Wild Men of Alaska 04 - Wild Men of Alaska - Four Book Bundle

lips.
    “How?” He gestured with his good arm, hitting the top of the seat hanging above them. “You see a bathroom? A mirror. Don’t be stu—”
    “Don’t call me stupid.” Her expression shut down.
    Ah crap. His tone was sorry when he spoke again. “I wasn’t calling you stupid. I was going to say stubborn. You’re stubborn as hell, Wren, but never stupid.” He remembered her dad and his constant verbal abuse. Skip had even confronted the bastard when they were teenagers, and her father had gone after Wren with words that sliced and stomped her struggling spirit. She’d been called stupid so many times in her life that she’d begun to believe it, which Skip believed was the reason she’d looked for an escape. And drugs had been her vehicle.
    Wren’s gaze dropped to her hands. He wanted to reach out and enfold them in his. Maybe that would stop their shaking. But she had that prickly wall around her so he changed the subject back to the cut on her forehead. “Hand me that first aid kit, and let’s clean you up.” This time she didn’t argue.
    She unclipped the first aid kit from where Jim had pointed out its location before they’d left King Salmon. That seemed days ago rather than mere hours.
    She set the kit between them and opened it. He reached in and found the antiseptic wipes. Only problem was that he couldn’t tear the plastic to get to the wipes. She didn’t say anything when he handed her the package, but her look spoke volumes. While she used the wipe to clean the dried blood off her face, he rummaged through the kit looking for anything that would help cover the wound. He laid out bandages, gauze, Neosporin, and tape. Wren finished with one wipe and went to grab another, but he was quicker and got to it first. “Let me.”
    “I can do this.” She ground her teeth.
    She really didn’t want him to touch her, but he was dying to get his hands on her. Even in this impersonal way. “You can’t see everything I can. Come on, there’s a lot we need to do. Arguing is a waste of time. It’s already getting darker than I’d like.”
    She glanced out of the windows, noticing the black clouds smothering what daylight remained. Night would be coming early, way before they were ready for it. He just hoped the snow would hold off until they could get things situated for the long, cold night ahead.
    “Fine.” She huffed out a breath that fanned across his face, bringing the scent of mint. She must have chewed gum before getting on the plane. Did she still suffer from motion sickness? There was so much he wanted to reacquaint himself with about her.
    He reached up with the wipe and began slowly cleaning away the dried blood around the cut. Since he’d somersaulted the plane, most of the blood had flowed into her hair. Without running water, there wasn’t a lot he could do about her hair. The blood melted into the dark strands, blending in. He concentrated on the cut. It was a few inches long, traveling back into her hairline. She’d have a scar, but one that would be easily hidden by her hair. The bleeding had stopped, coagulating over the cut, until he attempted to clean it, then it started to seep again.
    “You really need stitches.” He glanced down at the first aid kit. It was stocked with the supplies he needed to stitch her up.
    “No way am I letting you stick a needle in me.” She moved back out of his reach.
    “Don’t think I could sew you up right with only one wing working anyway. See if there aren’t some adhesive strips in there or super glue.” Many a time he’d super glued a cut closed. Worked great when you were constantly around the water and not close to medical facilities.
    She rummaged through the contents, as he held the wipe over the seeping cut and tried not to be distracted by the faint scent of lemon verbena. She must still use the same body wash. He loved knowing she hadn’t changed so much, gave him hope that he might be able to reach her.
    “I found them.” She tore open the package and held the strip up to him. He exchanged the wipe for the strip and, using his teeth to take the covering off the adhesive, placed one over the cut. He reached for another one that she had ready and did the same with the next.
    “Neosporin.”
    She handed him a gauze pad with Neosporin already on it, anticipating his needs. She could always do that, knowing what he needed before he asked. He’d never been so in tune with a woman before, or since.
    That insight of