Noble Hearts (Wild Hearts Romance Book 3) Read Online Free

collapsed in one of the chairs around a small round dining table. The gorilla swung up into the chair next to me and the dog sat in the middle of the kitchen while the woman rattled efficiently about in the cupboards and refrigerator. Just as efficiently, she dropped a treat between the dog’s expectant jaws as she walked by, handed the gorilla a mango, pressed a liter bottle of cold water into my hand, and dropped a plastic vial of pills on the table beside a bottle of… I peered at the label.
    “Penicillin?”
    A sterile package containing a needle and syringe fell on the table beside the bottle.
    She shrugged. “We’re pretty isolated out here. I like to be prepared. It came from a veterinary supply catalog, but I’m guessing your ribs won’t know the difference.”
    I checked the label on the pill vile. “Percocet?”
    “That…didn’t…come from the catalog. Don’t ask. Just take.”
    “Thank you.” I swigged down a couple of the pills and drew up a syringeful of penicillin while she busied herself getting a bowl of soapy water, a washcloth, a clean sheet and scissors.
    Dried blood plastered my shirt to the wound. She handed me the wet washcloth and I held it to my side. “You haven’t told me your name.”
    “Kayla. Van den Berg.”
    “German?” My eyes must have registered my surprise because she smiled.
    “Dutch. Ushindi was part of the Congo until 2003. Well, the DRC—the Democratic Republic of the Congo, which was a Belgian colony through much of the last two centuries. The Republic of the Congo to the west was a French colony. It’s a terribly complicated—and bloody—situation. But my baba was Belgian, from a long line of Belgian aristocracy who went out of favor in the Second World War. But by then, Baba’s grandparents and great grandparents had made Zahur their home.”
    From context, I figured out baba meant father. But, “Zahur?”
    “That’s what they named this plantation. It’s Swahili for blossom. They wanted a name that fit culturally.”
    “But you don’t look—” I caught myself. “I’m sorry. The Percocet must be kicking in.”
    She laughed, an easy sound that held not the slightest bit of rancor at what she could have taken as an insult. “And what, it’s making you hallucinate?”
    “No, I didn’t mean—what I meant —” Damn, no matter what I said to explain my intent I was screwed. She was going to think me an insensitive jerk. “You’re beautiful. Stunning even. I just didn’t expect —” I couldn’t leave well enough alone somehow, and just kept digging myself in further. I figured now was a good time to strip off my shirt, rip it off the wound. I deserved that pain right about now.
    Gritting my teeth, I gripped the hem. Soft hands covered mine, moved them aside. Dark eyes stared straight into mine. With a quick tug, she jerked the shirt up, over the wound. The pain wasn’t nearly as intense as I thought it would be. Until I tried lifting my left arm so she could pull the shirt away completely. Instead, I had to shrug my right arm out awkwardly and then let her work it off my left.
    Just more awkwardness to add to an already awkward situation. Maybe, though, it was enough to distract her.
    We both examined the bullet trail. It’d actually gone through, slicing the intercostal space between the sixth and seventh ribs, back to front. One or both of those ribs was possibly shattered. And the cartilage was definitely a mess. Two inches in and up and my lung would have been involved too. As it was, painful though it might be, I had been very…very…lucky.
    I leaned to my right, and Kayla took the needle off the syringe and dribbled the penicillin over the wound. As gently as possible, she pushed the rounded nub of the syringe into the bullet hole from the front and squirted the penicillin in as far as it would go, repeating the same from the back as well. Then she cut long strips of cloth from the sheet and wound them around my chest with warm and