Maxwell reached across her lap, tugging the latch on the glove compartment. He pulled out a dented white metal box with a scratched red cross on the top. He clicked it open and found a roll of sheer white gauze. He clutched an end with his thumb and palm, grimacing with teeth bared. Bloody prints blotted the gray leather steering wheel. There were drips on his lap.

“Are…are you okay?” she asked, her voice shaky.

“Thank God. Yes. Are you?” He sounded relieved to hear her speak. “I’m just scratched up, but I thought I was gonna have to take you to the hospital.”

“Why?” Her face crinkled, still trying to process what happened.

“You looked like you were in shock. Seems to be going around.” He turned his eyes back to his wounds, wincing as blood leaked from one hand while he pathetically swung the wrap around the other.

Without thinking, Vera unbuckled her seat belt and stretched toward him, kicking the hard hat. Why had she taken it?

She knew why.

Didn’t she?

She couldn’t think of that now. Maxwell was bleeding. This she could do. She grabbed the kit. “Let me do it.”

He did.

She found a wet wipe and cleaned his skin. Then she tore open a small paper package and placed a square of sterile cotton on his palm. The cuts were plentiful, but shallow. Slowly, she wound the grainy fabric around his palm, his minty breath brushing her ear as she worked in the cramped space. With the engine off, and the air conditioner silenced, the July humidity filled the truck’s cabin and soaked her shirt with sweat.

She secured the end of his bandage with medical tape, then reached for his other hand. He shifted his body toward her to offer his left palm, and now they were face-to-face. His nose skimmed her hair as she worked, head down. She felt him breathing, a tickle against her skin. He didn’t groan in pain or move an inch. In fact, his body was rigid, but his touch warm.

She taped his left hand, then peered up through her lashes. He was so near that the tips of their noses almost bumped. He didn’t pull back.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

A tingle spread through her body, that same sensation she’d felt in the house, the urge to hug him, kiss him. What was wrong with her? A murderous, cult-starting family was threatening to poison the entire town, yet somehow all she could feel was Maxwell’s hot breath brushing her cheek. All she could see were his lips.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” His voice was low, different. She liked the way he sounded.

She glanced at their feet, unable to meet the heavy look in his eyes, and spied blood dripping from his ankle. “You’re still bleeding.”

She reached for the first-aid kit again, but he snatched her hand.

“I’m fine.”

She glanced up, spying something else in his expression, something she’d never seen before. It was something she really, really liked.