Falling for Trouble by Selena Laurence

Author:Selena Laurence
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: texas, afghanistan, multicultural romance, opposites attract, military romance
Publisher: Beyond the Page Publishing

Chapter 8

I staggered in and kicked a chunk of rock, sending it across the cave, where it missed Alexis’s head by inches. “Fucking goddamn hell!” I shouted as I collapsed back against the rock wall, clutching my shoulder.

Alexis was motionless for a minute, her hand over her mouth in shock. “Oh, my God, are you shot?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“It’s nothing,” I snarled. “But they disabled the truck. We’ll never get out of here now.”

“But someone will come for us, right?” she asked in a tiny voice nothing like her own.

I gritted my teeth against the waves of pain that were rioting up and down my arm. “Yeah. I mean, that’s what’s supposed to happen anyway.”

“So it will. It will happen, and we have to stay safe until they can get here.” She walked to me, looking like someone talking to a wild animal they were trying to calm. “Can I see where you got hurt? We’ve got that first aid kit. Maybe I can do something to make it better?”

I felt a wave of exhaustion pour over me. Two days with not enough food and not enough water were starting to wear. I slid down the wall and drew my knees up to my chest. “Sure,” I muttered, closing my eyes as I leaned my head back against the wall again. “Whatever makes you happy.”

A few moments later, I felt Alexis’s hand smoothing through my hair. “All right, soldier boy,” she said quietly. “Let’s get this stuff off of you and see how bad it is.”

I laughed dryly. “See? I knew you’d use any excuse to get me undressed.”

She smiled and rolled her eyes at the same time. “Oh, yeah, you caught me. Lean forward.”

She pulled the fabric over my shoulders gently as I winced. Then she took the uniform blouse off while I sat there, unable to do much but follow her instructions.

“Well, at least it’s not gushing all over.” She looked skeptically at my shoulder and the blood that had soaked the sleeve of my T-shirt.

“It grazed me. If it had lodged, I wouldn’t be able to move my arm at all.”

“We need to get that T-shirt off. Can you lift your arm?”

I started to raise my arm and winced at the pain. “I’d rather not,” I told her.

“That’s okay. I got it.”

She pulled out a pair of scissors from the first aid kit and very carefully cut up the sleeve and across the shoulder seam of the T-shirt. Then she clipped all the way down the side under my injured arm. When she was done, she crawled to my other side and pulled the whole T-shirt off.

When she came back around to the injury, I heard the hiss of her inhale as she looked at it. “Is it bad?” I asked, not because I really cared right then, but because I felt like I ought to.

“I doubt as far as gunshots go it’s too bad, but it looks like it hurts like hell.” She took antiseptic and gauze out of the kit and began soaking the cloth.

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