She started to ask why, when they were going to be rescued, but hesitated because they still hadn’t heard those helicopter blades they’d been listening for. The hours were getting short again, and she was beginning to accept that they faced another night on the mountain. The realization made her want to cry, but that was pointless, and she couldn’t afford the moisture loss.
“You’re concussed,” she pointed out to Justice. “You should stay as quiet as possible, too.”
“I’m not jogging around, believe me. And I don’t have a fever.”
Bailey groused about that a little, because being the one with the fever still seemed like a gross injustice to her, but she was still really tired and in a short time she was asleep again.
Late in the afternoon Cam said, “I need to check your arm while it’s still daylight.”
She gave him a narrow-eyed glare, because if daylight were involved, that meant being out of the shelter. “You want me to pull my shirts off out there?”
“Yep. The bandage needs changing. You can take a bunch of this stuff with you, keep it wrapped around you so everything except your arm is covered.”
He crawled out, taking the first-aid kit with him. Bailey struggled halfway out of her three shirts while she was still inside the shelter, pulling her right arm from the sleeves. She tried to look over her shoulder at her triceps to see if there were any red streaks, but in the dimness it was impossible to tell. Draping a bunch of other clothes around her so she didn’t flash her breasts at him, she crawled out, too.
There was nowhere to sit without getting their pants wet, so she stood with her back to him while he bared her arm and peeled off the bandage. “It doesn’t look any worse,” he said, to her relief. “It’s still red around the puncture site, but the redness isn’t spreading.” He put more antibiotic on the wound, slapped another bandage over it, and she eased her arm back into her shirtsleeve, did up the buttons.
“While we’re out here, I should probably check your head,” she said.
He touched the thick bandage on his head. “Is there enough gauze to redo this?”
There was, but only one more time. What if they weren’t rescued tomorrow? The thought sent a chill down her spine, or maybe that was a chill from the fever. Either way, the idea of a third night on the mountain was horrendous.
Nevertheless, his bandage needed changing. “I don’t have to use as much this time,” she finally said. “I’ll put a pad over the cut, and wrap the Ace bandage around your head to make sure no trash or debris gets into the stitches.”
There was still no place to sit, and he was so much taller than she that even unwrapping the Ace bandage was awkward. Finally he pulled one of the trash bags over and carefully knelt on it, while she still stood. “Is that better?”
“Much.” Carefully she removed the rest of the bandage, hoping the antibiotic salve she’d put on the stitches would prevent the gauze from sticking. It had, for the most part. There were a few places where she had to tug on the gauze to pull it free, but nothing drastic. At least, he didn’t scream or curse, for which she was grateful.
Her repair job looked almost as bad as the cut had, she thought, biting her lip. Dried blood crusted around the holes where the stitches were, and in a thin line along the cut, making her wonder if she hadn’t pulled the edges together tightly enough. Then she realized that some of the swelling had gone down, which meant the stitches weren’t as tight as they should be. “It’s going to leave a hell of a scar,” she warned. “You may need plastic surgery.”
The look he gave her was mildly incredulous. “For a scar?”
“I’m not a doctor, remember? This isn’t exactly a neat job.” She felt embarrassed, as if she’d failed at some test, though she didn’t know what else she could have done. Left the cut open until the swelling went down? That didn’t seem like a viable alternative. Not only would the cut have been more likely to get infected, but wouldn’t leaving it open make the scar worse?
“Does it bother you? The scar,” he asked.
“Hey, it isn’t on my head. If it doesn’t bother you, then don’t worry about it.”
He grinned as she used an alcohol wipe to clean off the dried blood. “You aren’t oozing with sympathy, are you?”
“I’m not an oozer. Sorry.”
“What I meant was, does it bother you to look at it?”
“I won’t be looking at it, because I’m going to cover it with a bandage. But scars in general don’t bother me, if that’s what you’re asking.” Picking up the tube of antibiotic salve, she squirted a line of it over the stitches, from one end to the other. Covering the wound took two sterile gauze pads; she used strips of tape to hold them in place, then rewound the Ace bandage around his head. “There. You aren’t as good as new, but you’re better than you were yesterday.”
“Thanks to you,” he said as he climbed to his feet. She reached out to help him, holding him until she was certain he was steady. He looped one strong arm around her, tilted her chin up, and kissed her.
18
BAILEY FROZE IN DISMAY, CAUGHT IN HIS SURPRISINGLY powerful grip. She hated having to deal with sexual issues. They’d been getting along so well; why did he have to ruin things by making a pass? He was stronger than she’d expected, given his physical condition, which meant she might have to put some muscle into pushing him away, but she didn’t want to maybe cause him to fall and make his concussion worse—