When the sun was low in the sky, he retreated back into the cave and tapped her on the shoulder. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
She bounced upright, and her head caught him on the chin, knocking his teeth together and catching his lip between them.
“Ouch!” he yelped.
“I’m sorry. I get called so often in the middle of the night for emergencies that I’m used to popping out of bed.”
He massaged his chin and worked his jaw and dabbed at his split lip. “I’ll remember that.”
She leaned toward him and moved his hand out of the way. “You’re bleeding.”
She unwounded the handkerchief from her hand and used it to dab at his lip. She moved the cloth away and used a finger to plump his lip where his teeth had left a tiny cut. “Speaking as a physician, I’d say you’ll recover.”
“Not if you keep that up for long,” he murmured, looking into her eyes.
She seemed startled, then looked back at him. Their eyes caught and held. “We really shouldn’t do this,” she murmured.
“I know,” he said, as he lowered his mouth to hers. “Be gentle with me. I’m wounded.

Auteur: Joan Johnston