Page 15 of A Brambleberry Summer

After he left, she tried to focus instead on the storm still rumbling around them.

He and Logan had already left a mark on this room. It was obviously well-used. A couple of children’s chapter books were stacked on the table and she could see some small trucks on the floor.

Wyatt returned a moment later with a red case. “Come into the kitchen, where we can wash off the blood. I should have had you do that while I was getting the first-aid kit. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

She followed him, trying to come up with the words to tell him again that she could take care of her very minor injury on her own.

No words would come to her other than the truth—that she was afraid to let him touch her.

Since she couldn’t tell him that, of course, she followed him into the kitchen.

Here, again, he and Logan had made the space their own. A couple of art-class projects had been stuck with magnets to the refrigerator and homework was spread out on the table.

Hank, his cute little dog, wandered into the room and stretched in a dog-yoga pose as Wyatt pulled a few paper towels off the roll.

“Come over here by the sink.”

Keeping her gaze fixed away from the cut, she followed him. He turned on the sink and ran his hand under it for a few moments to gauge the temperature, then carefully gripped her hand and guided it under.

Rosa held her breath. Why did he have to smell so good?

He turned her hand this way and that to rinse off the blood. “I don’t think you need stitches. It’s fairly shallow.”

“That is what I thought also.”

“We can clean it off pretty well and I think I have a bandage big enough to cover it.”

She didn’t see any point in arguing with him when he was trying to help her. “Thank you.”

Why did her voice sound so breathy and soft? She had to hope he did not notice.

Lightning flashed again outside, followed almost immediately by a loud clap of thunder. She managed to swallow her instinctive gasp.

“How does Logan sleep through such a noise?”

He smiled softly and she felt those nerves sizzle inside her again.

“He can sleep through just about anything. It’s a talent I wish I shared.”

“I, as well.” She was unable to resist smiling back. He seemed a different person when talking about his son, much more open and approachable.

He looked at her for a moment, then seemed to jerk his attention back to her hand.

He patted it dry with a bit of gauze from the first-aid kit. “I didn’t see what you scratched your hand on out there.”

“A nail, I think. I am not sure. I will have to look more closely in the daylight.”

He nodded. “Any idea when your last tetanus shot was? If it was a nail, it might be rusty. This is the coast, after all. Everything rusts.”

“I had the shot only a few years ago after I stepped on a rock at the beach and needed a few stitches.”

It was a good thing she had been with friends that time. Her foot had bled so much, she probably would have been too light-headed to walk to her car.

“Good news, then. You shouldn’t need a second shot. I’m just going to put a little first-aid cream on it. If it doesn’t start to heal in a few days, you will probably want to see your doctor.”

“Yes. I will do that.”

She missed having Melissa Fielding living in this apartment. Melissa was a nurse and was great at patching up scrapes and cuts. Now she was happily married to Eli Sanderson, who was a doctor in town. Eli was a wonderful stepfather to Melissa’s daughter, Skye, and they had a new baby of their own, Thomas.

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