“He never sleeps,” she tells me, a forced smile on her face.
The door swings open roughly and then he’s there…
I stare at him, standing in the doorway in just a pair of flannel pajama pants, a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses covering his eyes, and no shirt.
Muscles are stacked on top of muscles, a smattering of hair across his chest and a trail that leads from his navel to beneath his pants.
His hair looks disheveled, a lot messier than he wore it back at the ranch with me, like he’s ran his hand through it several times.
“Juni?” His honey-gold eyes widen, not straying from where I stand in front of him.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp, stepping closer to the door, closer tohim,“I had nowhere else to go.”
His eyes zone in on the bruise and the cut, something twisting in his gaze. A muscle twitches in his cheek. “He fuckingtouchedyou?” He growls, coming closer, his finger curling beneath my chin to tilt my face toward the porch light to better examine the wound on my face. His touch is so gentle, so soft, despite the anger that vibrates through him.
“He found your card.” I swallow, “And he thought the worst of me.”
His face crumbles, “Come here.”
Maybe it’s the pain, maybe it’s exhaustion or maybe it’s just a moment tofeel safe, but I go to him and I let him wrap his arms around me, bringing me into his chest. His arms seal me to him, his citrus and leather scent wrapping around me.
“I’m so fucking sorry, honeybee,” he whispers into my hair, my breath stalling for a second at the sweet little pet name he just mumbled, “So fucking sorry.”
“It isn’t your fault,” I say into his chest.
“Come on,” he pulls away but doesn’t let go, “Let’s get you inside. I need to deal with that cut.”
“Her feet,” Niamh starts backing up from the porch, “You need to deal with her feet too.”
Chapter Ten
My eyes snap down to her bare feet, jaw tightening to a point of pain when I see the blood smeared across the porch step. She’s got no fucking shoes on.
“Fuck,” I grunt, arms immediately going around her to take her off her injured feet. She squeaks, surprised, but I don’t wait to get her inside, leaving Niamh to get back into her truck without another word.
I kick the door closed behind me and walk us through to the kitchen, sitting her on the kitchen counter, taking her in better now she’s in the light.
Her hair looks slept on, and she’s wearing a thin pair of cotton shorts and an oversized t-shirt butnothing else, that bruise showing different shades of blue and purple, slightly puffy.
The anger is still vibrating through me, the tether holding me back fraying. It wouldn’t take much to go down there right now and give him a damn taste of his own medicine.
I don’t trust myself to talk right now; I don’t want to scare her even further, so I move through the kitchen quietly, pulling a glass from the cupboard and then reach for the whiskey on the highest shelf, out of reach of my curious children. I pour her a decent helping, handing it to her. Her eyes are down as she takes it from me, taking a tender sip. I can see how hard she is trying to keep it together, but her bottom lip is trembling along with the rest of her body.
“You’re safe,” my voice comes out layered with gravel, raw and rough, but it’s all I can give her right now. She dips her chin in a barely there nod, acknowledging my words but not necessarily believing them. Leaving her there, I move through to the bathroom, reaching beneath the cabinet for the first-aid kit I keep stocked up and return to her in the kitchen.
“How far did you walk, Juni?” I pull up a chair and gently circle my fingers around one ankle, coaxing her foot into my lap and flip open the kit, pulling out the sterile wipes so I can clean up the dirt and blood caked to her skin.
“Not too far,” she whispers, “a mile, maybe. Niamh found me and pulled over.”
I nod slowly, examining the few shallow cuts on the soles of her feet. They’re not too deep but will probably be sore to walk on, so I clean them up the best I can and apply a little bit of cream before I stand and tilt her face up with a curled finger under her chin. Glazed brown eyes meet mine.
“Why are you so kind to me?” She asks.
My eyes bounce between hers. “It’s the very least you deserve.”
She tries to give me a smile, but it barely tilts up the corners of her mouth. With a fresh wipe, I clean up the small cut on her cheek and then apply some cream for the bruising.
“You can stay here,” I tell her, “for however long you need.”
