shiver down her spine. She jerked her hand back and
rubbed both palms along her thighs. He was the one with the fever, not her.
Right?
She lifted the scissors from the kit and carefully cut away
the makeshift bandage he’d placed around his biceps yesterday. Shayla peeled
back the layers from his flesh, dried blood causing the gauze to stick to the
open injury. She grimaced. Thank God he was out cold. All his symptoms had to
be a result of the stabbing. She assessed the area. It was red, slightly
swollen, but it wasn’t very hot to the touch. Not any more warm than he already
felt. Nor did the wound drain. Maybe this wasn’t the source of his illness?
Shayla rinsed the cut and started to apply an antibiotic
salve when something caught her eye. She left his side, nabbed the lamp from
the nearby lounge chair’s side table, and brought it back to her work area.
After propping it in the seat of her straight-back chair, she drew it in close,
then peered into the open wound. Before having Madelyn, this would have totally
grossed her out. Amazing how childbirth and the resulting years after rearing that
little one could change a girl. Using a gauze sponge, she pulled back the edges
of the torn flesh.
What in the world is that?
A clear, long tube lay ripped in half inside. With the tips
of her fingers on her other hand, she palpated the skin around the injury. At
the top, something hard rotated under the pads of her fingers—a round disc of
some kind. Did it connect to the tube in his arm like a port she’d heard some
cancer patients had for chemotherapy?
On second thought, if that was the case, maybe she shouldn’t
place a lot of the antibiotic ointment in there. Considering what she’d found,
Shayla decided to simply redress the injury with a clean bandage until she knew
more.
Shayla had just finished putting the last of her supplies
away when a groan came from the other room. She stopped in her tracks and her
pulse quickened at the sound. Thank goodness he was coming back around. She
shoved the last item in a drawer and rushed back to the chair beside him.
His expression said he’d had much better days. He lifted his
arm and covered his eyes with his palm.
“Hey there,” she said. “You back with me?”
In a slow, precise movement, he lowered his hand and scanned
his surroundings. “Shit,” he drawled, then looked her way. “I must have blacked
out. I apologize. I’ll get out of here.” Creed lunged forward, but swayed and
landed against the sofa’s back cushions.
“Whoa there.” Shayla steadied him with one hand to his
shoulder. “It’s okay. You don’t need to jump up this very minute. Take a moment
and get your bearings.”
Creed inhaled deep, then let out the breath nice and slow.
His gaze went to his right upper arm, taking in the new bandage. He flicked his
attention to her. “You did this?”
Shayla released a slight chuckle and looked around the room.
“Don’t see anyone else here, do you?”
“No. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Shayla reached over and retrieved the
glass of water she’d left near the sofa and handed it to Creed. He nodded and
accepted the offering and took a large sip. “Are you feeling a little better?”
“Yes,” he said after swallowing. “I think the medicine you
offered me has helped.”
“Good.” Shayla studied the washed-out blue coloration of her
jeans, following the worn lines with her finger. Curiosity gripped her by its
claws, and she didn’t know how much longer she could go without asking him
about the thing in his arm. Peeking up, she watched as he finished off the
glass of water. “Do you mind if I ask what kind of implant that is in your
biceps?” There. She’d done it. Shayla captured her lower lip between her teeth.
Creed stopped mid-swallow, then lowered the empty glass. His
gaze met hers and his Adam’s apple bobbed as the liquid finished its path down
his throat. Once again, his stare held her fixated. An intensity that