“You should be able to see even a Steri-Strip.”
She stroked a cloth along the injury to dry any wetness. His muscles contracted. “Really?”
“I was shotfourdays ago. There was a hole in my shoulder. I felt it when I was trying to staunch the blood. So where the fuck did that hole go, Genevieve?”
“You went from thanking me to yelling at me? And they call women temperamental.”
She watched as he visibly tried to control his temper. “I’m sorry I raised my voice. I’m just trying to understand how you made a bullet wound practically disappear overnight.”
Right, ’cause then he could run back to town and tell people what she could do. She’d have every Tom, Dick and Harry on her doorstep, looking for a cure for their sprained ankle and headache. “Just used some herbs my mom taught me about.”
“No way herbs brought about this kind of healing. I know a little something about injuries. I want to know what you really did.”
“What could I possibly have done, except use medicine and cleanliness?” she asked mildly.
“I don’t know.” He glanced up at her, his eyes unreadable. “Maybe you’re a witch. Maybe you have some sort of healing power.”
With every word he spoke, she could envision the hordes of people who would start creeping around her precious hideout. She forced a laugh. “Nice one. Do you know how crazy that sounds?”
“I’ve seen some crazy stuff. And I remember things, from after you found me, about my body burning—”
“You were feverish.”
His jaw set stubbornly. “There’s no way I could be this far along in my recovery unless you did something funny. The injury barely hurts.”
Genevieve dropped the towel at her side and stroked over the edge of the wound. Then she pressed down at just the right angle.
He inhaled. “Oh, fu—okay, okay. Let go.”
She increased the pressure the tiniest bit and blinked at him. “What?”
He grimaced. “So it’s not completely healed. I get it. Stop.”
Good enough. She ducked her head and tried to hide the slight smile playing on her lips.
When she looked up, he was studying the old shotgun leaning against the kitchen cabinet. His expression was serious as he glanced back at her. “You know how to use it?”
Genevieve snorted. “I can probably outshoot you.”
Alex’s eyes twinkled. “Them’s fightin’ words, sweetheart.”
She rolled her eyes and pressed a fresh bandage over his wound. He arched his back a bit, making it easier for her to wrap it around him. She didn’t realize how much she had to lean over him until she felt his breath on her neck.
Genevieve sat back and finished tying the bandage. “Are you thirsty?”
He suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Actually…”
“Yes?” she prompted when he trailed off.
“I—that is, I kind of need to, you know, use the bathroom. Do you have indoor plumbing?”
Genevieve cast him an exasperated glance. “Of course I do.”
“Just checking. Okay. Point me in the right direction.”
“You can’t get up!” She rested her hand against his chest. “I’ll get you a bedpan.”
The tips of his ears turned red. “I am not pissing in bed. If my injury looks as good as it does, I can get up and walk.”
