Page 35 of Love Quest

Once I’m finished, Tucker hands me a pair of blue surgical gloves. “Here, wear these.”

Gloves on, we kneel next to the camp cot and stare at Archie’s backside, undecided on how to proceed.

Tucker sighs. “Before I do anything, I need a clear visual. We have to remove your pants and underwear to do a decent job, buddy,” he informs the patient. “Might be best to cut them off you.”

“I’ll take care of that,” I say.

Archie groans. “I swear, Snowflake, in all the scenarios I’d imagined you ripping my clothes off, a medkit wasn’t involved.”

“I bet not.” I grab a pair of surgical scissors out of the case, douse them with disinfectant, and, holding the first tendril of fabric from Archie’s pants between my fingers, I say, “Now, try to relax.”

* * *

Logan

Winter and Tucker spend close to two hours cleaning and bandaging Archie up. When, finally, there’s no more blood in sight and my friend’s backside is modestly covered with a white sheet, I go and check on him.

Tucker has already left to clean and sanitize the instruments they used, so I find only Archie and Winter under the tarp.

“How are you, buddy?” I ask him.

“I could use a drink,” he mumbles.

Well, if he’s asking for alcohol, then everything is fine.

“Let’s see what the doctor has to say,” I tell him. “So.” I turn to Winter. “How’s the patient doing? Can he have a drink?”

“Yes.” She groans, getting up from her kneeling position next to the camp bed and stretching her legs. “If it’s water.”

Archie moans in protest.

“We gave him an antibiotic to prevent infection and paracetamol for the pain. Mixing alcohol and medications is never wise. You were pretty messed up, Golden Boy. Must’ve fallen on a thousand thorns.”

“Felt more like a million,” Archie complains.

Winter raises her arms above her head and stretches some more while she keeps giving me the patient’s prognosis. “Some were still inside, stuck in deep, but I think we got them all out.”

“So he’s going to be fine?”

“Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here,” Archie objects.

Winter ignores the remark. “He should be. But some wounds were deep; we had to stitch a few.”

“We? You know how to give stitches?”

She turns to me with her usual contempt. “Yes, I did a few when Tucker’s hands started to cramp. And don’t look so surprised. I visit the most remote places on Earth often enough to know basic medical training could make the difference between life and death.”

Why does this woman have to take everything I say as a personal offense?

“I was merely trying to say I was impressed with your medical skills, Miss Knowles. No need to take everything so personally.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t if everything you’ve ever said to me hadn’t been—”

“Kids,” Archie interrupts us with a coarse voice. “I’d like to rest; can you go argue someplace else?”

She crouches near the front of the bed and caresses Archie’s hair back in such a tender gesture, my chest clenches.

It’s not jealousy, but a more complex emotion. A tangle I can’t describe. Seeing her being so attentive with my best friend makes me cherish and resent her at the same time.

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