I woke disoriented. Where was I? Who was in my arms? And what the hell had happened? I blinked in the not quite darkness. Barn…er, um, stable, Michael Branham, an epic level car wreck, if I had that in the right order. My head still hurt, just not as bad. I was moderately warm, which seemed to be a combo of the heater, the blankets, and the man against me.
I lay there feeling the rise and fall of his chest. Too shallow? Was his arm bleeding again? I lightly slid my hand along his arm until I hit the makeshift bandage. It didn’t feel soggy or sticky. I debated on peeling back the blankets and trying to look by the light of the heater.
“I don’t think it’s bleeding again,” Michael mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “Or at least it doesn’t feel like it’s dripping.”
“Think I should lift up the
