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She gave him a look that reminded him oddly of his mother’s famous don’t-argue-with-me expression. His libido effectively quashed, he sank into a chair.
She returned a few minutes later carrying a small, white plastic box which she set on the table and opened purposefully. He grimaced when he saw that the first item she removed was an alcohol pad. That was going to sting.
“When’s the last time you had a tetanus shot?” she asked, ripping open the packet containing the pad.
“Last year. I cut myself on some rusty barbed wire at my cousin’s ranch. Thought it was a good idea to have a tetanus shot after that.”
She dabbed the cut with the pad and he had to make an effort not to grunt. He’d anticipated correctly. It stung.
“Are you always so accident-prone?”
He frowned. “Not really.”
“Mmm.” She didn’t sound as if she entirely believed him.
He supposed he couldn’t blame her, really. He’d sprayed her with water fixing a pipe and sliced open his hand installing a fan. She’d probably expect him to break a leg or something if he had to climb a ladder.
“I don’t think you need stitches,” she said, studying the now-clean wound, which was still oozing blood, though the bleeding had slowed.
“Definitely don’t need stitches.”
She pulled out a tube of ointment and an adhesive bandage. “At least let me cover it so it will stay clean.”
He nodded, figuring that was a good idea.
Kneeling in front of him, she cradled his hand in hers as she carefully smoothed the ointment over his injury. She was wearing a thin, long-sleeved green sweater with a scoop neck. He realized that from this angle, he could see the creamy upper curves of her breasts. Any resemblance he’d seen in her to his mother disappeared. He lifted his gaze quickly to the window across the room before he embarrassed himself by visibly reacting to her crouching so close to h
im, looking like—well, like that, he thought with a fleeting glance back at her.
She looked up and met his eyes. “Am I hurting you?”
“No.” Aware that he’d spoken rather curtly, he looked out the window again. “Almost done?”
“Yes. Just let me—” She spread the bandage across his palm, centered the gauze part over the wound, then pressed down on the adhesive edges to secure it. “There. How does that feel?”
At that moment he didn’t feel a thing in his hand, though he was aware of plenty of sensations in other parts of him. Maybe the blood loss had affected him, he thought grimly, though he knew full well he hadn’t been injured badly enough for that to be an issue. “It feels fine. Thanks. I’d better wipe up in here and then get back to work. I still have to hang that mirror in the bathroom.”
“Are you sure you can work with that sore hand?”
“Oh, sure.” He flexed his fingers a few times in demonstration, managing not to wince with the movement. “It’s fine.”
“Did you finish installing the fan?”
“Yeah.” He had been cleaning up in there when he’d sliced himself with a box cutter while breaking down the fan’s cardboard box. Maybe he’d been a little distracted by the sight of a lacy nightgown peeking out of the top of a drawer. He had no intention of telling her either how—or why—he’d sustained the injury. “I’ll take care of this mess, and then I’ll hang the mirror and get out of your way.”
But she had already grabbed a paper towel and was scrubbing at the drops of blood on the countertop. “I’ve got this. You finish your work.”
It was obvious that she wasn’t one to be deterred once she’d made up her mind. Maybe she just wanted him to finish up and clear out quickly. Because it wasn’t worth an argument, he merely nodded. “All right. Thanks.”
She nodded in return, busily cleaning up the evidence of his latest act of clumsiness.
Shaking his head in self-reproof, he went back to her bedroom, suddenly wanting to be out of that cabin before his ego took an even harder hit. He seemed to feel that way every time he left Natalie, he thought with a rueful grimace.
Even as she drove the ten miles of winding roads down the mountain and into Gatlinburg early Friday evening, Natalie wished she could have found some reason to decline the dinner invitation that had brought her out of her solitude. Other than Casey and the one maintenance visit from Kyle, the only people Natalie had seen in the past week were her aunt and uncle. They’d popped in the day before to check on her and bring her a supply of Aunt Jewel’s home cooking, though she had assured them that wasn’t necessary.She’d had phone calls, of course. Amber. Her dad. Her mom. All of them were worried about her, though only Amber and her father knew exactly why Natalie was no longer working for the firm in Nashville. She hadn’t even told her aunt Jewel the whole story, not wanting to upset her.
She had assured her callers that she was fine. She needed this time away. She needed the rest. She needed to regroup emotionally and wanted privacy in which to do some research on her own, while the private investigator she’d hired from the yellow pages did some discreet snooping back in Nashville. Her father was the only one who knew she’d hired the P.I.
Had her father lived in Nashville—or even in the same country—he might have gotten a bit more involved in the fight to clear his daughter’s name. But since he was currently working in the publishing industry in London, he’d been able to do little except offer long-distance advice and encouragement. Her mother, now married to a college professor in Oxford, Mississippi, tended to be more of a hand-wringer and worrier than a useful resource.
