for her kindness and treasured her the way she surely deserved to be? He wanted her to have that, so why should the thought of it dishearten him?
Brie opened her bag and removed a small tube and a stack of white pads. “You’re still bleeding a little.” She dabbed the wound with one of the pads, then applied a bit of pressure with another.
Finally, she set the stained pads aside and picked up an oddly shaped, wide-toothed comb and began drawing it gently through his hair.
He closed his eyes and surrendered to her ministrations. The rhythm of her smooth strokes calmed him, as did her hands and the occasional brush of her body against his back. The blanket warmed him, and he felt his eyelids droop as the fringes of fatigue settled over him.
Finally, she laid the comb down and he felt her parting his hair away from the wound. “Okay, Mac, now that I’ve had a closer look, I’m worried the butterfly’s may not hold until you can see a doctor. And since I’m not comfortable stitching you up with mint dental floss and an embroidery needle, I’m thinking of trying something I watched on a wilderness survival documentary. Of course, that was for research on a book, not something I ever suspected I’d actually be doing.
“They used twisted strands of hair from either side of the wound to pull the edges closed, doing small sections at a time. I don’t remember if they twisted or tied them together, but I do remember them suggesting putting Superglue, honey, or something sticky—whatever you had on hand—on each tie to make sure they held. Apparently, it’s supposed to work as well as staples. I don’t really know what else to do, but if you have a better idea, I’m certainly open for suggestions.”
It didn’tallmake sense, but enough of it did to get the idea. “I trust ye, Brie. I’m grateful for whatever ye decide tae do.”
“Okay then. Here we go.” She removed the top from a small tube and handed it to him. “Hold this and hand it to me when I’m ready.”
The tug and pull he felt as she worked was no’ terribly painful, though it may have aggravated the explosion going on inside his head. But he gratefully handed her the tube each time she requested it, thankful he wasna still lying broken, on the rocks.
