Page 40 of Making New Plans

He followed my gaze and spotted the trickle of blood on his hand. His throat bobbed, and I swear he paled a bit. “It’s nothing. Please leave.”

My eyes caught on the beads of sweat appearing around his hairline. He looked downright nauseous. “Hunter?”

“What?”

“Do you faint at the sight of blood?”

His glare was much less powerful than usual. “Of course not. Sometimes… I just…need to sit down.”

He swayed, and I rushed forward to wrap my arms around his torso to keep him upright. And yes, his body amazed me, hard and lean, and fit against mine like a missing puzzle piece. But I told that side of myself to shut up so I could help him out of the house.

He didn’t lean too heavily on me, but his breathing was shallow. “Don’t want to go back in. Need fresh air.”

“Fine.” I shuffled him over to one of the log benches by the firepit and dropped him onto it.

“Stay put,” I ordered.

He grunted in reply, keeping his eyes averted from his hand.

I raced into the lodge, pulled out my med kit and a few heavy blankets from the linen closet, and ran back to Hunter, puffing and wheezing. Okay, a walk here and there probably wasn’t good enough cardio. I tossed him a blanket then set to work doctoring his hand.

The cut wasn’t too deep, so I doubted I needed to bring him to the old town doctor. As I rinsed and sterilized and bandaged, I talked.

“You don’t like blood, huh? Bad experience with dissection in high school or something?”

He grimaced, his cheeks still pale under his meticulously shaved stubble. “Close. My dad and grandfather took me hunting once when I was about ten. It didn’t go well. Despite what they hoped by naming me Hunter.”

I glanced up in surprise. “That’s really why they named you Hunter?”

He nodded stiffly, offering no more details.

“Well, I’m sure the Mortons of the world will be glad to hear it.”

His dimple made a brief appearance. Still a win, in my opinion.

I carefully wrapped the bandage around the gauze I’d pressed into the cut in his palm. Taking a bit longer than necessary, I let myself study his hand. Long, lean fingers that looked strong and capable. A dusting of hair on the knuckles. Minimal calluses and scars, at least before this incident.

I tied off the bandage, and for the quickest, softest moment, his fingers curled over mine. My eyes searched his in the twilight gloom, but he gave nothing away.

“All done,” I said unnecessarily when I couldn’t handle the lingering silence and physical contact anymore.

He removed his hand from mine and tucked it inside the blanket I’d given him. “Can we stay out here for a bit? If you’re not too cold,” he added quickly.

“Oh, um, sure.” I glanced around and had an idea. “Wait here.”

I darted around like a nervous chipmunk gathering supplies for the winter, using my phone for a light. As I lugged over an armful of firewood he’d chopped several days ago, Hunter materialized next to me.

“You could’ve asked me to help.” He relieved me of half the logs and walked back to the firepit.

“You’re injured.” I placed my armful on the ground then arranged them over the kindling I’d gathered.

Hunter dropped to his knees and propped his logs against mine. “You wouldn’t have asked anyway.”

“Do you always have to be right?”

He smirked. “It happens a lot, and I don’t mind when it does.”

I rolled my eyes and pulled a box of matches from the emergency kit. Once the fire was lit and sufficiently stoked, Hunter settled back onto the bench. After a moment’s hesitation where he did nothing but watch me, I sat on the same bench but with a good foot of space between us. Then we wrapped ourselves in blankets. The cheerful pop and crackle of the flames filled the cool night air. I let the dancing fire entrance me.

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