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of bandages and Band-Aids across the counter. She was her own mini-hospital. His eyes drifted down to her form-fitting yoga pants that she wore incessantly with oversized T-shirts or hoodies that hid her athletic build. He shook off the wayward thoughts and gingerly touched the red mark slashed across his torso by the sharp point on the driftwood. Gritting his teeth against the fiery sting, he decided pain was good. It kept him from thinking where they’d been heading not more than a few minutes ago.
    She faced him, ointment in hand, and studied his naked torso. As if that weren’t enough for his agitated libido, she moved closer and looked up at him with soulful eyes. “That looks like it really hurts.”
    He held her gaze for longer than necessary, and then took the tube of medicine from her.
    “Do you want me to apply that? I can see a little bit better from my vantage point.”
    “It’s not--” he started to protest even as she retrieved the salve and squeezed a generous blob on her fingers.
    “This will help keep the skin moist.”
    “Yeah.” He sucked in air as her fingers gently glided over his flesh. “This isn’t my first time being hurt, you know.” He tried to steel his body against her delicate touch, trying valiantly not to think about lubricants.
    “Sorry, where else have you been hurt?” she asked, her attention focused within inches of his chest. Part of him wondered if she was doing research along with practicing those Clara Barton skills.
    Pain . He drew in another sharp breath, putting his mind back on track. “Uh…let’s see, I’ve had my shoulder dislocated twice. A scar from when I hopped over a barbed wire fence in pursuit of a perp.” He frowned, having never really catalogued his injuries before, just glad for his good insurance. “I nearly severed my finger when I attempted to stop a guy stealing a car. Then there was the time I broke my ankle in interdepartmental football….”
    “Wait,” she asked, blowing softly across the wound. “Go back to the finger story. How’d that happen? Did he have a knife?”
    He looked down at the top of her head and the sensation of her breath blowing across his flesh flashed an image of him easing her head lower, and that sparked fresh guilt about his true purpose in being there. “No, he rolled up the window and started to take off with my hand stuck in the window.”
    Kacey chuckled and offered him a passing grin. “You mind if I write this down?”
    He was glad to see that she’d gotten her humor back--what little he’d seen of it, at any rate. “Sweetheart,” he said, offering his best Bogart vice, “I’ve got scars in places you wouldn’t believe.” Keeping the mood light was a good thing. He wasn’t entirely convinced that the pesky raccoon was all that was sneaking around the cabin tonight, but he’d let her think as much.
    “Does that include your heart?” she asked, taking a step back. “There.” She wiped her hands on a towel.
    “Trying to get inside a hero’s head, lady?” he joked.
    She grinned. “Maybe.”
    “Better than my pants. I thought maybe you were taking advantage of my injured state.”
    “You wish,” she jabbed right back at him and turned to put away her triage set-up. “You need a gauze pad on that?”
    He had a helluva time trying to understand this woman. Maybe he thought they’d pick up where they’d left off, but, unlike him, she’d obviously come to her senses.
    “Uh, no. I’m sure it’ll be better by morning.”
    “I know I shouldn’t go out alone, but I really need to go stand out by the lake.” She closed the cabinet and turned to face him. “Just for a few minutes?”
    Yeah, she knew damn well the raccoon wasn’t all that they’d heard.
    “Sure, get your jacket and we’ll both go. I could use some fresh air.”
    Armed with a flashlight and pocketing his gun in his jacket, he followed her down the grassy knoll behind the cabin. The waves, leftover from the recent storm,