“What’re you going to do with that?” Jeb stood on the other side of the campfire, feet spread, hands on hips. The broad brim of his hat kept his features in shadow, but the hard set to his mouth made his disapproval clear.
She latched the valise. “The injury needs to be disinfected.”
“I’ve got whiskey for that.”
“Pop’s elixir is better.”
“That so?”
“Yes.” She refused to defend Doc Charlie’s Miraculous Herbal Compound to him. Except for her father, no one knew its benefits better than she did. “I always carry some with me. I never know when it’ll come in handy.”
“And now is one of those times.”
She ignored his sarcasm. “Yes.”
Folding a washcloth, she saturated a corner, then dabbed the wet fabric against the laceration. The slight sting indicated the elixir was working its magic.
“I’ll do that.” Sounding impatient again, he took the washcloth from her and indicated a fallen log he’d dragged closer to the fire. “Sit.”
She hesitated. She truly did need his help, she supposed. Without a mirror, it was impossible to see what she was doing.
But she fully expected his method of cleaning the wound would be as brusque as his manner. Bracing herself for it, she gave in and perched on the log warily. He straddled it, his body at a right angle to hers.
“Turn toward me,” he said. He cupped her chin and tilted her face toward the fire.
It’d been a long time since she sat so close to a man other than Pop. Elena didn’t move while Jeb studied the laceration first, then the swelling on her cheekbone,
She could smell horse on him. Tobacco and leather.
Raw masculinity.
The strength of it rocked her. It was all she could do to keep from pulling back, to distance herself, a defense mechanism that had slammed into place the night of the Mexican’s brutal attack.
“You’re going to get a shiner out of this,” he said, his words dragging her from her discomfiture. He ran the pad of his thumb over the puffy skin beneath her eye, his touch far more gentle than she had anticipated. “You’ll need a few stitches, too.”
“We’ll find a doctor for that later,” she said firmly as he took the washcloth and began wiping away the old blood. “I don’t want to delay finding Nicky for something so frivolous.”
The washcloth halted. “Frivolous?” Jeb grunted and resumed cleaning. “The gash is deep. He hit you hard.”
Elena swallowed. Jeb was right on that count.
“The wound needs to be closed,” he went on. “And I never intended to waste time finding a doctor. I’ll sew you up myself.”
Startled, she drew back. “You?”
“Yes. Me.”
The apprehension grew in leaps and bounds. “I’ve never had stitches before.”
“You think I’ll botch the job? Or hurt you?”
Her lips clamped tight. That’s exactly what she thought.
He tossed aside the washcloth and reached for the leather case lying on the ground next to him. “Then you’d better understand one more thing between us, Elena. Besides following my orders, you’re going to have to trust me.”
He opened the container. Firelight glinted off an assortment of surgeon’s tools—knives, tweezers, pliers. And an ominous-looking saw.
An amputation kit, Elena realized, taken aback.
He removed a needle and spool of thread, pulled out a length and broke it off.
“Are you a doctor?” she asked.
“Far from it.”
“But you have knowledge of medicine? Surgery?”
He threaded the needle deftly. “What I’ve learned about treating injuries, I learned in the field.” His gaze, dark and shadowed, met hers. “The hard way.”
The field?
“This will hurt some,” he said, distracting her from the question of how he had acquired his experience. And where. “But I’ll work as fast as I can. You want a shot of whiskey first?”
“No.” She reached for Pop’s elixir. “I can numb the skin with this. It’ll only take a few minutes.” Again she drenched a clean portion of the washcloth and pressed it over the laceration.
“What’s in that stuff anyway?” he demanded.
“Only Pop knows. He’s never told anyone. Not even me.”
“Why not?”
“Doc Charlie’s Miraculous Herbal Compound is a solution he’s formulated himself from the secrets of the ancients.”
“The secrets of the ancients.”
“It doesn’t matter what the ingredients are. All that’s important is the elixir is therapeutic.” She considered him and the disdain he didn’t bother to hide. “Your opinion of it is irrelevant.”
“You’ll think differently when you feel the needle going through your skin when you could’ve had whiskey instead.”
“The pain will be minimal, I assure you.”
He sighed and shifted his position. “Sit on the ground and lean against my leg.”
He nudged her off the log and directed her to sit sideways between his spread knees, then eased her head back to rest on his thigh. The position gave him clear access to the laceration.
“This will only take a few minutes, so don’t move.” He took the washcloth from her and tossed it aside. The needle and thread hovered above her. “I’ll work as fast as I can.”
He brushed the hair away from her forehead and began closing the wound, each dip and pull of the needle practiced and smooth—and as pain-free as she’d predicted. Again Elena wondered about the circumstances from which he had acquired his skill. He seemed to have learned from them well.
In her close proximity, she dared to study him. His dark eyes were narrowed in concentration. Beneath her head, the muscles in his thigh were firm, his strength a palpable thing. She noted the days’ growth of beard and hair hanging too long past his collar—and how they gave him a dangerous look.
Yet she felt no fear of him. Not now, at least, though the memory of his long-barreled Colt pointed at her earlier clearly indicated he wasn’t a man to be crossed.
He tied off the thread, and Elena quickly lowered her lashes. True to his word, the suturing had only taken a few minutes.
“Eight stitches,” Jeb said grimly, snipping off the ends with small scissors taken from the amputation kit. He straightened, and Elena pulled away.
“Thank you.” She sat cross-legged in the grass and tentatively probed his handiwork with a fingertip. He’d closed the wound neatly.
He regarded her for a long moment. “Who took your son from you?”
For a little while, her worries for Nicky had faded under the distraction of Jeb’s doctoring. Now they came crashing back all over again.
“I know him just as Ramon,” Elena said. “And I only learned that when he and his men ambushed us.”
“Why would he take the boy?”
She strove for the calm she needed to discuss the situation. Given his intention to help her, Jeb was, after all, entitled to know. “I can