“Then why? Why the tears?” he asked, and I swore his voice had gentled. I felt Tuck pause in his dabbing as though waiting for my answer and I again wished I’d lied. I wasn’t even exactly sure why I was crying and wasn’t prepared to discuss it with Tuck of all people. But the woods were dim, the night folded in around us. I was too spent to spin falsehoods.

“It’s just…everything. I’m cold and scared and I keep picturing Russell’s dead body under those rocks in the middle of nowhere.” A shudder moved through me. “His family doesn’t even know he’s dead.” I held back another torrent of tears. I’d been trying so hard not to think of the man who’d welcomed us onto the plane earlier that day, likely expecting to be home for dinner. How could I cry over a cut in my skin when he’d lost his life? When right that moment, someone might be waiting for him and didn’t yet know he’d never be home.

Tuck was quiet for a few moments, his hands continuing to attend to my gash. “I know,” he finally said. “It’s a lot to handle. When we get to a phone, we’ll notify the authorities about Russell and send someone to pick up his body. It’s the best we can do for him, Em.”

Em. “So you’re sure we can find our way to civilization?”

“Yes. I am.”

My shoulders lowered, that invisible weight lessening just a little at the confidence in his voice. I believed him, not only because he’d sounded sure, but because he’d known enough to collect food and water and medical supplies while Charlie and I had stood there watching him with our mouths hanging open. Useless.

He turned me slightly with light pressure on my hip as he assessed the abraded skin, and I took in a shaky breath. Despite the issues between us, just being cared for was making me feel better, and I appreciated that he’d been willing to put that stuff aside, at least temporarily. He let out a small grunt as though satisfied that the gash he was cleaning was the worst of it.

“So, I guess this makes you the resident medic now, huh?” I asked, shooting him a small smile to let him know I appreciated what he was doing. And also, to distract myself from the weird bubbles popping between my ribs at the feel of his warm, calloused fingertips running over my hip.

“Hardly,” he said, looking back down and giving the wound one more swipe. “Although I did used to read lots of veterinary medicine books when I was a kid,” he said, his gaze rising to meet mine again.