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Allie’s triumph was short-lived. She dropped to her knees, gripping Carter’s hand and staring in horror at his shoulder. The hatchet was gone, ripped out by either water or rock, but the wound it had left was ugly. And Carter wasn’t saying anything, just staring at her with the oddest expression.
“Let’s find a good place to sit,” she said. “And I’ll use a piece of my shirt to bandage your...cut.” Although calling it a cut was definitely a euphemism.
“I never thought you could make that throw,” he said, his eyes still locked on her face. “How’d you do it?”
“Practiced after your first lesson,” she said, ripping at the wet hem of her shirt. “With a trash can.”
“I wish all my students were that keen,” he said. “Dwight sure made a mistake tangling with you.”
The sincerity in his voice was moving but she had no time to appreciate the compliment. His wound was raw and bloody, and already flies were circling. Carter though, seemed totally calm. He sat down on the ground and stared across the river, smiling as Dwight scurried back along the shoreline, retracing his path.
“Looks like he’s finally giving up,” Carter said. “Probably going to skip the country.”
Allie barely glanced up, too busy struggling to rip a usable piece off her shirt. “He’s on foot,” she murmured, “so I guess he couldn’t catch his horses.” Smart animals.
She finally succeeded in tearing a strip of cotton from the bottom of her shirt. Unfortunately, the thin band wouldn’t reach all the way around Carter’s shoulder. It barely covered the wound. “How far away is the bridge?” she asked, rocking back on her heels in frustration.
“About six miles. But it’s impossible to reach from this side. Too many chasms. We’ll have to wait for rafters, or riders on the opposite bank. How bad is it?” He peered around, trying to inspect his wound but that only caused blood to saturate the cotton.
“Don’t move,” she said, wishing they had their supplies. On the other hand, even if she’d had time to grab the little pack, it would have been ripped off her back. The water had been too powerful.
“Maybe hikers will walk by,” she said hopefully. “Or maybe Monty will come back.”
“That’s a lot of maybes,” Carter said. “Why don’t you just cover that cut up, sit down by me and relax.”
She stared helplessly at the gaping wound. Rest, ice, compression, elevation: None of her usual first aid would work. The cotton bandage was already soaked and moving his shoulder only made it worse. He might think they could relax, but he was uncommonly pale and the slick sheen on his forehead wasn’t entirely from river water.
She tugged at her lower lip, fighting her panic.
“Don’t worry, Allie,” he said. “It’s impossible for Dwight to cross. You’re safe now.”
The satisfaction in his voice made the back of her eyes prick. He couldn’t see the jagged flesh on his back. And they had no antibiotics or bandages. Nothing except what they’d worn into the river...which included the horse bandages on her feet.
She yanked off her boots and unwound her foot wraps. They were wrinkled and soggy but they’d be long enough to bind his shoulder.
“Sit up,” she said, undoing more of his buttons and lowering his shirt further off his shoulder.
“If you use those bandages,” he said, “you’ll hurt your feet more. Can’t you tie my shirt over my shoulder?”
His shirt was already drenched with blood but she just made an agreeable sound. “This will work better,” she said. “In case we’re here for the rest of the day.”
He didn’t argue so perhaps he knew his injury was worse than she made out. His pain must be excruciating. They both knew help wouldn’t arrive until after the race had ended. Worse, the river probably wouldn’t be the first place they searched.
Carter winced when she began wrapping but then didn’t move again. It was awkward trying to keep the fabric snug, but she soon figured it out. And though it wouldn’t win any awards, the bandage was tight and fly-proof and it made her feel like she’d done a little first aid, however rudimentary.
She rocked back on her heels, surveying her handiwork. “It’s best to stay in a sitting position,” she said. “Keep it elevated. I’ll wash your shirt in the river before you put it back on. That will help keep the flies away. And I’ll use the torn strip to tie on a stick. Kate said to always put out a marker when you’re hurt, especially because rafters are going fast and might not notice unless it’s really obvious.”
She tried to keep his attention off their predicament, chattering about a range of subjects, from her appreciation of his delicious trail bars to how she’d never ever been to a rodeo, even as she washed his shirt and laid it on a rock. The afternoon sun was drying their clothes so they should be comfortable enough during the cooler night. At least she would. Carter’s wound was deep and he must be in considerable pain. And the thought of infection was terrifying.
