“I’m so sorry! Did you hurt your arm when you fell?”
He shrugged. “I might have jostled it a little when I was trying to catch a handhold but I managed to stay off it for the most part and land on my left side.”
“Please, just tell me Conan didn’t trip you or something to make you fall.”
He gave a rough laugh and she realized with some shock this was the first time she had heard him laugh. Smile, yes. Laugh, not until just this moment, when he was battered and bleeding and looking like something one of Conan’s feline nemeses would drag in.
He reached down to scratch the dog’s ears. “Not at all. He was off the leash about five meters ahead of me at the time I slipped. You should be very proud of him, actually. He’s a real hero.”
“Conan? My Conan?”
“If not for him, I probably would have slipped farther down the scree and gone off the cliff,” he answered. “I don’t know how he did it, as steep as that thing was, but he made it down the hill where I had fallen and practically dragged me back up, through the mud and the rocks and everything. With my stupid arm and shoulder, I’m not sure I could have climbed back up on my own.”
She shuddered at the picture he painted, which sounded far worse than anything she had been conjuring up in her imagination before they arrived home. Twenty feet! It was a wonder he didn’t have a couple dozen broken bones!
“I’m so glad you’re both okay!”
“I shouldn’t be,” he admitted. “It was luck, pure and simple. I should never have gone across that rock field. I could tell it wasn’t stable but I went anyway. I don’t blame you if you don’t trust me to take your dog again. But I have to tell you, if not for Conan, I’m not sure I would be here right now. The dog is amazing.”
Conan grinned at both of them with no trace of humility. She shook her head, fighting the urge to wrap her arms around her brave, wonderful dog and hold on tight.
“It was lucky you took him, then. And of course you can take him again. Anytime. Maybe he’s your guardian angel.”
Conan barked as if he agreed completely with that sentiment.
“Or at least helping him out,” Max said with a rueful smile.
“You’re so certain your guardian angel is a man?”
He made a face. “I haven’t really given it much thought. Most women I know would have knocked me to the ground before I could take a step across dangerous terrain in the first place. A preemptive strike, you know?”
“Sounds like you know some interesting women, Lieutenant Maxwell.”
“I had an...older relative who taught me most women are interesting if a man is wise enough to allow them room to be.”
She blinked. Now there was something Abigail might have said. She wouldn’t have expected the philosophy to be echoed by a completely, thoroughly masculine man like Harry Maxwell but she was beginning to think there was more to the helicopter pilot than she’d begun to guess at.
“We could stand out here in the hall having this interesting discussion but why don’t you come inside instead and let me help you clean up and put some medicine and bandages on those cuts on your face?”
As she might have predicted, he looked less than thrilled at the prospect. He even limped for the stairs and she felt terrible she had kept him standing even for these few moments.
“Thanks, but that’s not necessary. I can handle it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “One-handed?”
He paused on the bottom stair with a frustrated sigh. “There is that.”
“Come on, Max. I’m happy to do it.”
“I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“I had three rough-and-tumble older brothers and always seemed the permanently designated medic. I think I spent half my childhood bandaging some scrape or other. I’m not squeamish at the sight of blood and I have a fairly steady hand with a bottle of antiseptic. You could do worse, Lieutenant Maxwell.”
He studied her for a moment, then sighed again and she knew she had won when he stepped gingerly down from the bottom stairs.
“I’m sorry you have to do this. First your dog and now you. The inhabitants of Brambleberry House are determined to look out for me, aren’t you?”
Somebody has to do it, she almost said, but wisely held her tongue while Conan barked his own answer as Max followed her into her living room.
* * *
ANNA GALVEZ INTRIGUED him more every time he saw her.
Earlier in the grocery store she had worn that slim gray skirt and white blouse with her hair tucked away and had looked as neat and tidy as a row of newly sharpened pencils.
Tonight, as she led the way into her apartment he was entranced by her unrestrained hair as it shivered and gleamed under the overhead lights in a luscious cloud that reached past her shoulders.
She had on the same white blouse from earlier—or at least he thought it was the same one. But she had traded the skirt for a pair of jeans and she was barefoot except for a flirty pair of turquoise flip-flop slippers.
As she led him inside Abigail’s apartment, he caught sight of just a hint of pale coral toenail polish peeking through and he found the contrast of that with her slim brown feet enormously sexy.
If he were wise, he would turn right around and race up the stairs as fast as he could go with his now gimpy foot from the ankle he was certain he twisted in the fall.
The hard reality was he wouldn’t be going anywhere fast. He hesitated to take off his hiking boot for fear the whole ankle would balloon to the size of a basketball the moment he did. It had ached like crazy the whole way down the mountain and he had a feeling he’d only made it home because his SUV was an automatic and his right leg was fine to work the gas pedal and the brake.
Like it or not, he was stuck in this apartment with Anna for the time being. He could probably do a credible job of washing the worst of the dirt and tiny pieces of mountain from his face but he had a couple of scrapes on his left arm that would be impossible for him to reach very well while the right was still in the damn sling.
