Wind River Wrangler (Wind River Valley #1)(17)

“It won’t happen again,” Roan promised her in a low tone. “Keep pressure on that finger and go sit on the couch. I’ll fetch the first aid box.”

Shiloh nodded and followed him out of the kitchen. She took one corner of the couch, resting her injured hand in her lap. In moments, Roan was back. Silent. Like a shadowy ghost. He turned on the overhead light, and she winced, covering her eyes for a moment.

Roan had to sit close. He had gone to his bedroom and found a black T-shirt and pulled it over his head. He was unsure of the look Shiloh was giving him; she seemed afraid of his bulk and size. But maybe it was just the fact she was still high on that adrenaline charge that had shot into her bloodstream when he scared her. Feeling bad, Roan pulled out everything he’d need from the medical kit and put on a pair of latex gloves.

“You ever been stitched up before?” he asked. His knee was against her knee and he gently guided her hand to his hard, curved thigh.

“No.”

“Not many places for a kid to get scraped or injured in New York City, huh?” he teased, threading the needle. Roan looked up and saw her watching him with wide green eyes. Her hair was lusciously mussed and he found he wanted to tunnel his fingers through that mass and feel how strong and silky he knew it would be.

She heard a bit of amusement in his voice. “No . . . not many. Is this going to hurt?” she asked, and tucked her lower lip between her teeth, her brows lowering. She saw his chiseled mouth quirk.

“Yeah, it will. But I’ll put a pain deadener around where I have to stitch and that will help you a lot.”

“Well, at least you didn’t lie to me.”

Roan chuckled a little, taking off the bloody tissue and setting it aside. “Honesty puts everyone on a level playing field.” He looked up and drowned in her worried expression. “Do you faint from the sight of blood?”

“I . . . don’t know.”

“From pain?”

“I don’t think so . . .” He held her hand in his, cradling it, and Shiloh could feel his latent strength as his fingers curved comfortingly around hers. He gave her several shots of lidocaine around the cut to numb the area it so it wouldn’t cause her ongoing pain and stress.

“Why don’t you sit back, close your eyes, and not watch?” he suggested drily.

“That’s a good idea,” Shiloh admitted, a little breathless. The heat of his hand was incredible! She felt little electric shocks moving up her hand and into her wrist. Leaning against the couch, she tried to take a deep breath and relax. But how could she relax with Roan this close? Literally, she could smell the warmth of his flesh, the sage scent of the soap he’d used to shower with.

Roan carefully put the first of the needed three stitches into the deep cut. Every time he had to put the needle into her flesh, Shiloh flinched.

“Hurt?”

“No. I just feel the pressure of the needle, is all.”

She didn’t move her hand. She had given him her trust. Roan found himself respecting her courage. Shiloh had tucked her lower lip between her teeth, worrying it. Wanting to distract her, he asked, “What are you doing this morning? Going to write on your latest book?”

“Uhh, no . . . I have writer’s block. I talked to Maud about it and she said I should follow you around and learn to be a cowgirl, instead. She said my block would disappear if I got my mind off it for a while.”

“Maud is a wise woman,” Roan agreed quietly, going for the second stitch. “You’re doing fine, Shiloh.”

His rumbling praise went through her like hot sunlight, warming her core, making her ache even more for him. Roan’s head was bent, dark brows drawn downward in concentration, his hand steady and obviously having stitched someone up before. “Thanks . . . you probably think I’m a big weenie.” She saw his mouth hook into a faint grin. His entire demeanor changed in that moment. Gone was the hardness. Instead, she saw the man beneath that mask he wore like a good friend. And he was breathtaking to her.

“Never a weenie. You’re doing fine.”

“Thanks . . .”

“You said you had writer’s block?”

Cringing, Shiloh groaned. “Yes. Not that I like admitting it. It’s embarrassing.”

“Caused by the fact you’ve been stalked for six months straight?” he asked, and he looked up for a moment, holding her humiliated stare. Her eyes went wide with surprise, probably because he got the crux of the reason for the block.

“Why . . . yes . . . how did you know?”

Shrugging, Roan saw he could easily distract her. She didn’t wince or take in a ragged breath as he closed the cut with the third stitch. “Maud had told me about the situation before you arrived,” he told her, quickly tying a knot. Placing the needle and thread aside, he drenched the stitches with antiseptic and then carefully placed a waterproof bandage around his handiwork.

“Somehow,” Shiloh murmured, “I don’t think you guess about much at all.” She saw his eyes glimmer for a moment before he finished up with her finger. She saw amusement come to his gaze. He was a man of few words.

“There. How does it feel now?” he asked, releasing her hand. Roan didn’t want to. Instead, he had a vision of tugging her hand gently toward him and then levering her breasts against his chest, angling her chin and dropping a hot, searching kiss on those mobile lips of hers.