When It's Right (8 page)

“I know you aren't like him.” She looked Bud right in the eye when she said it. “I knew it when you looked absolutely insulted that I would even consider you'd hurt that poor horse. That, and the fact that the both of you make a point to get down to Justin's level. You don't tower over him and try to intimidate him with your size.”

“You don't miss anything,” Blake said.

“I was trained from birth to watch ­people's behavior. Knowing when someone might turn on you was essential. Ron had a lot of
unsavory
friends.”

She let that hang for a moment but didn't offer anything more. Blake's imagination conjured enough disturbing images and scenarios all on its own. He didn't need her to spell it out for him.

She grabbed Justin's old blanket from his bed and headed for her room. “I'll see you in the morning.” She turned back to Dee. “Thank you for the flowers. For everything.”

Gillian disappeared into her room. Blake gave Dee and Bud a nod goodnight and followed after her. He had a feeling he'd follow her anywhere.

“Nothing sweeter than a sleeping child,” she said when he entered her room. She held one end of the blanket, flung the other end in the air, and let it settle over Justin.

He agreed. The boy's soft face made him look completely at peace. Gillian looked wiped out. He tried to control the urge to wrap his arms around her and kiss her shoulder. Her dark gold hair shined in the moonlight coming from the windows.

“The little guy is out like a light,” he whispered.

“He'll sleep until morning now. He got the bad out of his system.”

“What about you? Will you sleep in your condition?”

“I'll be . . .”

“If you tell me you'll be fine one more time, I'll throttle you.” He regretted the impulsive words and expected her to retreat again. She didn't.

“It's hard to sleep with hardware on your leg and a cast on your arm. I'll either sleep miserably or just be miserable. Better?” she asked with an insincere smile.

“I'm sorry I asked.”

“I thought you would be. Go to bed, Blake. Quit worrying about me.”

“I can't seem to help myself.” He pulled the blankets back and waited for her to carefully get her leg into bed and turn over onto her stomach so she wouldn't hurt her back. He covered her but never touched her. God, he wanted to.

“Thanks.” She wiggled and settled when she found a comfortable position. Which meant she wasn't in agonizing pain. She closed her eyes and hoped he'd stop staring at her and go to bed. She didn't want to be the center of attention anymore. She didn't want him looking at her the way he did. Something odd came into his eyes sometimes and made her want to get closer and run away all at the same time.

She thought he brushed his fingertips over her hair, but it was soft, and gone before she could decide if he'd touched her at all. She opened her eyes but didn't see him. The soft click of the French door gave him away as he left.

She wanted to call him back. The quiet night settled around her, along with the loneliness she carried with her always. She shifted, trying to get more comfortable, and attempted to forget about the tall, handsome man with an eight-­pack of abs and a smile that could send her to her knees.

She didn't need Blake, or anyone else.

A little voice inside called,
You're a liar
.

 

Chapter 10

T
he sun rose over the snowcapped Three Peaks. Blake stepped out on his porch. He stared up at the brightening sky and sucked in a deep breath of cold, crisp air, hoping it would help wake him. He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and pulled the leather jacket close to ward off the chill in the air. He went down the stairs and followed the path to the gravel road and across to the meadow, heading over to Dee and Bud's place for coffee and breakfast. With a rush in his steps, he closed the distance between his house and Bud's, anxious to see Gillian again.

After making sure Justin and Gillian were tucked into bed last night, he'd gone home and fallen into a deep sleep only a few hours ago. He tossed and turned, with dreams of Gillian filling his mind. A mix of images of her bruised and cut-­up backside, and others of her healthy and whole, burning in his arms and tangling up the sheets. He woke up hard and aching. Not even a cold shower and his hand dampened the hot need running through his veins. He couldn't remember a woman ever making him feel like this. The guilt poked at his gut. In her condition, he shouldn't be thinking about her this way. No matter what, he shouldn't be thinking about her this way. But being away from her tormented him with a tug and pull that he needed to answer. He didn't get it, but the compulsion to give in to the connection outweighed his common sense.

His head ordered him to go directly to the kitchen door like he always did. His heart took over for his brain yesterday, so he walked to the garage stairs and took them up two at a time, crossing the landing to Gillian's door and peeking in. Sound asleep, she lay on her stomach. Justin sat on the bed next to her, playing with a lock of her hair. He traced the ends across his cheek, back and forth.

Blake tapped his fingertip against the glass to get Justin's attention. He didn't want to scare the boy or wake Gillian. He opened the door quietly and stepped in. Gillian didn't stir from her deep sleep. Her breathing remained steady and even. Golden hair spread over her back and pillow like a field of wheat. Thick waves that begged him to grab a fistful and see how soft it felt sliding against his skin.

“Hey, buddy. What are you doing up so early?”

Justin leaned in closer to Gillian against a particularly bad cut with lots of stitches. His eyes filled with apprehension.

“Your sister could use some more sleep. Want to come with me and get something to eat?” Blake lifted his head and inhaled. “Smells like pancakes.”

