Aftershock by Jill Sorenson Page B

hear me?” she asked in a hoarse voice.
    “Yeah.”
    “Who are you?”
    His throat worked as he swallowed. “Garrett Wright.”
    “Remember what you were doing?”
    “Something stupid.”
    She choked out a laugh that was half sob and continued to put
pressure on the wound. Tears spilled down her cheeks, unbidden. One of them
splashed on his face, leaving a clean mark on his skin.
    Your water shall mingle with our
water.
    He opened his eyes to stare at her, his pupils normal size. She
realized she was making a fool of herself, and didn’t give a damn. Although she
was the only one bawling, she knew the others shared her concern.
    Penny and Cadence exchanged a smile. When Penny elbowed her,
Cadence giggled behind her hand.
    While Don escorted them back to the RV, Lauren took the cloth
away from Garrett’s head to check the size of the wound. It was less than an
inch long, and could be sealed easily with tissue glue.
    “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
    “My shoulder.”
    “Can you move your arm?”
    He did so with a wince. Lauren didn’t think his shoulder had
been dislocated, but she’d give it a closer examination.
    “Just rest for now,” she said. “I’ll check it out after your
head stops bleeding.”
    He swallowed again, grimacing.
    “Are you nauseous?”
    “A little. I’ll try to warn you before I hurl.”
    She let out another shaky laugh, wiping her weepy eyes with the
hem of her shirt. When his gaze followed the motion, she realized that she’d
exposed her bare stomach and the undersides of her breasts.
    “Why are you crying?” he demanded.
    She took a deep breath, trying to pull herself together. “I’m
glad you’re alive.”
    “Did you help Don get me down?”
    “Yes.”
    He scanned her torso once more. “I’m sorry. That was dangerous.
You could have been injured.”
    “ I could have been injured?”
    “By the rope.”
    Her tears dried up, and annoyance settled in. “You shouldn’t
have gone up there in the first place.”
    Too tired to argue, he closed his eyes, surrendering to her
ministrations. Once the bleeding stopped, she helped him shrug out of the camel
pack and climbing harness. Then she put a towel under his head and washed the
cut with a bit of water. After patting his hair dry, she applied the tissue
glue.
    “What did you see outside?” she asked.
    “Smoke. Blue sky.”
    She palpated his shoulder socket and the bones in his arm. He
endured the exam without complaint, and everything seemed to be in its proper
place. There was a nasty scrape on his elbow that needed to be cleaned. She
pushed up the hem of his T-shirt and found another raw mark on his hip.
    When her fingertips touched his bare skin, he flinched.
    “Does that hurt?”
    “No.”
    Frowning, she explored the area around the scrape, applying
pressure here and there. His ribs were striated with muscle, his abdomen
taut.
    “What are you doing?” he asked.
    “Looking for broken bones.”
    “I don’t have any.”
    She slipped her fingertips into the waistband of his jeans,
pressing harder.
    With a low growl, he sat upright and grasped her wrist,
removing her hand from his pelvis. “I’m fine,” he said between clenched teeth.
Then his face paled, as if he was light-headed from moving too fast.
    “You don’t look fine.”
    He brought his knees up and put his head between them, sucking
in air.
    She rubbed his back in sympathy. “Let me take you to the triage
tent and give you some medicine.”
    “No.”
    “You have a concussion. I need to monitor you for twelve
hours.”
    “I’ll rest in the semi.”
    When he tried to rise on his own, she grasped his elbow,
helping him up. Crankiness and nausea were classic symptoms of head injuries, so
she ignored his resistance. Many strong, capable men were poor patients. He’d
admitted to refusing to see a psychologist, and he seemed very guarded.
Self-critical.
    After he staggered to his feet, she put her arm around his lean
waist and guided him toward the