Page 30 of CowSex

“I wasn’t going to, but thanks for clarifying.”

“You’re welcome.”

He examines the packet for a few seconds longer before placing it in the basket that the spare toilet rolls are in.

“If you’re done, I’d like to get that arm in a sling.”

He gestures towards my swollen right wrist, which I’m holding protectively against my ribs. It still aches badly, even the painkillers I took earlier barely took the edge off.

As painful as it is, I keep forgetting I’m injured and have continuously been picking things up with it. My middle two fingers are so swollen that they feel tingly and almost numb.

“Sit here,” he orders. Standing and gesturing towards where he was just sitting.

“Fuck, this is swollen.” He’s looking at my hand. “It giving you much pain?”

I nod.

“I’m gonna put it in a sling. If it the swelling doesn’t go down, I’ll call Doc Morrison’s office and see if I can get him or one of the other doctors to come out and take a look at it.”

A ball of warmth forms in my belly at his concern, growing as he gently takes my hand and turns it from side to side, inspecting first the front and then the back as he kneels in front of me.

He has a roll of bandage with him, which he wraps tightly around my hand and wrist, he then starts to tear up an old sheet in what seems like a random, haphazard way. Although the tears apparently make sense to him. Once he’s done, he slides one end of the fabric under my arm and then ties the two ends together behind my neck. My wrist is raised as high as my left shoulder, the sling keeping my arm and elbow securely tucked close to my body.

I study his face as he does all of this, not just his face but his hair and his beard also. They’re both dark. His beard is a proper beard, probably grown to about an inch and a half from his bottom lip. It’s neat, tidy, and well-groomed, just like his hair. Both of which have a little grey running through them. His hair is shaved around the sides and speckled with grey, the top long, in comparison to the sides. It has no definite style to it. Despite him pushing it back and smoothing it repeatedly, it remains looking like he’s just woke up, but on him, it works.

Reggie grew a beard for a while. It looked good, but then he grew his hair and started wearing bow ties and braces. When he attempted to put his too short hair in a bun, I had to stage an intervention. For one, he was about two years too late for that trend, and two, no, just…......no. Plus, he’s a city financier and looks much better in sharp suits and with short hair.

My mind gets to comparing the two, Reggie works out at the gym almost daily, and his build is bulky because of it. He’s not naturally slim, and I’m pretty sure that if he stopped hitting the treadmill as often as he does, he’d quickly gain weight. He likes his food, doesn’t eat particularly well, and drinks probably more than he should. That’s something that he does seem to have in common with Carmichael. This is the first time since I arrived that I’ve seen him without a beer or bourbon to hand.

“That feel okay?”

“Hmm?” Carmichael’s golden-brown eyes are on me from where he’s crouched directly in front, his elbows resting on his knees.

“The sling, does it feel okay? Is the knot digging into the back of your neck, is it too tight?”

“It’s good.”

He gives me a quick nod and stands.

“There’s some ibuprofen downstairs. Next time you eat, you need to take a couple.”

I remain siting on the toilet lid.

“Carmichael?”

He pauses for a moment before turning his head, his eyes meeting mine.

“It’s Koa.”

“What is?”

“My name.”

“Your name’s Koa?” But I heard the sheriff call him Carmichael. “But the sheriff—”

“Last name’s Carmichael, first is Koa.”

He leaves me still sitting on the toilet lid.