Behind The Mask

10

*Liv's P O V*
"Do you maybe have a first aid kit in all this mess?" He asked quietly, his gaze still focused on his bloody fingers. The urge to push him and his bleeding head of my cabin was nearly overwhelming. But he might be more injured than I thought and the last thing I needed on my conscience was another death.

"Find somewhere to sit down." I said blowing out all of my frustration on a gusty sigh.

The rest of the cabin had been tossed as ruthlessly as the sitting room, but whatever the stupid burly man in camouflage wanted, he sure left empty handed. There was surely nothing valuable to him in my cabin, I can be rest assured of that.

I made my way to the bathroom. I am sure this is where I left my first aid box. Ahhh, found it, right there on the bathroom floor with it's contents scattered over the grey tile. However, most of it's components remained in sealed sterile packaging. I scooped up the pieces and put them inside the soft canvas kit. I took a minute to wash my hands before returning with the kit to the sitting room.

I had gotten back to see that Derek had picked up an overturned ladder-back chair from the tiny dinning area and sat at the table. He was wiping his bloody fingers on a paper towel salvaged from a roll that had ripped from the wall-mounted holder. He looked up at me. "There may be blood stains on your pretty rug." He said nodding toward the area closer to the front door as he pressed the paper towel to the back of his head.

"How is your balance?" I asked, trying to remember the symptoms of a concussion. I could tell he hadn't lost consciousness and he didn't seem dizzy or wobbly on his feet- all good signs.

"I feel okay," he answered. "I sure do not have a concussion, if that's what you think."

"You can't know that for sure." I set the first aid kit on the table next to him and unzipped the canvas bag.

"I rode bulls for a living for a decade," he said in a dust-dry tone. "I know the symptoms of a concussion better than I know my own name."

Haaa... Mention of his occupation sent a dart of irritation shooting through me. Wait, did he say rode? "Rode?" I asked quietly.

"I've retired."

I slanted a quick look at him, taking in the lean angles and chisel-sharp planes of his ruggedly attractive face. I really couldn't help but wonder if it was actually his decision. "Was it you or the bulls?"

His lips quirked slightly, cutting deep dimples into both cheeks. I always thought dimples were cute, I always wanted it. Now every time I look at someone with dimples, this tiny jealousy creeps into me.

"Definitely the bulls. One of them landed on me and broke my pelvis in several places. Doctors managed to knit me back together, but there are injuries even an insane cowboy like me can't gut his way back from."

His tone was neutral enough, but just as before, she sensed a darker emotion roiling under the surface.

"Bummer," I murmured, not meaning to sound as flippant as I did.

"Yeah." His gaze clashed with mine.

"I didn't mean-"

"It doesn't matter," he said quickly walking away.

"Let me take a look at your head." I suggested. I am feeling both a flutter of guilt and answering anger for letting myself give enough of a damn about this confounding man to feel guilt in the first place.

He turned his head away from me so I could take a look at his injury. I bit back a gasp. Wow!

There was a split in the skin, at least two inches long, the ragged edges of the wound raw and bloody, but enough was still flowing to feed her alarm.

"Uhh Derek, you need stitches and probably a CAT scan."

That had to be a two way win because, I needed more than anything to get this man out of my house before he figured out the truth.

To be continued...

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17th September, 2016!