Page 23 of 40 and (So Over) Fixing It
“You’re bleeding.”
“Mm.” She applied the bandanna to the thin but deeper-than-she’d-like slice. “It’s no big deal.”
“You’re bleeding.”
This time the words were grated through his teeth. Erin pressed on the cut and grated out her own, “Don’t worry about it.”
Carter rolled his eyes at that. “Where’s your first-aid kit?”
Sweeping the shed with a look, Erin saw the clear plastic box on the workbench near the door. “Over there.”
Carter’s gaze landed on it, and he had it up and over to her desk in a heartbeat. “Sit.”
She pressed the kerchief harder against her skin, then hissed when the cut stung. “Do you ever do anything but bark orders and irritate people?”
He rolled his eyes. The hand not holding the kit came up, planted itself in the middle of her chest, and pressed her backward. “Sit.”
ChapterTen
Guess she had no choice. She plopped into the metal chair behind her, giving Carter her most annoyed look. He ignored it and opened the kit.
“Why is a letter opener sharp enough to cut you?” he asked as he rummaged through the kit’s contents.
“It’s not a letter opener. It’s a pocketknife.”
“Why is a pocketknife that sharp?” He stepped close, his heat reaching her as he began organizing bandages and ointment and alcohol wipes on her work desk, in order of use. The realization amused Erin, and she answered him absently.
“Because what use is a knife if you don’t keep it sharp?”
Carter froze, his astonished gaze locking with hers before he shook his head and went back to what he was doing. “Right, not Kansas,” he muttered.
The reference toThe Wizard of Ozmade her chuckle. “If you think this is Kansas, you’ve got bigger problems than a little cut.”
Carter huffed again. He reached for her, taking over the pressing of the hankie as he extended her arm to bring it closer to himself. Again with the propping of his butt on the edge of the makeshift desk. She was going to have dreams about that butt; she just knew it.
The front wasn’t bad either.
Just stop looking!She didn’t want to have dreams about anything attached to an annoying jackass. A too-handsome-to-ignore jackass, but a jackass nonetheless.
She hadn’t realized she was pulling back on her hand until Carter spoke again. “Stop that.”
“Sorry.” Relaxing her arm beneath his touch was an act of will.
“I can’t believe you cut yourself with a knife.”
Familiar irritation roughened his voice. Was this man evernotgoing to be irritated with her?
“Believe me, Carter, I’ve cut myself with a lot worse.” Construction wasn’t a delicate job. She’d had more stitches than she could remember.
He scowled; that was the only way to describe the fierce expression that appeared on his face. “You really should be more careful then.”
“You really shouldn’t argue with me when I’m holding a knife,” she countered.
He lifted the hankie, grunted, replaced the cloth, then reached for the alcohol wipes. Tearing a couple of the tiny packets open with his teeth, he mumbled, “This might hurt.”
She snorted, hoping the sound kept him from noticing the way her gaze fixated on his mouth. It was just right, not too full and not too thin. Just enough of a pout to make kissing good, she bet.
Dragging her focus away from his lips—which she definitely shouldn’t be noticing—she zeroed in on Carter’s eyes. The look they held was half determination, half apology. Did he look like that when he was cleaning Thad’s cuts? She imagined he did. He was obviously a good dad. When he bent his head over her hand, she couldn’t help but notice that his short, dark-blond hair was growing out a little, the ends beginning to show hints of the same soft curls his son’s head sported. Her fingers spasmed, the urge to touch those curls strong. Thankfully the alcohol hit her cut about the same time, and she hissed, barely keeping from letting loose a few choice expletives.
