She reached back to finger the bump on her crown and was hardly surprised to find it quite as large as she remembered. If that was true, then everything else she remembered might also be true. It seemed hard to believe that Wyatt had sat there, in the middle of the night, holding her hand and talking to her without any of their usual clashing.
She looked over at her bedside clock. Eleven o’clock! At first tentatively, then with growing confidence, she slid her legs from under the high-piled sheets and blankets and stood upright.
Naked, she padded slowly into the bathroom and for the first time since her ordeal she got a good look at herself. ‘My God!’ she muttered at the reflected image of smudged make-up and tangled hair.
Her arms and legs felt tender, as if the skin had been rubbed against something rough. Justine grinned at herself in the mirror. What had Wyatt used to chafe her? she wondered. Certainly something much rougher than the blanket she remembered.
She looked longingly at the shower stall, wondering if her current feeling of well-being was only temporary.
Did she dare risk the shower she so desired? Another look at her hair made the decision irrelevant. She didn’t dare not risk it.
Moments later she was revelling in the smell of shampoo and the gentle laving of warm water over her body. It would be wonderful, she thought, to just lie down on the floor of the shower and stay there until the hot water ran out.
A brisk knock at the bathroom door interrupted that reverie, and Justine returned to normal and the sound of Wyatt’s deep voice.
‘Justine! Are you all right in there?’ There was concern in his voice, and she felt herself go even warmer at the thought of it. Maybe he really had said he loved her.
‘I’m fine,’ she called. ‘I’m just taking a shower.’
His next words were louder, and she realised he’d opened the bathroom door and was in there with her. And angry.
‘Are you right out of your tree? My God, woman! You can’t just hop out of a sickbed and ... and take a bloody shower. Suppose you had a relapse and fell, or something.’
‘I feel fine.’ And she did, too. More than fine, in fact, she felt deliciously clean, and warm and right with the world.
‘I’ve brought you up some warm soup.’ No anger now; his voice was soft, gentle, almost paternal.
Justine giggled. Warm soup! How sick did he think she was? ‘I don’t want any warm soup,’ she replied through the pebble-glass screen. ‘I’m hungry.’
There was a silence, then, ‘Well what do you want?’
‘Hang on a minute and I’ll think about it while I wash my hair,’ she replied. He answered, but she was already under the plunging spray, gently sudsing in shampoo and trying to avoid the bump on her head as she massaged her scalp.
When she finally emerged and could hear again, there was silence from outside the shower stall. She had to call out, ‘Wyatt?’ before he replied.
‘Of course I’m still here. Do you think I’d dare leave you alone in here?’
‘Well, you’re going to have to in a minute. I’m nearly done,’ she said.
‘You mean you don’t want me to wash your back?’ There was a mild chuckle in the question; he was pulling her leg, she thought. And wondered what he’d do if she said yes.
‘I wouldn’t mind,’ she whispered, as much to herself as anything else. But he heard; she knew it by the sharply indrawn breath.
Then: ‘I ... don’t think I’d better. Look, will you hurry up and get out of there; I’m worried about you.’
‘Spoilsport!’ She didn’t try to subdue that comment. He was a spoilsport. Why couldn’t he stop being so serious and just do as she asked?
‘I’m not a spoilsport,’ he replied. ‘I just don’t want to start anything I haven’t got time to finish. Peter and Sue are waiting to see you, and they won’t wait for ever.’
‘Oh, goody!’ she cried. ‘I like Peter and Sue, they’re nice.’
Wyatt’s oath was muffled in the motion as he suddenly slammed open the shower stall door and bodily lifted her out, oblivious to the water that cascaded over him in the process.
‘Stupid woman!’ he muttered. ‘I knew it; you’re still in shock.’ And before she could protest he had lifted her in his arms, carried her back to the bed and was gently but firmly towelling her dry.
‘I’m all right,’ she complained peevishly. Wyatt ignored her until he had her sitting up and well tucked under the blankets.
‘Now don’t you move,’ he snapped in tones that denied any argument. ‘Dammit, Justine, you worry me. Now you’re going to sit there and eat this soup if I have to pour it down you!’
She resisted him for .the first few bites, but as the warmth and nourishment settled into her stomach, some of her hysteria faded. Soon she was much calmer, indeed almost shy after her earlier exuberance. She tried to tell him, but he shook his finger at her and demanded she finish the soup first.
‘I’m sorry,’ she was finally allowed to say. ‘I guess I was getting a little silly?’
‘A lot silly.’ His face was deadpan sober, but his eyes laughed at her. Nice eyes, gentle, comforting eyes. ‘It comes from too much exercise on an empty stomach.’
