Resisting Her Rebel Hero. Lucy Ryder
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sick of his own company and damn tired of sitting around feeling sorry for himself.
Ruben nodded and backed away, keeping a wary eye on Cassidy, as though expecting her to use the syringe on him. “Can’t you just wrap him up or something? My usual tracker had a family emergency and we’re in a hurry.”
Her eyes widened. “Wrap—? He’s not a cheeseburger,” she snapped, sending Ruben’s eyebrows into his hairline. “And in case it escaped your notice, Sheriff, the major is bleeding, and he’s been drinking. It would be suicidal to go climbing mountains in his condition. I’m going to insist you leave him here. Or, better yet, let me take him to the hospital.”
Sam brushed past her to where Larry had set out the medical supplies. “I’m fine,” he said brusquely, reaching for a wound dressing. “I told you I wasn’t drunk.”
Before he could open the packet she snatched it from him and shoved her shoulder into his side as though she’d physically keep him from leaving.
As if.
He would have snickered at the absurdity if he hadn’t been sucking in a painful breath. Turning a scowl on her that usually had people backing off in a hurry, she surprised him with a snapped “Back it up, Major,” clearly not intimidated by his big bad Navy SEAL attitude.
He gave an annoyed grunt and tried to snatch it back.
“I mean it,” she warned, jabbing her finger into his chest. “Or I’ll use the syringe and the sheriff will have no choice but to go without you.” She narrowed her eyes at him when he continued to glare at her while contemplating letting her try.
Heck, he might even enjoy it.
“And FYI, buddy, I nearly got intoxicated on the alcoholic haze surrounding you when I arrived, and not five minutes ago you almost fell on your face. You are not in any condition to go anywhere, least of all into the mountains on S&R. Besides,” she reasoned sweetly, “you’re bleeding all over the sheriff’s nice clean jail cell. You need stitches.” She paused and dropped her eyes meaningfully to his hand and then his abdomen. “Lots of them.”
Staring down at her, Sam felt his lips twitch. She was like an enraged kitten—all fierce green eyes and ruffled silver fur. For just an instant he was tempted to reach out and smooth his hands over all that soft skin and silky silvery blond hair until she purred. One look into her narrowed eyes, however, and Sam knew she would probably bite his hand off at the wrist if he tried.
He made a scoffing sound filled with masculine impatience and amusement, which only served to narrow her eyes even further. “I’ve had mosquito bites worse than this,” he assured her, feeling unaccountably cheered by her concern. “And if you’re worried about blood alcohol levels, I’m sure the sheriff can organize a breathalyzer.”
For long tense moments they engaged in a silent battle of wills until she finally uttered a soft “Aargh” followed by “Fine” in a tone that clearly meant it wasn’t, and Sam had to clench his teeth to keep from grinning. He had a feeling grinning would be bad for his health.
“Oh...and FYI, sweetheart,” he continued, while she sorted through the supplies with barely leashed temper, “I wasn’t drinking. The weasel tried to break a bottle over my head. When I ducked, it shattered against the bar and soaked into my shirt. That was before he tried to gut me with it.”
She turned towards him with a derisive sound and raised a brow that clearly conveyed her opinion of his explanation. “I said fine, didn’t I?”
“You most certainly did,” Ruben said dryly, shoving his face between them. “But I’m still not seeing anything happening here, people.” He waited a couple of beats as his gaze ping-ponged between them. “So if you kids could save the lovers’ spat for another time, I’d like my chief tracker.”
* * *
Feeling her face catch fire, Cassidy broke eye contact with the Navy SEAL to send the sheriff a long, silent, narrow-eyed look that had him backing away with his hands up.
She turned back to snap, “Lift your arm.” When he did she swiped disinfectant across the angry gash, completely ignoring the hissed response to her cavalier treatment.
After a long murmured conversation during which she cleaned and applied a few adhesive cross-strips to keep the edges of the wound together, the sheriff left. Cassidy knew the instant the SEAL’s attention shifted back to her because the tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickled.
With unsteady hands she dressed his wound then cleaned and tightly wrapped his hand in a waterproof dressing, before turning away to gather the debris.
The length of her back heated an instant before a long tanned arm reached over her shoulder to snag a bandage. Cursing the way her skin prickled and her body tightened with some kind of weird anticipation, she sent a dark look over her shoulder and watched in silence as he awkwardly attempted to wrap it around his torso. After a moment she sighed and put out her hand, saying wearily, “I’ll do it.”
Clearly surprised by her offer, Samuel held her gaze for a long tension-filled moment. His laugh was a husky rasp in the tense silence and did annoying things to her breathing. “You’re not going to strangle me with it, are you?”
Cassidy knew the taping would help him move—and breathe—more comfortably as he leapt tall mountains in a single bound. She rolled her eyes and waited while he gingerly raised his arms to link both hands behind his head.
Hard muscles shifted beneath his taut, tanned skin and she had to bite her lip to keep from sighing like a stupid female drunk on manly pheromones. She swallowed the urge to lean forward and swipe her tongue across his strong, tanned throat. As though he’d read her mind, he sucked in a sharp breath and she froze, watching in awed fascination as flesh rippled and goose bumps broke out across his skin an inch from her nose.
Heat snapped in the air between them and her mind went numb. Good grief, she thought with horror, I’m attracted to him? Appalled and more than a little rattled, she lifted her gaze, only to find him watching her, the expression in his gold eyes sending her blood pressure shooting into the stratosphere. She didn’t have to wonder if he was as affected by their proximity as she was.
Tearing her gaze from his, she muttered, “You’re an idiot,” unsure if she was addressing him or herself. In case it was him, she continued with, “And so is the sheriff for expecting you to go out like this.”
“Hikers are missing,” he reminded her impatiently.
She rolled her eyes. She’d treated people suffering from trauma and knew enough about PTSD to be worried about the battle-alert episodes that culminated in dizziness, muscle tremors, sweating and confusion.
“You almost fainted,” she pointed out.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped, as though she’d suggested something indecent. “SEALs don’t faint. I was just a bit dizzy, that’s all. I suffer from low blood pressure.”
Cassidy looked up at the outrageous lie and shut her mouth on a sigh. Clearly he was in denial. Fine. She was just doing her job.
Besides, he was a Navy SEAL. She reminded herself that he did this kind of thing all the time. A shiver slinked up her spine as she pictured him sneaking into hostile territory, wiping everything out before ghosting out again as silently as he’d arrived. She could even picture him—
“What?”
Yeah, Cassidy. What?
Shaking her head, she went back to binding his torso, reminding herself that she didn’t need rescuing. She wasn’t a damsel in distress and those gold eyes couldn’t see into her mind or know what was happening to her.
Except—darn him—he probably did. He was no doubt an expert at making women lose their brain cells just by flexing those awesome biceps—or staring at them with that brooding gold gaze. It was no wonder she felt like she was running a fever. It was no wonder her blood was humming through her veins. Her