Beyond the Breaking Point - Lori Sjoberg Page 0,18

and he let out another whistle to help his friend pinpoint their location. “He’s close; he should be here soon.”

As he turned to survey their surroundings, he heard Hope gasp.

One hand reached for the shotgun as he whirled around to face her. “What is it?”

“What do you mean, what is it?” She gawked at him as though he’d sprouted tentacles. “You’ve been shot in the back.”

Now that the excitement was over, he noticed a slight stinging sensation along the lower right side of his back. After dumping his pack on the ground, he peered over his shoulder and saw that the lower part of his pale-blue shirt was soaked with blood. “Shit. I must have caught some buckshot. Good thing the pack absorbed most of it.”

Anything stronger than buckshot and he probably wouldn’t be standing. A slug could have torn right through his spine and come out the other side.

Hope stepped closer, concern plain on her face. “That’s got to hurt like hell.”

He shrugged. “Stings a little.”

Thanks to Aranza and his henchmen, he couldn’t feel much of anything from the nape of his neck down to the small of his back. The nerve damage was extensive. The doctors had performed a series of grafts, which had returned sensation to a few small areas, but there was only so much they could do. And after a while, Wade hadn’t seen the point of enduring more painful—and often pointless—procedures in the hopes of repairing more of the damage.

Hope set her bag on the ground and unzipped it. “Take off your shirt. I need to remove those pellets and sterilize the wounds.”

Yeah, that wasn’t happening. He hated people looking at his back almost as much as he hated them looking at his face, but at least his back was typically shielded from view. “I’ll be fine until we get back to town.”

“Are you nuts? It’ll get infected by then. Trust me, I’m a doctor. I know about these things.”

Wade made a derisive sound. “What kind of doctor are you anyway? Gynecologist?”

She threw him a dirty look as she reached into the bag and took out a tool that resembled a large pair of tweezers. “Surgeon.”

He didn’t know why, but that wasn’t the answer he’d expected. “No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way.”

Her response amused him, but he had enough sense not to laugh. “Doctors don’t say fuck.”

“They do where I come from.”

“And where’s that?”

“United States Army.”

Okay, he hadn’t expected that response either, and he wasn’t sure he believed her. He tried to envision her in an Army uniform, but the only kind of uniform he could picture her wearing were the sexy ones sold in Halloween stores. Disgusted with himself for thinking like a pig, he shook his head to clear the image from his mind. “No offense, but you don’t look like Army material.”

“Why, because I don’t have a penis?” Not waiting for an answer, she reached into her bag again, this time taking out a small black leather case, which she unzipped, and took out a scalpel. “One way or another, I’m removing those pellets. You’ve got ten seconds to lose the shirt, or I’m cutting it off. Choice is yours.”

Everything in him bristled at the order. He scowled. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” She held the scalpel in the air. The sharpened metal edge glinted in the sun. “Six seconds.”

She had balls; he’d give her that. Not many people had the guts to go toe-to-toe with him, especially people so much smaller than him. The threat was hollow, but she probably wouldn’t shut the hell up about it until he finally relented.

“All right, fine, I’m taking it off. Christ, maybe you are pushy enough to make it in the military.”

With an exasperated huff, he turned his back to Hope and leaned the shotgun against a tree. After a brief hesitation, he stripped the shirt off, tossed it aside, and braced for her reaction to the scars that covered nearly every square inch of his back. Never in his life had he felt more exposed, and he fought the instinctual urge to cover his body.

Usually, there was an audible gasp, quickly followed by the inevitable question.

While he waited, Wade fixed his focus on a tree at the edge of the clearing. A bright-green snake was coiled on a branch, its tongue darting out every second or two. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

“Only if you want me to.”

“Most people do.”

“I’m not most people.”

He chuffed. “So I’ve noticed.”

The sound of footsteps drew closer, and he practically felt