“Molly has some tea she swears by,” Grace said. “She says it knocks her out like a light.”
“Wouldn’t mind trying some.” Maybe it would help ward off the nightmares too. Because knowing what was coming once he closed his eyes served as an effective deterrent. He tossed and turned for hours each night, and the lack of sleep made him less focused and alert than usual. What a disaster that would’ve been on protective detail if he hadn’t been forced to take leave.
He had to resolve this and soon. The clock was ticking. He had to pass that psych eval.
Wyatt stopped when he came to a narrower creek that ran into Pine Creek, cutting off the trail. Water bubbled noisily over the rocks. “Which way?”
“Pine Creek continues that way.” She pointed in the direction they’d been headed and eased her bag off her shoulders. “This is just a tributary, and it comes from the wrong direction, so we can rule it out.”
“That’s something, I guess.” Wyatt dropped his pack and removed his boots and socks. There were lots of rocks, but the shallow stream was at least twenty feet wide, and the water was swift.
Once they’d rolled up their pants and stuffed their boots into the bags, they padded toward the creek’s edge.
Wyatt stepped into the frigid water, testing the bottom as Grace stepped in beside him. “Careful, it’s slippery.”
They took their time, slowing down when they reached the stream’scenter. Water hit his calves with surprising force, and he carefully picked his way across, using large rocks as stepping-stones when he could.
“Want to break for a snack soon?” Grace asked.
“Sure. I’m pretty hungry.”
“Me too. That apple tart is calling my—” Grace squealed as she slipped.
Wyatt grabbed her arm, preventing a complete dousing. “You okay?”
She got her feet under her. “I think so. So much for staying dry.”
He kept a firm grip on her arm as they navigated the rest of the stream. When she stepped out of the water, he saw the bloody trail leading down from her knee. “You’re bleeding. Sit down.”
“It’s nothing.” But she sat on a rock on the shore’s edge. “Just a scratch.”
Wyatt unzipped his pack. “I’ve got a Band-Aid.” He fished out the first-aid kit as Grace pulled out a baby wipe and cleaned off her shin.
He loved how low maintenance she was. None of the women he’d dated in the past would be caught dead on a hiking trail, much less sitting here so calmly while blood ran down her leg.
He opened the kit and fished out an alcohol wipe. Ripping it open, he sank down in front of her, getting his first look at the injury. She must’ve caught it on a jagged rock because it was torn open and raw looking. The water had washed it out, but it still needed to be disinfected.
“That looks pretty nasty, but you shouldn’t need stitches.” He unfolded the wipe. “Nonetheless, this is going to hurt.”
“Go ahead.”
He gently pressed the wipe to the wound.
A sharp intake of breath was her only sign of pain.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll try to make it fast.”
***
Grace gritted her teeth as he sterilized the scrape, her fingers tightening into a fist on her lap at the sharp sting. “I’m not usually so clumsy.”
“Could’ve just as easily been me. At least you didn’t get too wet.” He finished the task as quickly as possible. Then he bowed over the wound, and Grace felt the cool, soothing breeze of his breath.
A shiver passed through her as he blew on it again. Goose bumps danced across her skin. The gesture was so unexpected. So nurturing. So... intimate.
She stilled, looking down at the top of his head, at the chips of leaves lost in his thick hair. At the masculine slash of his brows and the soft feather of his dark eyelashes brushing the tops of his cheeks.
As if sensing a shift in mood, he straightened, coming face-to-face with her. He was close. His gaze sharpened on her eyes, his face changing slowly as the moment morphed into something that electrified the space between them.
