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She left the bathroom to find the main room dark except for the flickering light of the fireplace and the fixture above the kitchen sink. He was folding a dishcloth over the rim of it. Hearing her, he turned his head, speaking to her over his shoulder.
“I figured you’d want to turn in early.”
She glanced toward the bed, where the covers, which she’d left rumpled, had been straightened and, on one side, folded back at a precise ninety-degree angle. The bloody pillowcase had been replaced with a clean one.
“I’ll sleep in the recliner.”
“You’ll sleep in the bed.” He yanked on a string to extinguish the light above the sink.
The action had a finality to it that strongly suggested arguing over the sleeping arrangements would be futile. Emory sat down on the edge of the bed. She’d been in her running tights all day. Her jogging bra felt uncomfortably tight. But there was no way in hell she’d be removing so much as a single thread, and he was in for a fight if he intended to take her clothes off.
Her breath caught when he started toward the bed, but after setting the bottle of analgesics and the can of Coke on the nightstand, he walked past and went into the bathroom, returning within seconds with the bottle of peroxide and an applicator formed of folded toilet paper squares.
“I don’t have any cotton or gauze,” he said as he poured the solution onto the toilet paper. He set down the bottle and leaned toward her.
“I’ll do that.”
“You can’t see it. If you start feeling around, you might reopen the cut.”
She knew that to be true, so she lowered her hands.
“Turn your head…” He nudged her chin with the back of his hand. She complied and sat there, strained and nervous, while he dabbed at the wound.
“Does that hurt?”
“A little.” It hurt a lot, but she couldn’t think of a proper way to complain without sounding critical of his technique. In fact it was hard to think of anything with him standing so close, bending over her. The proximity of her face to his middle was unsettling, and she didn’t breathe until he said “There” and stepped away.
“I hate to dirty another pillowcase.”
“Blood washes out. Most of the time.” He picked up the pill bottle and shook two into his palm, then extended his hand to her. “They’ll help with the headache.”
“I’ll wait to take them. See how I do.”
He looked prepared to argue but returned the tablets to the bottle and replaced it on the nightstand. “They’re there if you change your mind. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thank you. I will. But I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“Maybe I should wake you up at intervals. Just to make sure you’re all right, to make sure that I can wake you up.”
“That’s a good idea. But rather than disturb you, I’ll set alarms on my wristwatch.”
Mouth set with disapproval, he said, “Suit yourself,” and turned away.
She lay down and pulled the covers to her chin. Although she closed her eyes, her ears were on high alert as she listened to him moving about the room, adding logs to the grate, scooting the fire screen back into place.
Blood washes out. Most of the time. Spoken like someone who had experience with that dilemma.
She shuddered to think how exposed she was. She couldn’t even stand alone for more than a couple of minutes. If she had to protect herself, what would she do?
While in college she’d taken a self-defense class, but that had been a long time ago. All she recalled of it now was not to think of the assailant as a whole, but to focus on individual parts of him that were vulnerable to counterattack. Eyes, nose, ears, testicles. She feared that rule wouldn’t apply to a man who appeared as solid as a redwood.
She wished she’d secreted one of those deadly looking bullets. The tip of one jammed into an eyeball would do serious damage. It would stop even a giant long enough to slip past him.
She heard what sounded like boots hitting the wood floor muffled by the carpet, then the squeak of leather as he settled on one of the pieces of furniture. She opened her eyes to slits and saw that he’d chosen the recliner over the sofa. He was leaned back in it, a quilt pulled over him to midtorso.
Disconcertingly, he was looking straight at her, his eyes reflecting the firelight like those of a predatory animal.
His voice rumbled across the distance between them. “Relax, Doc. If I was going to hurt you, I would have by now.”
