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Had he always been so tall, so broad, so devastatingly handsome? Oh, yes. Murphy liked the way the hair at his nape curled just a little bit against his skin. One by one, her fingers curled inward, and she quenched the urge to go to him and rake her fingers through his sandy hair. Were the strands as soft to the touch as she remembered? Softer?
He was examining the fronds of the Boston fern sitting atop a small round table in front of one of the windows. The plant was full; its leaves cascaded from the center in a lush display that nearly concealed the red clay pot containing it.
“You have a green thumb,” he said.
She nodded distractedly. “I used to have lots of plants, until I got Moonshine. I'm down to one. Some houseplants are deadly to cats if they eat the leaves.”
“I didn't know that.”
He sounded surprised. She wondered why…then remembered the allergies that had prevented him from ever having a pet. Of course, he wouldn't know about such things.
Garrett had been absently fingering one of the silky green fronds of the fern. His gaze now lifted, his brilliant blue eyes locking with Murphy's wide green ones.
She decided it was a good thing she was standing so close to the sofa; it provided her with an unobtrusive way to sit down. Quickly. Before her knees buckled, the way they threatened.
“Sugar and cream?” she asked, her voice only slightly higher than normal. Inwardly, she prayed he would decline both; her hands were shaking so badly she wasn't sure she could complete the task without spilling something.
He shook his head.
Not for the first time since he'd arrived did she breathe a deep sigh of relief.
Since Garrett was wearing sneakers, his heels didn't click on the hardwood floor as he crossed the room and sat on the opposite end of the couch. He was, Murphy noticed from the corner of her eye, barely limping at all.
Leaning forward, Garrett reached for one of the mugs.
At the same time, so did Murphy.
True to form, Murphy's Law decreed they claim the same mug, and Murphy's Law was rarely disappointed.
“Oops, sorry, go ahead,” he murmured.
“No, no, you take that one,” she insisted simultaneously, their voices overriding each other. Also in unison, both changed direction, reaching for the other mug.
They froze.
Murphy's gaze lifted, even as Garrett's lowered.
Their laughter blended.
“I don't believe this,” she said as, leaning back, she ran her palms down her skirt-covered thighs. “Tell me something, Garrett. Are you half as nervous as I am?”
“Doubtful. Twice as nervous maybe,” he admitted, also sitting back. “Damned if I know why, though. I mean, it's not as though we don't know each other. You've seen me without my clothes on, for God's sake. And I've touched…”
Murphy wondered if her cheeks looked as red and hot as they felt? “I have not,” she protested. “Seen you without your clothes on,” she elaborated. “I mean, I took off your jeans, but only your jeans. And even then, I did it because I had to. How else could I get to your leg to bandage it?”
Garrett grinned, and Murphy's breath swelled in her throat. The glint in his eyes said he was very much aware of the part of his sentence she'd chosen to ignore.
It would, Murphy decided abruptly, not be in her best interest to dwell on the instinctive, physical reaction she had to this man. Not, that is, if she wanted to remain sane. She seized on the first diversion that sprang to mind. “And speaking of your leg…I take it the surgery went well?”
“The surgery, and physical therapy afterward—which I'm still going for weekly—was no picnic. But, I have to admit, I'm feeling better now than I was two weeks ago.” He rubbed his palm down his right, denim encased thigh, and Murphy remembered, oh, so vividly, when he couldn't have done that without suffering excruciating pain. “Doctor Peters says that if all goes well I should be walking without a limp in a couple of months.”
Murphy shook her head and reached for her mug, lifting it to her lips. She took a sip of the steamy, rich smelling coffee, and absently corrected him, “Roberts. Peters is the orthopedic surgeon Doctor Roberts consulted, but since you didn't have any broken bones—a miracle, when you think about it…”
Murphy clamped her mouth shut. If her cheeks had been red before, it was nothing compared to now. Garrett's gaze was on her; she could feel his attention in every pore of her body.
If she could have taken the words back, she would have. Of course, it was too late. Instead, she strove for a swift—and noticeably clumsy—change of topic in the hopes of distracting him. “So, tell me about your sister Elise. Is she the youngest?”
“Oldest. How do you know the names of my doctors?”
