Free Badlands by Seleste deLaney Page A

assent and opened the door. “Zeke, you need to keep it quieter—”
    In the dim glow of the gaslamps, he could just make out Ever standing, pants sliding over her bottom. As she fastened them, Zeke handed her the new blue shirt.
    “Sorry, Cap’n, won’t happen again.”
    All Spencer could do was stare.
    With the shirt tugged down over her head and weapons belt in hand, Ever finally turned. She didn’t meet his gaze, but the flush of passion on her cheeks was unmistakable. She edged past Spencer into the corridor, and he tracked her movements.
    Neither of them even tried to deny it.
    She’s just a job.
    Spencer swallowed hard. “See that it doesn’t.” He yanked the door shut and leaned his head against it.
    Her voice made him jump. “It isn’t what you think.”
    He didn’t try to fight the bitter laugh that fell from his mouth. “And what, pray tell, is it?” Though he didn’t want to, he forced himself to look at her—at the heat still coloring her face.
    “It isn’t.” She turned to enter her room, and he spied blood seeping through the back of her shirt. She stumbled and caught herself against the wall, her weapons and boots tumbling to the floor.
    “Damn it, Ever, you’re right. I certainly didn’t think it was this.” He supported her weight, almost carrying her down the corridor to the infirmary. Her protests were easy to ignore, quiet as they were. The cot sank under their combined weight. “Take the shirt off and lie down.”
    She eased it over her head and Spencer winced at the sight. He tried not to think about how she’d gotten sliced straight across her back as he slammed through containers searching for Henri’s antiseptic and bandages.
    “You know, if you keep up the reckless behavior, our medical supplies’ll run out and you’ll die because you couldn’t resist your idiotic idea of a good time.” He swiped antiseptic around the cut, and her muscles twitched under his fingers. The urge to touch her in a more tender way was almost unbearable. Instead, he took out a needle and thread and stitched up the cut. “Sit.”
    Ever pushed herself up, and Spencer wrapped the bandage around her torso, carefully avoiding her breasts. He knew if he touched her once it would undo him. As soon as he secured the bandages, he moved to stand, but she spun and caught his fingers in hers.
    “It was not what you think.” Her eyes pleaded with him, but he wasn’t sure what she expected.
    Spencer freed his hand. “Your life is yours, Ever. As long as you’re not endangering my ship or my crew, it doesn’t matter what I think.” He was on his feet before she could touch him again. “Enjoy your evening but, if you can, do it without any more injuries.” He didn’t wait for a response.
    Back in his quarters, he slumped onto the bed and kicked off his boots. She was with Zeke. He had to admit he should have seen it coming. They were very similar after all. At least he’d held back. It kept him from making a fool of himself by approaching her after the moment that first day in the corridor.
    His shirt followed the boots. What did he expect? She’d fallen on him. It wasn’t as if she had grabbed him and kissed him intentionally.
    Too bad his lips had never stopped burning.

    Ever paced the infirmary. She would not chase after him. He’d made his position clear—he didn’t care. Didn’t care that he’d caught her with Zeke. Didn’t care about what she had to say. He. Did. Not. Care.
    Besides, he had a woman waiting at home for him. The pretty blonde in the tintype.
    Her hand balled up in a fist that found its way to the wall. It was her turn not to care. Not about the dent she left in the wood, or the way her knuckles throbbed. And she would not let herself care about Spencer Pierce either.
    She pulled the blood-stained shirt back on, ignoring the way the stitches pulled, one more reminder of his touch. The corridor was empty and silent, her bare feet on the wooden floorboards the only