Justin's eyes narrowed on him. The boy swept his gaze over Blake's tall frame, assessing him. Blake stayed at the end of the bed, giving him a chance to make up his mind if he trusted Blake and thought he'd be safe. Blake couldn't remember being that guarded at six years old. Most kids at that age thought everyone was a friend.

“We'll only be downstairs. If you want to come back up to Gillian, you can.” He gave Justin a reassuring smile.

Justin scooted to the edge of the bed. Blake turned his back, squatted to his level, and said over his shoulder, “Hop on. I'll give you a ride.”

Justin hesitated. Blake waited patiently. With slow deliberation, Justin leaned on Blake's back and grabbed hold of his shoulders.

Blake stood, and Justin wrapped his legs around his waist. Blake put his arm under the boy's butt to hold him in place and turned back to Gillian. She slept soundly, although he didn't know how she could be comfortable with the brace on her leg. She'd pushed the pillow out from under her head and lay on the mattress with her purple casted arm by her head. Probably easier to sleep flat.

“She's pretty when she isn't hurt.”

“She's beautiful no matter what,” Blake said.

“You like her,” Justin said from behind him.

“I like you both.”

Justin leaned forward, put his chin on Blake's shoulder, and looked down at his sister. “If she hadn't come home in time, he would have taken me from Mrs. Wicks and done something bad. She hid me lots of times. She saved me.”

“Yes, she did, buddy. She sure did.” She'd saved Justin when he was a baby, and she'd been saving him ever since.

The sun shined
through the window like a spotlight on her face. She peeked out one eye. Early, the sun wasn't very high. She should have pulled the roller shades down, but she'd loved staring out at all those stars. She could do without the sun, especially this morning, when her head pounded and the muscles in her back screamed in agony.

She pressed herself up on her elbows and hung her head between her shoulders, stretching the muscles. Then it hit her. Justin wasn't in bed with her. His sharp scream came from downstairs.

She rolled out of bed without any thought to her injuries and hobble-­ran for the stairs. She hopped down them on her good leg, each step another painful lightning bolt to her back, rushed into the kitchen, and stopped dead in her tracks. Unable to speak, she stared. Justin lay across Blake's strong arms. Blake brought Justin's belly to his mouth and pretended to eat him, making silly chomping noises and blowing zerberts. Justin screamed and laughed with such joy that it brought tears to her eyes. She'd never seen him so carefree and happy.

Dee stepped in front of her, blocking her from Justin's view. “Good morning. How'd you sleep?” The false cheer in her voice didn't match the deep concern in her eyes. Under her breath she said, “He's fine. Take a breath. Blake's just playing with him.”

Gillian's seized lungs let loose and filled with air. Her pounding heart stopped battering itself against her sore ribs and slowed. “I know. It's me. I overreacted. I heard him scream.” She took a deep breath to try to calm herself.

“That's it, dear. Now, would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Desperately. Cream or milk if you have it.”

“Sit down, and I'll get it. I'll bring you something to eat.”

It took Gillian a minute to let the pain settle and for her to accept its pounding presence, then ignore it the best she could. She walked over to the table, where Blake had deposited Justin into his chair. Justin held a mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream on top, a spot of it on his nose and a mustache above his lip. The silly smile he gave her made the last of her fear disappear.

“Fever check.” She leaned over and pressed her lips to his forehead.

“Blake already checked. He said I'm simmering.”

Her gaze shot to Blake. Surprised, she asked, “Did you kiss this boy?”

“So what if I did,” he said in defense.

“It's kind of sweet.” She crossed her arms over her chest. Blake kept his eyes on hers, but something about the way he held still told her he saw a lot more than her face. She waited for his eyes to dip to her cleavage, but they never did. Huh. She didn't know if the glimmers of interest she'd sensed in him were real, or just imagined. Or wishful thinking. She didn't want to be interested in him.

Liar, liar, your pants are on fire.
That inner voice stuck its tongue out at her.

“I'm a sweet guy. What can I say?”

“Oh, I don't think you're sweet at all.”

Actually, she was right about that. Abigail, his long-­ago ex, would agree. She had the scars from that fateful day when their fun had taken a turn toward disaster to prove it.

“Which makes you kissing him all the more sweet.”

“Then let's just say it's you bringing something good out in me.” Blake pushed thoughts of Abigail and that stupid dare out of his mind. He slid out a chair for her with his boot and waited for her to sit down with the coffee Dee handed her.

“Where's Grandpa?” The name kind of stuck on her tongue.

“He went down to check on the sick horse in the pasture. He'll be back shortly,” Dee explained, the soft smile on her face lighting her eyes. “Your grandfather is so happy to have you here. We both are.”

Blake leaned in close. Too close, but she didn't move away, so he didn't back up. He whispered, “I'm sorry I scared you this morning.”

“It's fine. What do you ­people do, have a contest with the sun to see who can get up first?” She yawned and tried to lean her head to the side, pressing her opposite shoulder down to work out a knot.

