Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A howl pierced the darkness, jolting Alexandra from sleep. For a moment, she thought she'd dreamed it. Then it came again—a sound of pure misery.

"Spreag?" She fumbled for the bedside lamp.

"Aye, love. I hear it." His form shimmered near the window. "Sounds like it's coming from the yard."

Another howl, followed by what might have been cursing.

"Go see what it is, would you?" She pulled a robe on over her t-shirt and Spreag's boxers. "Make yourself useful."

"Make myself useful?" He pretended offense. "I'll have ye know I'm very useful."

"Hurry!" she hissed.

He disappeared, then reappeared, sober and worried. "It's Callum. He's in his kitchen, and he's in a bad way."

"What kind of bad way?"

"The kind that comes from gardenin' in the desert sun with yer arse on display." Spreag rolled his eyes. "Hurry, love. He needs help."

"He's sunburned his butt? Are you sure you want me to see that?" She slipped her feet into sturdy slippers, intending to help no matter what.

"Maybe not his arse, but close to." He followed her out the door.

The side porch light was on. The kitchen window was open, and another groan filtered out.

"Hello?" She knocked softly. "Callum? Are you okay?"

"Alexandra?" His voice was strained. "I'm fine. Just a wee... Gah!"

She turned the knob and found it unlocked, so she pushed her way inside. A shirtless Callum stood with his hands on his knees, the light over the stove was on, and nearly every cabinet door stood open.

He lifted slightly to gesture at them. "Not so much as an aspirin in the place!"

He howled again and straightened, leaned back, then winced and bent forward again.

"Show me," she said.

He grunted, then turned his back to her. Even in the dim light she clearly saw the angry red swath in the shape of a smile, just above his boxers, which rode low on his hips. His shirt must have ridden up while he was bent over working in the garden.

"Oh my hell! Callum, I'm so sorry."

"Aye, I know," he said, bearing down against the pain. "I'm a right eejit. Should have listened about the sun."

"Have you tried a cold shower?"

"Fer hours now. I'll be damp as a frog until spring."

"All right. We've got to get you into the car. Can you put on some pants?"

His groan was answer enough.

"Don't worry about it. At least you're not naked. I'm going to soak a towel just in case, and I'm taking you to the emergency room. Your burn is at least second degree. And they'll give you something for the pain."

"And if that doesnae help, maybe one of yer neighbors will have a rifle?"

She laughed lightly. "We'll just hold off on that, for now."

He yelped and cursed all the way to the car, then sucked air through his teeth the entire ride while he leaned forward against the dashboard. "They'll laugh," he said. "They'll give me a plaster and send me home like a whingin' bairn.”

“It's already blistering. No one is going to laugh. If anything, they'll say you should have gone in sooner. But it was good you put cold water on it."

"I may have lost track of time." He tried to straighten up and groaned. "Waitin' for the pretty lass next door to come home and need m' help."

If she hadn't dawdled--

He started cursing again and saved her from the need to respond. Each time he dropped the 'f' bomb, he apologized.

"It wasnae any fault of yers, o' course. It's just that...what evil has overtaken the sun to have it burn folks in December!"

She glanced in the rearview to see Spreag's reaction, but he wasn't there! She hadn't given him a second thought while helping Callum into the car. But he could have come along if he'd wanted.

Oh well, it was probably best. The last thing she needed was to be caught talking to thin air in the ER.