“Water still running?”
She jumped slightly when he spoke from close behind her. “Yes, luckily.” She turned away from the sink, where she was filling another cook pan with water. Tierney was holding a towel against the back of his head. His hair was wet. “How is it?”
“It hurt while the water was running over it, partially because the water is so cold. But I think the cold actually numbed it.” He removed the towel. It was stained with fresh blood, but the amount had decreased substantially. “Helped the bleeding, too. Mind taking a look?”
“I was about to insist.”
He straddled one of the bar stools, facing its back. She set the first-aid kit on the bar, then moved behind him and, after a moment’s hesitation, gently parted his hair just below the crown of his head.
“Well?” he asked.
The gash was wide, long, and deep. To her inexpert eyes, it looked bad. She exhaled through her lips.
He gave a short laugh. “That bad?”
“You’ve seen overripe watermelons whose rinds have split?”
“Ouch.”
“There’s a lot of swelling around it.”
“Yeah, I felt that as I was washing it.”
“I’d say you could use a dozen stitches, at least.” He’d draped the blood-spotted towel around his neck. She took a corner of it and gingerly dabbed at the wound. “The good news is, it’s not pumping blood any longer. Just leaking it.”
There were only four disinfectant pads in the kit, each sealed in its own envelope. Lilly tore open one of them and withdrew a square of gauze that was soaked with an antibacterial solution. It wasn’t much larger than a saltine cracker. However, if the smell indicated the strength of the solution, it was going to sting. The thought of applying it to the raw wound caused her stomach to somersault.
“Brace yourself,” she said, unsure whether she was cautioning Tierney or herself.
He gripped the back of the stool and propped his chin on the backs of his hands. “Ready.”
But the instant she touched the gauze to the open flesh, he flinched. His breath hissed on a quick intake. In the hope of distracting him, she began talking. “I’m surprised you weren’t carrying a first-aid kit in your backpack. Being the seasoned hiker you are.” He’d dropped the backpack on the floor when they arrived at the cabin and hadn’t touched it since except to push it beneath an end table out of their way.
“Gross oversight. I won’t be without one next time.”
“Anything else in your backpack?” she asked.
“Like what?”
“Something useful?”
“No, I was traveling light today. Energy bar. Bottle of water. Both consumed.”
“Then why did you bring it from the car?”
“Sorry?”
“Your backpack. If there’s nothing useful in it, why did you bring it along?”
“God forbid you think I’m a sissy,” he said, “but are you about finished? That’s burning like hellfire.”
She blew gently on the wound, then leaned away from him and surveyed it. “I covered all of it with the antiseptic. It looks very angry.”
“It feels angry.” He picked up the first-aid kit and inspected the meager contents. “I’ll toss you for the aspirin tablets.”
“They’re yours.”
“Thanks. Do you have one of those little sewing kits? Like a matchbook. For emergencies like a button falling off.”