“I’m just thinking about what needs to be done.” His shoulders were broad, his skin tan, and, holy kingdoms, the well-defined muscles of his stomach appeared as if etched from stone. She swallowed, mentally chiding herself. Now was not the time to drool. She needed to focus.

Imbedded parallel to his arm instead of inward, the arrow couldn’t be very deep. Using the tip of her dagger, she gently placed it at the edge of the arrowhead. “I’m going to try to push the arrow out.”

“I’ve never had a woman tend to me like this.”

“I’m sure Gytha has stitched you up once or twice.” Reid couldn’t believe she’d mentioned the warrior woman. As if she were jealous. Which she wasn’t.

He chuckled. “Oh, she has. She’s just not…how should I put it? As kind as you are?”

Reid felt her face heat at the compliment. At least she thought it was a compliment. Maybe it wasn’t. Taking a deep breath, she carefully pressed the dagger into his skin, then sideways, pushing the arrow out. It fell to the ground, blood spurting out of the wound. She grabbed Dexter’s shirt, dunking the bloodless sleeve in the water before cleaning the area around the wound. The blood kept oozing out, so she tore off a piece of fabric and pressed it against his arm.

“Hold this here,” she murmured. He did as instructed. Reid ripped off another piece of fabric, wrapping that piece around his arm to hold the fabric in place. “Hopefully, the bleeding will stop.”

“Reid.”

She peered into his eyes, wishing she hadn’t. A million questions and emotions swirled inside them.

“Why did you throw yourself in front of that arrow for me?” His low, rumbly voice made her shiver.

“I had to save you.” If she hadn’t, he’d be dead now.

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Because it was the right thing to do.” This close, his eyes were mesmerizingly beautiful. She couldn’t look away.

“And now? Why are you helping me?”

“I don’t know.”

“You could have let me fend for myself.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You couldn’t have removed the arrow without me.” Then, to ease the building tension, she picked up his shirt and rinsed the bloody sleeve in the water. When she finished, she handed it to him.

“Your turn.”

“What do you mean?” She wasn’t injured.

“Let me see your back. I want to make sure the tip didn’t cut you.”

“I’m fine.” It was the truth. She was sore, but fine. “We need to get moving.” She offered him a hand up.

Dexter grabbed her hand, using it to rise. “Did you get a look at their faces?”

“I did.”

“And did you recognize them?”

“Yes.”

Chapter Fourteen