Page 33 of Cutter’s Lady

“Really?” The cool green eyes were mocking. “You found me charming enough last night.”

Leslie glared at him. “If you were any kind of gentleman, you wouldn’t mention last night.”

Cutter laughed. “Are you sure you’re from New York? That sounds like something Scarlett O’Hara would have said.”

“No doubt the concept of a ‘gentleman’ would seem old-fashioned to you, but it will surprise you to know that they still exist in the world. And, believe me, they are very much appreciated.”

“Mmm,” he said noncommittally. “If you say so. Tell me, would you be willing to take a couple ibuprofens from such a low and crude fellow as myself?”

“Oh, all right.”

“You’re real gracious yourself, lady.”

Leslie gritted her teeth. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

Cutter chuckled and rose lithely to his feet. Leslie watched him walk across the deck and out of sight, then lowered her head to her knees and retreated back into her little world of agony.

A few minutes later, Cutter’s shadow fell across her, and his light voice pulled her from her half-dozing state. “Breakfast is served, madame.”

Leslie raised her head to see Cutter ease down to the deck, a styrofoam cup in either hand. “Thank you.” She took one of the cups from him. Cutter reached into his back pocket and drew out a rather squashed-looking roll wrapped in cellophane and tossed it onto the deck in front of her.

“Try one of these; it’ll help.” He tossed out another package. “Oh, I forgot.” He fumbled in the pocket of his shirt and removed two small white tablets. He held them out to her, cupped in his palm.

Leslie hesitated. She didn’t want to touch his hand. Even the thought of it made her pulse speed up. She gave herself a mental shake—she was acting as immature as he’d accused her of being last night. She snatched them from him, dropping one in the process. It hit the deck and rolled, and Leslie grabbed it. She could feel Cutter’s gaze on her, and she suspected he derived a great deal of amusement from her actions. She gulped down the tablets with a swig of coffee and eyed the sweet rolls in front of her. With the first sip of coffee, she had thought that her queasy stomach was going to rebel, but it had subsided somewhat, and she wondered if a little food might quiet it down even more. However, the packets of flattened bread didn’t look particularly appetizing.

She picked up one package, tore open the wrapper and cautiously took a bite. It was a sweet cake without icing and it tasted good. Leslie finished it off quickly and leaned back against one of the boxes around them, feeling better. She glanced at Cutter almost shyly. He was resting lazily against a crate across from her, his eyes closed and his battered cowboy hat tipped forward to shade his eyes.

“Thank you,” Leslie said in a soft voice.

He opened one eye and looked at her. “You’re welcome.” He closed his eye again. He was quiet for such a long time that Leslie thought he had fallen asleep, when suddenly he asked, “Why do you feel so bad about last night?”

“What?”

“I wondered why you’re upset. Do you still love your ex-husband?”

“Blake? No. No, I don’t still love him.”

“Seems to me there must be some kind of powerful feeling there for you to chase down here yourself to rescue him.”

“It’s not love,” Leslie said flatly.

Cutter wasn’t one to be easily swayed from his course. “What is it, then?”

Leslie sighed. “This is really none of your business, Cutter.”

“It is if I’m risking my neck for you and him.”

“I don’t think that necessarily follows. However, I suppose it doesn’t really matter. It’s guilt.”

He opened his eyes. “Guilt?”

“I was friends with someone who worked in the same building where my office is. We often had lunch together. We had a lot in common. Then we began to get a drink together after work sometimes. Our friendship got deeper and deeper over time until I was convinced I’d fallen in love with him. It wasn’t like what you think,” Leslie assured Cutter hastily. “I was never unfaithful to Blake.”

“I didn’t figure you were. But why do you feel so guilty, then?”

“Because I wanted to be unfaithful. I never was, but just knowing I could feel that way… I told Blake I wanted a divorce. After everything was finalized, I told Michael —that was the other guy—how I felt about him. And it turned out he was actually reconciling with his ex. Apparently, he had never even thought of me in that way.”

“Then he was either blind or a complete idiot.” Cutter supplied. “Or both.”