Read The Rebel Bride for Free Online Page A

couple of towels on hand to clean her camera with, so she laid one over his “specialness.”
    Thank you, Mother, for never actually using the word.
    She got to work and felt around the wound on his thigh. It seemed as though the bullet didn’t go particularly deep, because she could feel it just under the muscle. However, the wound puckered with pus, looking much worse than it had earlier. Her hopes dashed that she could get it out without having to cut him.
    Taking a few minutes to rinse her hands with her water and rub sanitizer on them, she dried them quickly and then went to work after she said a quick prayer. She felt his thigh with her fingers, made a tiny incision with the knife she found in his coat pocket, and then dug the tweezers into the wound as gently as possible. She felt the bullet, heard the metal scrape as she squeezed the tweezers, and pulled it out with relative ease.
    The breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding escaped in a quiet whoosh as she cleaned the wound and put a stitch in it. Squeezing a dime-sized round of ointment on a square of gauze, she gently laid it over his wound then wrapped the bandage around his leg—his unbelievably muscular thigh—before tying the bandage off and pulling his pants back up his body. It was a little harder to get them back on, but she managed with such brute force, she was surprised he didn’t stir.
    Once she rinsed her hands again, she moved up to his shoulder and felt his forehead, which seemed cooler, probably because of the Advil. She took a moment to look at his handsome face and gently swept his hair away from his forehead before cupping his bearded cheek, surprised by the softness of the whiskers on her palm.
    “Okay, I know I said wake up before, but please don’t take this moment to listen to me. Stay asleep so I can look at your shoulder.”
    Unbuttoning his jacket and shirt, she gently pushed them aside to remove the bandage. The wound—red, swollen, and angry—drew a quiet moan from her. She figured that might be what was causing the fever. Gently probing the wound, she couldn’t feel the bullet. She lifted his shoulder and felt his back. There wasn’t an exit wound, so she was sure it was lodged inside, out of reach. There simply wasn’t any way she could get it out.
    She poured the rubbing alcohol over his shoulder, unprepared for what happened next. He shot up with a growl and grabbed her arm.
    “Shhh, Gus, it’s me—Victoria.”
    Quincy stared at her, unseeing, and breathed frantically.
    “I’m trying to clean your shoulder. I’m sorry it hurts,” she crooned in an effort to calm him. Several minutes ticked by as he held her wrist in his large, strong hand. “Quincy?”
    Taking a slow, deep breath, he looked at her again. This time, she knew he saw her. “It’s all right, little rebel. I won’t hurt you.”
    Letting out the breath she still held, she smiled. “Okay. Can I please finish?”
    “Finish what, exactly?”
    “I was able to get the bullet out of your leg, but not your shoulder.”
    He looked at her in surprise. “You removed the bullet?”
    She nodded. “Yes.”
    “How?”
    Holding up her instrument in triumph, she said, “I had tweezers.”
    Looking down, he raised an eyebrow at her. “Did you remove my trousers?”
    Embarrassed, she let out a quiet sigh and lowered her eyes, mortified.
    Quincy chuckled, but didn’t press further. “Thank you. I would very much appreciate it if you would look at my shoulder. It’s quite painful at the present time.”
    “I’m sorry. Can you pull your arm from the sleeve?” she asked as she moved back to him. “It’ll be easier to bandage.” She winced involuntarily when she noticed his grimace as he pulled his arm out of the jacket. She leaned forward and reached for a lapel. “Here, let me help with your shirt.”
    Gently pulling it from his shoulder and down his arm, she was bombarded with a more than adequate look at his flawlessly formed chest, and she