Page 52 of Off the Rails
He nodded. The other one was stained with blood and sweat.
“Let’s take care of your leg first.”
He sat down in the chair, cupping the towel over his junk. She brought him a handful of first aid supplies.
“How does it feel?”
“Okay.”
“It looks bad.”
“It looked worse before.”
She knelt by his feet and gave him some antibiotic ointment. He applied it dutifully. Then she placed a large square of gauze over the wound and rewrapped his thigh with the stretchy ACE bandage. Her touch was disconcerting. Comforting and tantalizing all at once. “How’s that?”
He liked her on her knees, taking care of him. “Good.”
She glanced up, as if the huskiness of his voice had given him away. Her eyes sort of got lost on the way to his face. They lingered on his lap for a second. Then she flushed and rose to her feet. She handed him a shirt and socks, avoiding his gaze.
He put on his pants first, towel-changing like the surfers at Sunset Cliffs. His socks and boots came next. He left the shirt hanging over the chair and stood. “You have toothpaste?” he asked, because he could smell it on her breath.
She gave him the tube. “No brush.”
He made do without, leaning over the edge of the sink. She watched him with her arms crossed over her chest, mouth pursed.
“What?”
She gestured to the shirt on the chair. “Will it fit?”
He shrugged, spitting out a mouthful of water and toothpaste. “Probably.”
“Are you going to wear it?”
Her irritated expression made him laugh. She didn’t seem scared or nervous, like she had before. Something else was bothering her now. He picked up his gun holster and put it on. Then he tugged the shirt over his head. “This better?”
“Yes.”
The T-shirt wouldn’t hide his weapon as effectively as the flannel, but he didn’t care. It was too warm to wear long sleeves. He slung the flannel over his shoulder and watched her gather the rest of their belongings. They walked out together, into the muggy air. By the time they reached the front of the building, he was sweating.
“It’s hot,” he said.
“You are spoiled by San Diego weather.”
“You could’ve stayed and been spoiled too.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t mean it. You don’t think, you just say things.”
He glanced at her, surprised by the sharp observation. There was a strange charge between them, like a storm brewing. “I mean what I say.”
“You are mad at me for leaving. That is what you mean.”
Yeah. She’d hit the nail on the head. He shouldn’t have brought up the sore subject. He’d been a fool to ask her to marry him. Now he was an even bigger fool for suggesting that everything would have worked out fine if she’d said yes. “I don’t want to argue.”
She fell silent, her brow furrowed.