Blake laughed. “Not exactly. We have to get up early to feed the horses.”

“Shouldn't you be out doing that?”

Still trying to get him to back off. Not going to happen. “I'm spending the day with you. Bud and I have several men working here. They can take care of things today.”

She rolled her shoulders and made disgruntled faces, trying to stretch the muscles in her back. If she'd let him, and she wasn't so cut up, he'd get up and rub out the tight muscles. She wouldn't. And he didn't.

Hands off, man. Hands off.

Instead, he stood, walked into the kitchen, and took one of Dee's dish towels. He dampened it at the sink and popped it in the microwave. He set the time and waited for it to heat up. When the microwave dinged, he grabbed the warm, but not too hot, towel and carried it over to Gillian. She set down her mug. He leaned in close to her ear. She'd get used to him being close if he kept at it. “Lean over.” Her eyes narrowed with skepticism. “Trust me.”

He held back the smile when she cocked an eyebrow and met his gaze with a cold stare. She slowly leaned over, and he used one hand to pull up her shirt. He laid the warm towel on her back and pressed down on it to get the heat to work its way into her muscles. Her eyes closed, and she literally laid herself on the table. If she was a cat, she'd purr. Relief washed across her face and made her features go soft.

“A little trust goes a long way.” He let the humor show in his voice. “I'll heat it again when it cools off. It should help loosen up some of your muscles.”

“What do you want? Name your price,” she said from the tabletop.

Blake shook his head. “You're easy,” he teased.

She opened one eye and raised her eyebrow. “On second thought, you owe me. You burned my meds.”

All humor gone, he let the smile fall into a frown.

She reached out to touch his hand but pulled back at the last second. Too familiar. Not her style. She raised her head. “I'm sorry. I was just teasing. Really.”

“We'll get your meds today. Don't worry about it.” For the first time, he touched her, reaching out with his big hand to the side of her face. She flinched at the initial contact but relaxed, her gaze locked with his. Watching. Waiting to see what he'd do next. He gently pushed, guiding her back down to the table. “Relax. Let the heat work on your back.”

In an impossible attempt to distract himself from the woman studying him like an unidentified microbe under a microscope, he glanced over at Dee, who was watching them from the kitchen stove. She gave him a knowing smile that he refused to acknowledge in any way. She filled a plate for him, giving him extra bacon. Some kind of reward for taking care of Gillian. He didn't need a reward, he needed her to feel better. He hated seeing her in pain. It made his gut sour and his chest tight. Besides his family and the horses, no one had sparked this nurturing side in him. Gillian was good for him. She brought something out that no one else had seemed to find inside him. He liked feeling this way about her.

Does Gillian realize the kind of effect she has on me?

He shifted in his seat. She stiffened, then relaxed when he didn't do . . . whatever it was she thought he'd do to her. Nope. She still saw him as a possible threat. Well, he aimed to fix that. Immediately.

“Blake thinks you're beautiful,” Justin announced over a mouthful of chocolate chip pancakes.

Gillian's eyes flew open at Justin's announcement. She stared at him as he watched her.

“He can't keep anything to himself, can he?” Blake asked.

“No,” she confirmed. “He also repeats words he shouldn't, so watch your mouth.”

“You have to eat extra vegetables for each bad word,” Justin said.

“I found that out last night. She's tough,” Blake eyed Justin.

“On Mondays, she takes me to the ice cream place, and I get to have two scoops.”

“Tough and nice.” Blake caught the haunted look in Gillian's sad eyes and leaned down close to her ear. “Let me guess,” he whispered. “Ron was home on Monday nights, and you needed a place to hide out. Justin got ice cream, and you got a little peace.”

She nodded, sat up, and shook the cold towel off her back. Blake took it off her chair and went to heat it again. He came back with her plate filled with eggs, bacon, and pancakes. He put the hot towel on her back again and went to get his plate, while Dee joined them at the table.

Justin chatted about everything under the sun with his normal six-­year-­old enthusiasm. Blake watched Gillian mindlessly eat her food and drink her coffee. He learned something about her this morning. She was slow to wake up and didn't mind sitting around half naked. One hell of a pretty picture. One that morphed into something completely inappropriate in his mind.

“Blake?”

Her voice brought him back to the here and now. The image of her naked in his bed slipped away, but not the heat pooling in his groin. He shifted to get more comfortable. Fantasizing about her was one thing, but doing something about it crossed the line. He owed Bud better than that and would keep his promise to watch over her.

He followed her gaze out the window to Bud, in the corral with the sick horse. Bud tried to coax the horse to go to his food and eat, but every time he got close to the animal, the horse shied away and ran around the corral.

“What's he doing?”

“Trying to get the horse used to him. Old Boots won't eat well, and he won't let anyone get near him. We'd like to take care of him, but he's making it hard. We don't want to push him, because he's been sorely mistreated. Bud thought it best if we take it slow.”