Right now, he seemed fine, listening to her talk with a half-smile on his face. When she couldn’t see his back, it was easy to admire his chiseled chest. And pretend he was healthy.
“Sit down and relax, sweetheart,” he said, raising his good arm in invitation. “You’re running on adrenaline.”
She hurried over and burrowed into his side, desperately telling herself he’d be all right. He was acting so normal and he was in super shape.
“You were right about Dwight,” Carter said, “and his axe throwing abilities. I should have anticipated he’d throw the hatchet.”
“You did anticipate,” she said, her voice catching. “If you hadn’t pulled me in front of you, that blade would have split my head.”
“But I should have played it differently. Should have dove under and taken you with me. Not given him such a target.”
It was ludicrous to think he could have avoided an expertly thrown hatchet while chest deep in a raging river, with one arm holding her and the other gripping a slippery rope. Even if he was a super cowboy and had the buckles to prove it. And there was so much she wanted to thank him for, but she was suddenly tired, shaky and very, very cold.
“I’m j-just glad we both made it across,” she said. Her voice was trembling and she didn’t know why. It felt like her entire body was shuddering.
“It’s the adrenaline,” Carter said, tightening his arm around her. “And even if I hadn’t made it across, you’d be fine alone here for a few days. Hell, you’d be fine for a month. You’re not a helpless kid anymore but a supremely capable woman.”
She could feel his warm skin, the steady beat of his heart, the way his words rumbled in his chest, all so comforting. But she didn’t like the way he was looking at her. It felt like a pep talk, and it left her suspicious.
“But I’m not alone,” she said. “Someone will raft down that river or else ride along the shore. If not tonight, then tomorrow.”
“They’ll check the logging road first.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “It might be a couple days before anyone rides this section of the river.”
“That’s fine,” she said, trying to adopt his tone. “We’ll be a little hungry but we’ll be okay. Maybe I can catch some fish or something. Kate can start a fire with flint, and grilled trout are great. Do you happen to have flint or waterproof matches or anything like that in your pockets?”
The stricken look on his face made her instantly regret the question. He was a cowboy to the bone; he’d be more likely to carry a hoof pick.
“Of course you don’t have flint,” she said quickly. “I don’t either. But we can keep each other warm at night. Even if it’s a couple days, we’ll be fine. And I love sushi.”
“It’s okay in a pinch,” he said. “But I’m afraid my knife is somewhere at the bottom of the river.” Then he tilted her chin and gave her a tender kiss, one that said so much more than the actual embrace. He kept his mouth pressed against her, his voice warm against her skin. “You’re really something, Allie. And I love...your attitude.”
She shifted and glanced upriver, pretending to look for rafters. For one glorious moment, she’d thought he’d been about to say he loved her. And of course she wasn’t disappointed or anything. It was great he loved her attitude. Absolutely great.
“It’s probably easier to build a rock weir than try to fashion a line and hook,” she said, keeping her voice light. “What do you think? I knew a neat guy who caught lots of trout that way, even more than the anglers.”
“I don’t know. I’m a fan of fly fishing.” Carter’s voice sharpened. “Was this neat guy a boyfriend or a guest?”
A guest, of course. Her activities revolved around the ranch. Compared to Carter, her love life was boring. She considered pretending the guy had been a boyfriend. But lying wasn’t in her nature.
“He was a guest,” she said.
“Means you didn’t date him, right?”
“That’s right,” she admitted. “Employees aren’t allowed to date guests. Sharon is quite firm on that.”
“An excellent policy to have,” Carter said, his voice rather smug. “And one I wholeheartedly approve.”
“I bet you’re glad they didn’t have that policy on the rodeo circuit.” She sniffed. “And by the way, staff aren’t allowed to date other staff either. So when we go back—”
“We’ll have to change the policy,” he said.
She glanced up. His eyes were closed now. He was smiling but his mouth looked stubborn, as if fully intending to take on Sharon. That was reassuring. Unlike her, he didn’t accept every rule or every job thrown at him. Of course, he wasn’t afraid of leaving the ranch. But if he stayed they could work on their relationship. He might not love her yet but if they were permitted to date, it could happen. Besides, there had already been some exceptions to Sharon’s rule.
Everyone knew Monty and Cookie were inseparable, and Kate would be returning as a married woman. Of course, it was pointless to think too far ahead, but at least Carter didn’t see her as a temporary trail companion, one he was stuck with for a few days.
She fell asleep by his side, smiling and content.
