The Secret Brokers by Alexandrea Weis

job was to protect me, not figure me out.” She turned and exited the kitchen.
    Dallas picked up the knife and began pounding into the carrots with a growing sense of frustration. As he went over their conversation in his head, searching for a way to get closer to the woman, the knife slipped in his hand and he sliced his left index finger.
    “Damn it!” he cried out.
    Gwen stuck her head in the kitchen doorway. “What is it?” Then she saw the blood flowing down his hand as he grabbed for some paper towels next to the sink.
    Gwen rushed to his side. She pulled his hand over to the sink and began rinsing the cut with water.
    “You did a good job on yourself there,” she commented as she examined the wound. “You’re going to need stitches.”
    Dallas tried to pull his hand away from her, but she was stronger than he had anticipated.
    “I don’t need stitches. You got any gauze and some tape around here? I’ll tape it up and it will be—”
    “You need stitches,” Gwen pronounced. “Lucky for you I’ve got sutures and a medical supply cabinet up in my bedroom.” She grabbed some paper towels from the spool and wrapped them around his finger. She then pushed his hand back to him. “Keep pressure on it while I grab the vodka.”
    “What do you need the vodka for?” Dallas asked while holding his finger.
    “Pain killer,” she stated as she reached below the sink.
    “Gwen, I don’t need stitches,” he argued.
    Gwen stood up, holding the bottle of Stolichnaya vodka in her hand. “Dallas, this is the country, and you’re going to be working in a barn for the next two weeks. That cut could easily get infected, and then you would have a whole lot more to deal with than stitches.” She patted his shoulder. “Come on, I promise to be gentle.”
    Dallas apprehensively followed Gwen upstairs to her bedroom. He didn’t want to allow the woman within ten feet of him with a sharp object, but every time he unwrapped the paper towels from around his finger and inspected the deep cut, he became more and more convinced that perhaps she was right. And maybe by allowing Gwen to place a few stitches in his finger, he might be able to get through to her by appealing to her nurturing instincts—that is, if she had any nurturing instincts. At this point he wasn’t so sure.
    Dallas was surprised to find Gwen’s bedroom was larger than his guest room. The walls were painted with alternate stripes of blue and white, and there was a matching blue and white bedspread on her king-sized bed. Delicate lace curtains hung from the windows, while a white throw rug with small blue flowers covered the hardwood floor.
    “This doesn’t look at all like you,” Dallas commented as he took in the bedroom.
    There was a bathroom on the right, and next to the bathroom a walk in closet. Except for a bed, a nightstand with a blue and white lamp, and an armoire, there wasn’t any other furniture in the room. Gwen placed the bottle of vodka down on the nightstand and walked over to the armoire.
    “I was in one of my experimental decorating phases when I did this room, ” she commented as she opened the armoire. “So don’t judge me by the décor, because it’s not permanent.”
    Inside the armoire, Dallas spied a plethora of medical bandages, medications, surgical instruments, gloves, IV fluid bags, and syringes.
    “What are you doing with all of this stuff?” he asked as she retrieved a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, hemostats, and pack of black nylon suture from the armoire.
    She shrugged. “I’m a nurse and I have sick horses on my farm, as well as getting a lot of sick wildlife in every now and then. I find it’s easier to have everything I need here; cuts back on having to call the vet out for every little thing. I have another supply cabinet in the barn filled with medications.” She took the supplies in her hand over to the bed and placed them down on the nightstand next to the bottle of vodka. She patted her hand on the