Page 16 of Snowbound with the Santas

“Stop!You’ve ripped open your stitches and if I don’t fix it, you’ll bleed out all over the snow. If you plan to run away in this condition, you won’t last five minutes.”

“Are you saying I need to run away?” she snaps, her cheeks flaring crimson as she wrenches her wrist out of my grip.

“You’re free to do what you want,” I reply. “Just not until I’ve fixed this.”

I can’t pinpoint exactly what makes her stay put, but she doesn’t try to slide off the table again. I leave her there and dig around under the copper sink for the medical kit stashed there. Back at the table, I grasp her thigh and push her shirt high up to her hip.

She immediately slaps my hand away.

“I’m sorry, but I need access to your entire leg.”

She relents quickly and pulls her shirt up her legs with her own hands, then tightens the fabric around her hips to cover herself. I get to work quickly, using scissors to cut away the blood-soaked bandages.

As soon as the torn wound comes into view, her entire demeanor shifts.

“Oh, God,” she groans hoarsely.

I send her a glance, and she’s lifted her head to the ceiling, averting her gaze while a grayness seeps across her skin.

“Not a fan of blood?” I ask, trying to distract her as I quickly snip away the last few untorn stitches.

“Not when it’s coming from a place it shouldn’t be,” she replies weakly.

I work as quickly as I can, mopping up the blood as it trickles down her leg and soaks into the wood below. That doesn’t bother me. It’s not the first time someone’s bled on this table and it won’t be the last.

“You haven’t told me your name,” I say as I thread the needle and apply antiseptic.

She hisses sharply and one hand shoots out to grab at my arm. She clutches tightly and her fingernails cut into the flesh of my bare forearm, but I don’t mind. It’s nothing compared to her pain.

“Rayne,” she gasps as I begin stitching. “Rayne McCullough.”

“Nice to meet you, Rayne.”

“Mmhmm.”

“What do you do for work?” Simple questions to try and keep her mind off the pain as I swiftly stitch up the ragged wound across her thigh. The cause is unknown, but given how we found her, I suspect a sharp rock caught her leg on her way down the incline.

“I’m a teacher.”

“High school?”

“Second grade.”

“For how long?”

“A couple of years—ahh!”

“Sorry.” The last stitch slides into place. I knot the thread and set the instruments aside. Another pass of the antiseptic, and it’s on to the bandages.

“Holy shit,” Rayne groans. “Ow.”

“Do you have pain anywhere else?”

“My head.”

“Aside from that?”

“Uh…” Rayne finally tilts her head back down, then shakes it. “No… nothing I can feel right now.”

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