AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Scars are devastatingly attractive to women,” Blake quipped. “Macho and mysterious.”
“Give me a break,” Page muttered. “And be still,” she added crossly, making Blake chuckle weakly even as he inhaled in protest at the sting of the antibiotic she applied to his shoulder.
Despite the circumstances, Gabe found himself reluctant to leave Page alone with Blake in the bedroom, good-naturedly squabbling like old friends.
Stupid, he told himself, shaking his head. This was definitely not the time to start acting like a jealous idiot. He was grateful beyond words that Blake wasn’t badly injured...or worse. He really did like the guy.
And besides, Gabe and Page needed all the help they could get right now.
The police officer Gabe talked to seemed skeptical of the story, particularly when Gabe said that Blake—the victim—was presently unavailable to give a statement.
“He’s injured,” Gabe explained. “The carjacker tried to kill him.”
“Then I’ll send someone to the hospital where he’s being treated,” the officer offered.
“He doesn’t like hospitals. My wife is taking care of him. After he’s had a chance to eat and rest, we’ll bring him in and tell you the rest of the story. In the meantime, you have the description and license number of the stolen van. Can’t you put out a warrant on that basis?”
After some further hemming and hawing, the officer agreed to file the report. Gabe gave his number for the officer to call if the van were found.
He was grumbling beneath his breath when he disconnected the call and went into the kitchen to open a couple of cans of soup for dinner.
He was understanding better all the time why Page had been so reluctant to relate her bizarre tale to anyone. Were Gabe not squarely in the middle of it, he might have difficulty believing it himself.
“THERE. That should keep it clean.”
“I’d say so,” Blake responded to Page’s comment, peering over his shoulder with a comical expression. “You’ve got enough tape on me to wrap a Buick.”
“Well, excuse me. I don’t have a great deal of experience bandaging gunshot wounds,” she retorted, setting the nearly empty roll of adhesive tape back into the first-aid kit Gabe had unearthed from the bathroom. She’d been hesitant, at first, about working on Blake, but he’d teased her out of her self-consciousness and her fear of hurting him. She thought a bit wistfully that she and Blake were rapidly becoming friends. And, after the past two and a half years of being alone, she knew the value of friendship.
A look of regret on his face, Blake held his tattered, bloodstained yellow shirt on one finger. “The shirt’s a goner,” he muttered. “Damn. It was one of my favorites.”
“I’m sure Gabe will lend you one.”
“But I really liked this one. Cost me a fortune, too.”
“Look at it this way, Blake. You’ve still got a pulse,” she reminded him more matter-of-factly than she felt, playing along with his light tone.
He nodded. “There is that.”
And then he smiled. “Thanks for patching me up, Page. You did a good job.”
“You should have gone to the hospital.”
“Don’t start that again. Hospitals are terrible places. People die there.”
“They’re also saved there.”
He grunted. “Not in my experience.”
For a moment, a flash of bitterness in his eyes startled her. Blake had seemed the footloose, live-for-the-moment type to her, not a man to harbor deep emotions. Apparently she’d been wrong.
Before she could ask why he had such distrust of hospitals, he shoved himself to his feet. “Let’s go find out if Gabe—”
He swayed. Page steadied him before he fell.
“You stood too fast,” she scolded, eyeing his sudden pallor in concern. “You’ve lost more blood than you realize, Blake. You’re going to have to take it easy for a while.”
He allowed himself to lean against her for a moment. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Guess I got a little cocky.”
