Colton's Spring

Chapter 11

Colton heard Spring return and knew he should get up to help her with the groceries, but found he couldn't do it. So he lay in bed and strained to hear the sounds from the kitchen of her rummaging around. The sounds were so completely foreign because he never had anyone in his home.

"Are you still resting?"

He nodded, indicating she could turn on the light. She flipped on the bedside lamp and sat on the side of his bed. Without ceremony or warning, she popped the thermometer in his mouth. He scowled, but she only grinned in return. In moments like this, he could see just how young she was. Ten years and a million miles of experience separated them, but that didn't stop Colton from wanting her.

She pulled the thermometer from his mouth. "Ninety-nine," she proclaimed.

"That's really good, right?"

Her grin was from ear-to-ear. "It's almost normal."

"So no doctors or hospitals."

"I'll bet you were one of those guys who didn't even want to go to the emergency room for a broken bone."

"Maybe," he said slowly. "And I might have put up a fuss about going when I was shot."

Spring's brow arched. "You were shot?"

He grimaced. "Yeah, but it's not as bad as it sounds."

"Really," she said, disbelief lacing her voice. "Because any puncture of the skin - aside from piercings, which I don't understand - are a bad thing. How can getting shot be 'not as bad as it sounds'?"

"It was in my right shoulder," Colton said. "Nowhere near anything vital. The guy got off a lucky shot."

"I'll bet your pride was hurt."

"Hell yes," he said. "I was royally pissed. Especially because the guy was drunk. I mean falling-down-drunk."

"So he could have just as easily hit your heart as your shoulder," Spring said, all traces of humour gone.

"It goes with the job," Colton asserted. "I knew the risks when I took on the vocation. Sunshine understood that." Although why he was bringing up his ex-wife at this particular moment was just a bit beyond him.

"Show me," Spring said.

He frowned. "Show you what?"

"The scar. Because the bullet left a scar, right?"

He wasn't sure he liked where she was going with this. "Yes, there's a scar. But my t-shirt is covering it and I'm not supposed to move my arm."

"A likely excuse," she said tartly.

"Look, some chicks dig scars, but I don't think you're one of them."

"I'm not," she confirmed.

"So you don't need to see it. It's just a little white pucker in the skin. I mean it was more than ten years ago."

"But you learned the lesson," she said succinctly.

"I did," he confirmed. "No one ever got the drop on me again." He hesitated. "But I'm not full of hubris. I know very well the next time I strap on my gun and head out to arrest a perp could be my last. I've learned to live with that risk. Hell, life's a risk."