Page 21 of The Wounded Warrior

“You know as well as I do that fucker cut it, but then someone came down shooting.”

That motherfucker. Rory didn’t even have to ask who they were talking about. It had to be Harris. Jesus, the man would stop at nothing.

Rory leaned his head back, eyes dropping closed. Well, at least he was the fucker land guy who’d saved the horses instead of the one who’d let them out.

The truck stopped and Matt jostled him up and into the house. “Luke? Where do you want him?”

“Put him in the kitchen, Matty.”

Rory blinked, trying to get his eyes to work.

“You’re okay, man. Just shocky.” Matt got him sat down in a kitchen chair. “Dammit. Sheriff’s here. You got this, brother?”

Was LeBlanc speaking English?

“Got it.” Luke rolled right up in front of Rory, brandishing a wicked sharp pair of scissors. “Hold still, man.”

“Don’t cut anything off. I was coming to apologize.”

“I promise not to amputate anything but the jeans.” Luke smiled at him, sympathy plain.

“I’ll trust you. Just tell me my cock’s intact. Petty, I know, but a thing.”

Luke snorted. “That was one of the first things I asked when I woke up in a field hospital.” Luke cut off his jeans and eased them away. “Let me have a peek.”

“Jesus.” The sight of his ragged, bloody jeans was enough to make him consider immediate death. Now he knew why people were dragged to death as a way to intimidate peasants and shit. It was a hell of a way to die.

“Yeah. Tore the hell out of you. I have basic med training, but if your dick is falling off I’m calling an ambulance.” Luke peered into his boxers. “Hey, you’re in luck. No damage that I can see.”

“Thank God. I like it, and I intend to keep it.”

“Well, sure.” Luke chuckled. “Let me get some dressings and all. You have one cut bad enough I need to butterfly it.”

“I’m in your hands, and I don’t mean that in a naked sort of way. I was coming to apologize. I was sick as a dog that night. I think that beer was spoilt.”

Luke glanced over one shoulder at him, but didn’t say anything much while digging out first aid supplies. When Luke came back, he nodded easily at Rory. “I can see that. You sure did a quick change. Okay, this is gonna sting.”

“I promise not to scream like a fainting goat.”

“Oh, feel free. I just don’t want you to kick me.” Luke laid what felt like a line of fire down one of Rory’s legs.

“Jesus.” He arched some, hissing. “I’ll be more sorry.”

“You apologized just fine by helping those horses. Matt told me a little. I appreciate it.” Luke glanced up again, as if checking to see if he was still conscious.

“I’m here. I swear to God Matt owes me a… Not a beer. I may never drink beer again, but really good coffee.”

“Yep. Maybe chili and cornbread.” Luke chuckled. “Since that was what we’re having. We’re out of raw hamburger and blue cheese. You have some abrasions on your chest I need to treat, and then I need to look at your hand.”

“Matt swore it was still there.”

“It is, and it looks like the rope burned you pretty good, but there’s none of the serious bloody swelling I’d associate with compromised blood flow. Trust me, if I thought it had really hurt the underlying tissue you’d be on the way to the hospital.” Luke was gentle but efficient. Admirable.

“Were you trained as a medic?” He knew nothing about the service. He was the ‘college at fifteen’ guy.

“We all got basic medical. We go in as a team, and we all have specialties, but yeah, I got some training.”

“I’m sorry for asking. I do that. Ask inappropriate questions after worrying about losing my hand.”

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