almost purred. Cleaning wounds was often the most painful part of treatment.
“Birghitta, are you all right?” The girl’s mother rushed over. She dropped to her knees and held her child by the arms. “Urbain said the tree you were in fell down.” She was patting her child, looking for the damage, finding the bloodstains.
“All healed. She only had a bunch of scrapes.” Donal didn’t mention he’d had to repair her eyelid and the scrape on her cornea. No need to give a mother nightmares. The child could share if she wanted.
From Birghitta’s grateful glance, they’d both agreed on silence.
“Who’s next?” Donal asked.
When both boys’ mothers started to talk, Margery spoke up. “Take Urbain. They’re both equally gashed, but I don’t like the way he’s guarding his stomach. He says he hit a branch—belly-first—on the way down.”
Shifters were sturdy creatures, but spleens damaged easily.
“Come, Urbain.” He motioned to the cubling.
“What in the world? Jonty’s bleeding!” Lottie, the other child’s mother scowled, standing over Margery in a threatening posture. “Why are you taking her word for anything? She’s no healer. She doesn’t know—”
“She’s a banfasa, a very skilled one.” He looked at Jonty who was cuddled against Margery. The banfasa hadn’t moved, but her shoulders hunched. “If she wasn’t here, your cub would still be screaming—and bleeding from dirty wounds.”
Lottie flinched. “I—”
Turning his back on her before he spoke too harshly—something he really did try to avoid—Donal led Urbain into his healing room.
With a sigh, Margery tried to wiggle out from under Jonty. Time to go home. Apparently, Cold Creek didn’t respect a banfasa much better than Ailill Ridge.
The cub gripped her shirt looking up with pleading brown eyes.
“Oh, someone should rip my tail off and use it to gag my stupid mouth.” The mother dropped down beside Margery on the bench. “I’m sorry.”
“No problem.” Margery tried to ease her shirt out of the child’s grip.
“Donal sent me to get you, but he didn’t say you were a banfasa. Just get Margery.” Lottie touched her son’s cheek. “I panic easily.”
There was more to the story. Margery waited.
“Jonty had two littermates, but one went on a trip with his sire, who was visiting. They were in a car crash and....” The mother shook her head.
Oh Goddess, to lose a cub? Margery reached out and took her hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.” Lottie pulled in a shuddering breath. “My cubs are my heart, but when they get hurt now, I overreact. I know it. Please forgive me for being so rude.”
“Of course. Forgiven and forgotten.”
No, the Cold Creek shifters aren’t like Ailill Ridge’s at all.
When it was Jonty’s turn, at Lottie’s pleading, Margery went in to help Donal tend to the child.
An hour later, the clinic room was empty—and she had to laugh because little Jonty had bounced out of the place as if he’d never been hurt. Cubs were so cute.
“I’ll get these to the laundry room.” Donal motioned to the dirty towels, then obviously noticed his flannel shirt and T-shirt were bloody as well. Shaking his head, he pulled off the shirts and dropped them on the pile.
“Do you need me to wash anything for you?” He turned—and caught her with her mouth open.
Because…well…all that tanned skin over rippling muscles. He was sleek as a feline—and a tensile work of art.
Staring, Margery. Oops.
His lips curved in a very masculine smile.
“My clothes stayed clean, thanks,” she said, embarrassed at the breathless sound of her voice. Oh, she hated the awkwardness of male-female stuff. “I should get going.”
“Stay for a while. We both deserve lemonade and some time in the sun.”
It would be easier to talk if she didn’t keep noticing how his dark lashes and brows made his silvery-gray eyes even more potent. “Thanks, but—”
“Don’t flee, banfasa. I need to talk to you.” His eyes glinted with amusement. “About healing stuff.” He was using that…that voice on her, the one that sounded as dark and rich as molasses. The one that could make a female’s knees weaken.
Not fair. But she was better than this. Medicine. Right. And if her insides quivered a bit at the thought of talking to him, he’d never need to know.
Although it’d almost been easier to deal with him when he’d been rude to her. This was a total case of be careful what you wish for, wasn’t it? “Of course. All right.”
“Good. Go sit.” He pointed her toward the front door while he turned toward the kitchen.
As she settled onto a chair, he returned with glasses of lemonade.