“I carry medicine anywhere mud cannot easily steal it.”
She placed a kettle on the stove.
He tried standing.
She pushed one broad palm against his chest.
“Stay.”
He looked down at her hand.
Then at her.
Neither moved.
There was something strangely intimate about touching a man’s bare chest when one’s purpose was purely medical.
More intimate when both people recognized that the purpose was not the only thing in the room.
The woman withdrew her hand.
“Water.”
He pointed.
“Bucket.”
She cleaned his cuts.
Mixed willow preparation for pain.
Applied a warm cloth to his jaw.
The mountain man watched her closely.
Not suspiciously.
Curiously.
“You know what you’re doing.”
She did not look up.
“That disappoint you?”
“No.”
“Most men prefer women incompetent.”
“Most men you know sound exhausting.”
“They are.”
She pressed the cloth slightly harder.
He winced.
“Gentle.”
“I am gentle.”
“That was gentle?”
“You should see irritated.”
His eyes moved to her mouth.
“So far, I have.”
She looked up.
Their faces were close.
The mountain man smiled faintly.
“Keep leaning over me like that and I’ll forget what hurts.”
The woman stared.
For one heartbeat she seemed unsure whether to slap him or laugh.
Instead she pressed the cloth directly onto the cut.
He hissed.
“Careful.”
“I’m the reason your stubborn body made it home.”
He reached up.
Caught her wrist gently.
Not stopping her.
Just holding it.
“And here I thought I was the one saving you.”
She leaned closer.
“Your strength helped.”
His fingers remained around her wrist.
“My weight and leverage saved us both.”
He looked at her.
Not at her body.
At her.
Something changed in his face.
Respect had been present before.
Now curiosity deepened.
“Where did you learn to think like that?”
The woman became still.
Too still.
The mountain man noticed.
Then something slipped from beneath the cream lace at her neckline.
A small brass medallion.
It swung between them.
The mountain man looked down.
The woman immediately reached for it.
Too late.
He caught the lower edge with two fingers.
“Applied Mechanics.”
She pulled slightly.
He read the rest.
“First Honors.”
Her face closed.
Every softness vanished.
“Let go.”
He did.
Immediately.
She tucked the medallion back beneath her blouse.
The mountain man sat quietly.
“Who were you?”
“No one.”
“That medal says otherwise.”
“Metal says many things.”
“You knew exactly how to redirect force through a pivot.”
“I know many things.”
“Who taught you?”
She stood.
“Rest.”
He caught nothing this time.
No wrist.
No hand.
Only her eyes.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
Her expression shifted.
“Then why ask?”
“Because I want to know.”
There it was.
The simplest answer was often the most dangerous.
She turned away.
“I need to clean myself.”