He removed her hand and gently probed the shoulder socket, her skin warm and very soft beneath his touch. “Have you ever dislocated it before?”
She went very still under his touch, and he was sure she quit breathing. “No,” she said, her voice uneven. Then her chest rose and she spoke again, her voice a little stronger. “I think I must have jammed it against something in the crash.”
Finn’s insides started to heat up, and he felt suddenly very shaky. Light-headed and shaky. Exposed and shaky. His first instinct was to back away. Getting a grip, he locked his jaw and carefully checked her collarbone and shoulder. Trying to keep his touch impersonal, he pressed his hand against her shoulder blade, finding the scapula intact. The heat from her body made his fingers tingle, and his pulse turned heavy. Too close. Much too close.
Avoiding her gaze, he took the pullover. “Here. Let me help you with this.”
She remained very still as he eased her injured arm into the sleeve, then pulled the neck open so she could slip it on. Recognizing the discomfort her shoulder was giving her, he went to pull the garment down, but she caught him completely off guard when she softly touched the long scar on his face.
Her voice was very soft when she spoke. “How did you get this?”
Still avoiding her gaze, he gave a mirthless smile. “You don’t want to know.”
She traced the length of it, her touch sending a current through his whole body, and it was all he could do not to snatch her hand away. Nobody had touched that scar since the stitches were taken out. Nobody.
She dropped her hand and stepped away, her tone even softer. “I can do it,” she said.
Finn turned away from her, his heart laboring in his chest. She could do it. And he could do himself a big favor and keep away from her. A long way away.
He completed the rest of the preparations, speaking only when he absolutely had to, the tension getting to him. He kept telling himself that once they got moving, it would be okay. It was just the close quarters that were making him so edgy.
With the extra gear he was leaving behind properly stored and the fire extinguished, Finn cast one cursory glance around the cabin, satisfied that it was as it should be; then he pulled the door closed and latched it. His rifle in his hand, he turned toward the horses, experiencing another shot of aggravation. He had told her to get on Gus. He had been specific that she was to ride Gus. With the rough terrain they had to traverse, he wanted her on the horse with the saddle. But no. She was on Trouper, her long legs straddling the big packhorse.
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