Page 9 of Dr Feel Good
“Stay with me,” I ordered. “Keep your eyes open!” I ran the short distance back to my property and hurried into the cabin. Once inside, I kicked the door closed, then went and laid her on the wooden dining table.
We were both breathing heavily. I chalked mine up to exertion, but she was also trembling, and I wasn’t sure if her symptoms were from cold, blood loss, or shock. Maybe it was a combination.
Blind to everything but saving her, I flipped on the overhead light and performed a visual assessment, alarmed at the three gunshot wounds. One to her arm, another to her shoulder, and another to her thigh.
Tearing off my gloves, I removed my belt to create a tourniquet for her thigh. That done, I reached for her, intending to help her into a sitting position, so I could take off her leather jacket, but she shoved my hands away with surprising force.
“Fendi!” she cried.
“You can’t worry about a purse or whatever. You’re gravely injured.” I was wasting time even talking to her.
Pain-glazed and foggy, golden-brown eyes, ringed by thick lashes, met mine.
“Fendi,” she insisted, struggling to a sitting position without my help and grabbing my wrists. “Goddamn,” she cried out, but her cold fingers gripped mine with surprising firmness. “Help her.”
“Her?” I pried her fingers away from me and stepped back. “Was someone else out there with you?”
She nodded and swayed.
“Fuck!” Not allowing her to fall back, I steadied her, holding her delicate wrists and not letting go. “I have to staunch the blood in your shoulder wound.”
“Get away from me!” She yanked her wrists away and fell backward. If I hadn’t moved fast, she might’ve hit her head on the wood. “Find Fendi.”
Her order chafed my nuts, but luckily, she was my patient—unwilling though she was—not anything else, so I excused her behavior.
“You’re gravely injured,” I told her. “You need help.”
“Fendi needs it more.” Her lashes fluttered closed, then opened again. “Please.”
“Listen…what’s your name?”
“None of your fucking business,” she spat. “Find Fendi,” she gritted through chattering teeth. “You’re not fucking touching me until you get her. They can’t fucking have her!”
“They? Who the fuck is ‘they’?”
“Shut up and do what I told you to do. Now!”
Outside, the wind howled, and I knew I was fast losing the opportunity to unload my SUV with much-needed supplies, including food, thermal blankets, and medical paraphernalia. Continuing to argue with her would not only risk her life but also my safety.
“I’lltryto find your friend,” I said in a voice brooking no argument, the one I would’ve used if she were willingly at my mercy. “First, I’m wrapping your goddamn shoulder, so keep still, and I don’t want to hear another fucking word from you unless I give you permission to speak.”
She blinked. I swore something flickered in the depths of her eyes. Submission that called to me. My nostrils flared, and she lowered her lashes. Conceding to my authority.
Stepping back, I took off my overcoat and unbuttoned my dress shirt. Fingers still trembling, she began unzipping her jacket, visibly gritting her teeth, and struggling to get it off. I reached for her, wanting to help, but she flinched.
“Get away from me,” she growled, fierce even in her weakened state.
I drew in a deep breath. She was injured and frightened and needed reassurance, not my fucking highhanded impatience.
“Shhh,” I crooned. “I won’t hurt you. I only want to help you.”
She paused, allowing me to enclose my hand around hers.
“Good girl,” I complimented, staring into her eyes and willing her to behave as I finished the task. I worked quickly, not liking her sharp intakes of breath and flinches. “I’m almost done.”
“Okay,” she croaked.
I set aside her heavy jacket and brought my hands to the next piece of leather.
