Free Skin Deep by Marissa Doyle

the boy’s face. “Conn, if I hold you, will you let the doc—er, the healer look at you? He needs to make sure your hurts are healing properly.”
    He looked at her. And she could feel his thoughts, feel their shape and color if not their exact meaning, and knew that right now she was the only thing keeping him from dropping back into that trance-like sleep again—that somehow, she’d come to represent safety to him. His little body, still tense, relaxed against her. She looked up at Rob and nodded.
    Conn kept his eyes scrunched tightly shut the entire time but let Rob remove the old bandages, check the Steri-Stripped cuts, and reapply fresh dressings. She kept up a quiet litany of reassurance and explanation while Rob worked, aware as she did that Alasdair did not take his eyes from her, even to watch Rob. She wished she could decipher what his gaze meant.
    “All set, Conn,” Rob said heartily when he was done. “You’re one brave little boy, you know.”
    “He knows,” Alasdair said. He was still looking at her.
    Rob didn’t reply but packed up his bag quickly. “I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow,” he said when he was done. “Garland?” He nodded at the door. “The scouts are expecting me at one and I have to finish getting ready.”
    “Can I give you to your daddy for a minute while I say good-bye to the doctor?” she asked Conn. “It’ll just be for a few minutes. I promise.”
    His grip on her robe tightened and he buried his face in her neck again.
    “Conn,” Alasdair said, and then spoke again in that strange, liquid language. The boy held on stubbornly for a few more seconds then loosened his grip and let her put him into Alasdair’s arms.
    “I’ll be right back,” she said, touching Conn’s hair. She could feel his eyes on her as she left the room behind Rob.
    Rob was silent all the way down the stairs. He put on his jacket and said, “Come out to the car with me.”
    She glanced toward the stairs. “But—”
    His jaw tightened. “They’ll be fine for five minutes. Please, Garland.”
    Garland pulled her jacket on over her robe and followed him outside. He put his bag in his car then leaned against the door and looked at her. “I don’t like this,” he said flatly.
    “What?”
    “Any of it. Alasdair knows more than he’s telling, and there’s something wrong with that child. And both of them seem awfully fixated on you.”
    Garland leaned against his car too and sighed. “What did you expect? The poor kid was attacked and left for dead, is confused and frightened, and has decided he can trust me. How would you feel if you were in his condition?”
    “Probably the same. But I still don’t like it. And I don’t like the way Alasdair looks at you.” His face was closed, all boyishness fled.
    A light bulb turned on in Garland’s brain. “Rob, he can barely get out of that bed without help. You don’t have to trust him. In another day or two I’m sure he’ll start to remember who he is and we can send them home to their family or whatever. I feel sorry for them. I know what’s it’s like to be hurt and tossed aside.” She gave a self-deprecatory shrug and looked down at her feet.
    “Hey.” Rob straightened and turned to face her, tilting her chin up with one finger. “I’m sorry. I’m being a jerk.” He smiled ruefully. “For a minute, I was jealous. I hope he realizes how goddamned lucky they are that you found them.”
    “Oh, anyone would have—”
    “Would have taken them into their house and stood over them like a dragon with a nursing degree? I don’t think so.” He glanced toward the house. “I see what you meant by the amnesia question. I thought Alasdair would jump out of his skin every time I tried to use any instrument on him.”
    “So how is he?”
    “I wasn’t lying. He’s healing amazingly fast considering what he went through. At least physically. I couldn’t find any signs of actual brain trauma that would explain the memory