Justine looked away shyly, but he reached out and gently turned her head back. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that you’d phoned last week when your car broke down?’
‘You didn’t ask,’ she lied. And then, ‘But how did you know?’
He grinned. ‘It was just one of the things that came out when Gloria was bidding me a fond farewell. I suppose you want to know what she was doing in my suite at that time of night?’
‘Not really,’ she said, lying again and even more strongly this time. Then, suddenly, she realised it wasn’t a lie. Whatever the reason, she knew it wouldn’t matter and never had.
‘That’s good,’ he replied, ‘because I honestly don’t know either. I know where I was — downstairs waiting for you.’
Justine once again had that ridiculous mental picture of Wyatt waiting on the steps like a distraught parent. ‘You weren’t,’ she chuckled.
‘I damned well was! I’m beginning to think I’ve been waiting for you all my life,’ he said, and his voice was tender as he reached up to run his fingers along her cheek.
‘Well, considering how I look at the moment, that has to be a compliment,’ Justine smiled. ‘Now that I’ve finished the soup, do you suppose it would be all right for me to dry my hair and get some clothes on?’
‘Definitely not! The doctor said you were to stay in bed until he came for another check on you.’
‘Well, he’s not going to see me looking like this,’ Justine replied adamantly. ‘Lord, he’d have me in bed for a week!’
Wyatt’s reply was to bring her a huge towel from the bathroom and her hairbrush and comb. ‘Right, sit up here and I’ll do your hair for you,’ he said. ‘And no arguments. You’ll stay in that bed until the doctor comes if I have to come in with you to make sure of it.’
He dried her hair gently, considerate of the lump on her crown, then his skilled fingers moved softly through it, sorting and sifting out the tangles much more gently than she could have done it herself. Justine closed her eyes and let herself relax completely, revelling in his touch.
‘You’re in the wrong business,’ she sighed. ‘You should have been a hairdresser.’
Wyatt chuckled. ‘Well, I might consider it ... provided the pay is right.’ And he stopped brushing to run his fingers in a sensual track down her cheek and neck.
Justine shivered, but it wasn’t the shiver of being cold. If anything she was too warm. And getting warmer, she found as his lips followed the path of his fingers.
‘Don’t you want to know my price?’ he whispered, gently turning her so that his lips could reach her mouth.
‘I’m not sure; I doubt if I’d be able to afford it,’ she whispered when he finally stopped kissing her.
‘Of course you will,’ he breathed. ‘You’re going to marry a rich man, a
ren’t you?’
‘Am I?’ The question was hardly more than a sigh as the covers slipped from her when he turned her completely into his arms.
‘Just as soon as I can arrange it,’ he said. ‘I’ve waited far too long already, my love. ‘
‘So have I,’ she whispered into his waiting lips. ‘Oh, Wyatt, so have I!’
#
About the Author
Victoria Gordon is the pseudonym and muse for Canadian/Australian author
Gordon Aalborg’s more than twenty contemporary romances.
As himself, he is the author of the western romance The Horse Tamer’s Challenge (2009) and the Tasmanian-oriented suspense thrillers The Specialist (2004)and Dining with Devils (2009)
as well as the Australian feral cat survival epic Cat Tracks.
Born in Canada, Aalborg spent half his life in Australia, mostly in Tasmania, and now lives
on Vancouver Island, in Canada, with his wife, the mystery and romance author Denise Dietz.
More on www.gordonaalborg.com.
THE BOOKS
As Victoria Gordon
Wolf in Tiger’s Stripes (2010)
Finding Bess (2004)
Beguiled and Bedazzled (1996)
An Irresistible Flirtation (1995)
A Magical Affair (1994)
Gift-Wrapped (1993)
A Taxing Affair (1993)
Love Thy Neighbour (1990)
Arafura Pirate (1989)
Forest Fever (1986)
Cyclone Season (1985)
Age of Consent (1985)
Bushranger's Mountain (1985)
Battle of Wills (1982)
Dinner At Wyatt's (1982)
Blind Man's Buff (1982)
Stag At Bay (1982)
Dream House (1981)
Always The Boss (1981)
The Everywhere Man (1981)
Wolf At The Door (1981)
The Sugar Dragon (1980)
as Gordon Aalborg
Cat Tracks (Hyland House: Melbourne: 1981)
(Delphi Books: U.S. edition: 2002)
The Specialist (Five Star Mysteries: 2004)
Dining with Devils (Five Star Mysteries: 2009)
The Horse Tamer’s Challenge (Five Star Expressions: 2009)
Dinner at Wyatt's Page 18
