Page 35 of Freeing Lark

They worked together. Her embarrassment faded beneath the absurdity of the situation. “This tracks,” she mumbled with a hint of self-mockery.

“What?”

“Murphy’s Law strikes again.” He glanced at her. She reached for the last coin. “There.” She held it up triumphantly.

Then she forgot where she was. She stood too fast. Her head struck the underside of the table with a sickening crack. “Ow!”

Pain exploded through her skull. She tried to rise again, more carefully this time, but staggered backward. The room tilted. The floor seemed to move beneath her. “Whoa.”

Hoot was there before she could fall. His arms caught her around the waist. “Easy.”

“I think...” She blinked. The bakery spun. “...I hit my head.”

“Yeah.” His voice was suddenly different. No teasing or grumpiness. Just something that sounded almost like concern. “Sit down.”

“I’m okay.”

“You whacked yourself pretty hard. You’re dizzy.”

“Maybe a little.”

He guided her toward the long, cushioned bench against the wall. “Lie down.”

Lark obeyed, and he held a pillow in place for her to lay her head on. Cammie appeared with a bag of ice. “Here.”

Hoot took it and pressed it gently against the growing bump on Lark’s head. “Hold still.”

She looked up at him. His stern face was inches away. His dark eyes searched hers. “How many fingers?”

He held up two. “Two.”

“Good.”

“I’d rather count muscles.” Her face instantly blazed as she realized what she’d said. Cammie laughed and Hoot’s lips gave that subtle twitch once more.

“Feel free,” he teased. Lark’s mouth almost dropped open. Was he teasing her? Could he tease? And furthermore… was that an invitation?

“I’m good.”

“Sure.”

She frowned. “You’re mocking me.”

“Maybe.” But his hand remained steady against the ice. And suddenly Lark wasn’t thinking about the headache. She was thinking about his arms around her. His broad hands on her waist as he steadied her. His concern. The fact that, for the first time since she could remember, someone other than Marilyn was taking care of her.

She swallowed. Thirty-one years. Thirty-one years of family expectations, criticism, judgment, and being told she was too much or not enough. Only Marilyn had ever made her feel safe simply because she was Lark. And now this man was doing it. A man she’d known for barely a week. A man who was supposed to be grumpy and intimidating and impossible to get close to.

Yet here he was, holding ice against her head as though her well-being mattered. It felt... nice.

More than nice. Dangerously nice.

Lark looked into his eyes. Hoot’s expression softened. Just slightly.

“That’s quite a goose egg you’ve got there.”

Her heart gave an unexpected little flutter at the worry in his tone. She smiled faintly. “Sorry.”

He shook his head. “Stop apologizing.”