Smug Bastard - Stacey Marie Brown Page 0,12

tank to at least cover my front a little, I let Smith partially carry me back to the campsite, Goat bounding around us with a yip, alert and concerned.

“Lay on your stomach.” Smith helped me step up into the back of the van to the built-in platform bed. Even through the pain, I cringed at how much of me he was seeing. This crossed all kinds of lines and was completely wrong. But all I could do was face-plant onto the duvet, Goat leaping up with me, curling next to my head, once again knowing I needed his calming comfort.

Smith turned on the inside light and slammed through the cupboards, finding what he needed before returning to me in the back.

“Here. Take these.” He handed me a bottle of bourbon he had bought at the store and several Tylenol. I downed them as he turned on a lantern to get better light on me, the first aid kit next to him.

My ass was already on fire, but it was like I could feel his gaze center on that area, like ray beams. He sucked in a breath, a tiny grunt huffing through his nose.

“What?” I croaked.

“Nothing.” His hand feathered from my lower back to the one butt cheek that took most of the attack. His touch flushed my entire body with heat and awareness. As I took several more swigs of alcohol, a breath of numbness ebbed the throbbing agony.

“You’re lucky. Looks like it was a stout spine cactus.”

“Lucky?” I grumbled.

“Yeah, these are painful, like thick spikes stabbing you, but they don’t embed in your skin. Those are fucking painful and a lot harder to get out.”

Another gulp of bourbon and I felt my head sag forward into Goat’s fur, using him as a pillow. He made a little noise and tucked deeper into my neck for comfort, easing some tension. Damn, I loved this dog.

“Let me boil some water. I need to clean it.”

I grunted in response.

“Did I not tell you to be careful? Thought even a city girl would know not to pee on a cactus.”

“Screw you,” I muttered into the bed. “I fell into one… Scorpion.”

“Scorpion?” His voice rose. “Were you stung?”

“No… I booted it before I fell on my ass… into the cactus.”

There was a beat before a booming laugh filled the cabin. “Jesus, what I would have given to see that go down.”

Too tired to reply, I held up my middle finger, causing another gruff of laughter. “Be back.” He slid out of the van, moving around. I heard a pot clanking on the camping stove while I suckled the bourbon like it was a baby bottle, every sip lessening my pain and cares. He returned, moving in next to me, setting down a bowl of soapy water on a built-in ledge similar to a nightstand.

“This will sting.” Water sloshed, drops of warm water falling on my skin, trailing down my thigh. I dug my head deeper into Goat as the fabric touched my skin, his gentle touch skating over the top of my ass, moving down. I sucked in, my tender wounds responding to the initial contact. But after a while, it dimmed into a low ache, the alcohol numbing the pain, but oddly heightening the awareness of his touch to the point it was the only thing I was aware of.

“You seem to know what you are doing.” I talked, trying to distract myself.

“Had years of practice covering and mending wounds.” The underlying meaning of his words lashed at my heart. As a kid I didn’t involve myself in his life, but now I looked back wishing my family and I had done more for him.

“I heard about your father.” I balked as he touched a tender spot. “I’m sorry.”

The tension in the van rose, his silence filled with resentment and angry. “Yeah, well, it is what it is.” His voice was clipped.

“He was still your father.” I tried to hint I understood more than what was being said.

“Didn’t make him a good man.”

“And that doesn’t mean you still didn’t love him.” His muteness and awkwardness expanded until I spoke again. “You didn’t go to his funeral?”

“No,” he gritted. “Couldn’t make it.”

“Oh.”

This time I stayed quiet, dropping my head back into Goat’s fur. Smith dipped the cloth in the warm, soapy water, moving it back on my butt, forcing a hiss from my teeth.

“Sorry.” His husky voice traveled down my spine, curving between my legs. The washcloth swept over the curve of my