Brace For Impact. Janice Kay Johnson

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       Chapter Three

      Maddy couldn’t look away from this stranger she had to trust. As out of it as she’d been, she wouldn’t have been able to hold him off for two minutes.

      A scar that started at one jutting cheekbone and ran over his temple marred Will Gannon’s long, bony face. He had dark hair, shaggy enough to curl around his neck, and he was either growing a beard or just hadn’t shaved for a few days. His eyes were light, though; gray or gray blue. Crow’s-feet beside them made her wonder how old he was or whether he’d squinted into an awful lot of sunlight. He was tall—really tall, she thought—with the long muscles of a basketball player instead of the bulky, weight lifter kind.

      As if his appearance or age mattered. But better to think about him than her situation.

      He wanted to inspect all the places where she hurt. Since she hurt all over, was she supposed to take her clothes off?

      “Do you...” She cleared her throat. “Do you have some aspirin or something?”

      A smile did astonishing things to a face that had scared her at first sight. “I do. But I want to be sure I know about your injuries before I give you anything.”

      “Oh.” If only she wasn’t so fuzzy. And cold. “I’m not sure. My shoulder or arm or something. And—” she flapped her good hand toward her torso “—kind of everywhere. Maybe my knee.”

      “All right. Can I look in your bag?”

      She stared at him, puzzled. Without waiting for permission, he unzipped her duffel, sorted through the contents and pulled out a blanket he partly wrapped around her, his enormous hands careful. Then he untied the shirt she’d been using as a sling, and studied her T-shirt.

      “You attached to this?”

      “What?” She glanced down. “No.” Too bad if she had been. It made her shudder to imagine dipping it in a sink filled with cold water. The blood would tint the water red, not just pink.

      When she looked up, she saw the knife that had appeared in his hand and shrank back.

      “Hey.” He waited until her eyes met his. “I need to cut the shirt off you so we don’t have to lift your arms. I swear I won’t hurt you.”

      Her teeth chattered a few times before she could get her jaws clamped together, but she nodded and closed her eyes, clutching one edge of the blanket. If he’d meant to kill her, she’d be dead already.

      A minute later he said, “Damn.”

      Her eyes flew open. “Damn?”

      “The humerus is broken. Upper arm,” he said absently. Fingertips slid along her collarbone, pausing at a sizeable bump she could see when she craned her neck. “Pretty sure the clavicle is, too.” He sank back on his heels, obviously thinking. “Let’s pack your arm with snow for a little bit before I put a splint on.”

      He had a splint? Did mountain climbers usually carry things like that, or did he because of his medic training?

      He had her lift her right arm, nodded in satisfaction, and explored her rib cage, which even she could see was bruised, and suggested that her ribs might be cracked. “I’ll bind them,” he told her. “That should make you more comfortable.”

      A shot of morphine might make her more comfortable. Too bad she doubted he could produce anything like that from his pack.

      Instead, he came up with two plastic bags, filled them with snow, wrapped each with what appeared to be one of his T-shirts and had her lie down. Then he placed one snow pack on her upper arm and had her hold it. The other he laid across her rib cage.

      “I know you’re freezing,” he said apologetically. “These will help if you can hold out for a few minutes.”

      She gave a jerky nod.

      He got busy untying her boots, pulling them off and easing her jeans down her legs, too.

      She ought to feel self-conscious or unnerved, but she didn’t. It was more as if she was standing behind an observation window, watching.

      A big purple bruise showed on her kneecap, but the knee still bent fine and without significant pain. “I fell on my knees a few times,” she offered.

      One corner of his mouth turned up. “That’d do it. I think it’s okay.”

      That was when she remembered she had a first-aid kit, too. When she told him, he found it in her duffel bag, opened it, grunted and closed it again.

      “Nothing really helpful right now.” He laid a hand on her calf. “You’re cold.”

      Teeth clenched, she nodded. The heat of his big hand felt so good. She was really sorry when he removed it so he could explore the contents of her duffel more thoroughly. He pulled out the pajama bottoms and clean jeans, then gently dressed her in the two layers. Appearing unsatisfied with the couple of shirts she’d brought, he dug around in his own pack and pulled out a green flannel shirt. It might be way oversize on her, but the fuzzy flannel felt really good when he tugged it on her good side.

      Kneeling beside her, he moved the ice on her arm once, finally deciding it was as good as it would get. The splint just looked like a roll of foam to her, but he adjusted it and closed the Velcro fastenings. He frowned when he sat back.

      “I should splint your entire arm, but unless you’re airlifted, we have to walk out of here. Plus, I don’t want the weight of your arm hanging, given the break in the clavicle.”

      He used the knife on the flower shirt, making a simpler sling that went over the borrowed flannel shirt. Then he rolled the sleeves up half a dozen times, helped her sit up and gave her ibuprofen with water followed by a handful of almonds.

      After he tucked the blanket back around her, Maddy saw his expression change, become flat, even hard.

      “All right,” he said. “You need to tell me what’s going on. Why you’re scared. And where the wreckage is.”

      Her СКАЧАТЬ