It was Anna or the clinic in town and after all the time he’d spent being poked and prodded by medical types over the last six months, Anna was definitely the lesser of two evils.
“Sit down,” she ordered in a drill-sergeant sort of voice.
He gave her a mocking salute but was grateful enough to take the weight off his ankle and the throbbing pain. He tried his level best not to wince as he eased onto her couch, feeling a hundred years old, like some kind of damn invalid in a nursing home.
She watched him out of those careful, miss-nothing eyes and he saw her mouth firm into a tight line. He suspected he wasn’t fooling her for a moment.
“I just have to gather up a few first-aid supplies and I’ll be right back,” she said.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he answered, which was the absolute truth.
Conan had disappeared into the kitchen—probably to find his Dog Chow, Max figured. If he’d been thinking straight, he should have stopped off and picked up the juiciest, meatiest steak he could find for the hero of the hour.
He leaned back against the sofa cushions and closed his eyes, ready for a little of the calm and peace he had always found in these rooms.
An elusive effort, he discovered, especially since the scent of Anna seemed to surround him here, sweet and sultry at the same time.
He allowed himself the tiny indulgence of savoring that delectable combination for only a moment before she bustled back with her arms loaded down by bandages and antiseptic.
“I don’t need all that. Do I really look that terrible?”
She gave him a sidelong look and for just a moment, he sensed something in her gaze that stunned him to the core, a thin thread of attraction that seemed to tug and curl between them.
She was the first one to look away, busying herself with the first-aid supplies. “You want the truth, you look like you just tangled with a mountain lion.”
He ordered his pulse to settle down and reminded himself of all the dozens of reasons there could be nothing between them. “Nope,” he answered, trying for a light tone. “Just the mountain.”
She smiled a little, then reached for the iodine. “Let’s take care of the cut on your face first and then I’ll check out your arm.”
“I can do the face. I just need a mirror for that. I, uh, would appreciate a little help with the arm, though.”
For a moment, she looked as if she wanted to argue and he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed when she finally reached for his arm.
Her fingers were deliciously warm on his skin. Sensation rippled from his fingertips to his shoulder and to his vast chagrin, his heartbeat accelerated with the same thick jolt of adrenaline that hit him just as his bird lifted into the air.
Anna was some seriously potent medicine. One touch and he completely forgot about all his other aches and pains.
She gripped his arm firmly with one hand while she used her other hand to dab antiseptic on the scrapes along his forearm. He welcomed the cold, bracing sting of the medicine to counterbalance her heat.
His sudden hunger was a normal response to a lovely woman, he knew. It had been just too long and she was just too pretty for him to sit here without any reaction to her soft curves and silky skin.
“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” she said after a moment.
Oh, you have no idea. Max choked down the words.
“Don’t worry about it,” he muttered instead.
“I mean it. You don’t have to be some kind of tough-guy, stoic soldier. If this stings or I’m not careful enough, just tell me to stop.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said gruffly, though it was a bald-faced lie. He couldn’t tell her just how badly he wanted to close his eyes and lean into the gentleness of her touch.
What the hell was wrong with him? He had been fussed and fretted over by soft, pretty nurses for the last six months and none of them had ever sparked this kind of reaction in him.
He tried to tell himself it was just a delayed reaction to the adrenaline buzz of his fall—a sort of spit-in-the-face-of-death response. But he wasn’t quite buying it.
Her sweep of hair brushed his skin as she bent over his arm and he wondered if she could see the goose bumps rising there.
She didn’t appear to notice as she reached for a tube of antibiotic cream and slathered it on with the same slow, careful movements she seemed to do everything.
“You have a choice,” she said after a moment.
“Do I?” he murmured.
“I can leave it like this or I can put bandages on the scrapes to protect them for a few days. It’s up to you. I would recommend the bandage to keep things clean but it’s your decision.”
He wanted to tell her to stop but after he had spent several extra weeks in the hospital from a bad infection, he knew he couldn’t afford to take any chances.
“Go ahead and wrap it. I might as well look like something out of a horror movie.”
She smiled. “Wise choice, Lieutenant.”
She pulled out gauze from her kit and wound it carefully around his arm. “If you need me to rewrap this anytime,” she said as she worked, “I’ve got plenty.”
“Right.”
He figured he’d rather gnaw off his arm than endure this again.
He caught a flicker of movement in the room. Grateful for any distraction, he shifted his gaze and found Conan watching him with what looked like a definite smirk in his eyes, as if he knew exactly how tough this was for Max.
He gave the dog a stern look. Thanks for the backup.
When she finished his arm, she stepped back. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take care of your face while you’re here and all the stuff is out?”
“No. Thanks anyway.”
Just the thought of her touching his face with those soft, competent fingers sent shivers rippling through him.
“Anywhere else on you I need to take care of?”
Though his mind instantly flashed a number of inappropriate thoughts, he clamped down on all of them.
“Nope. I’m good. Thanks for the patch job. I appreciate it.”
He rose and took only one step toward the door when her voice stopped him.
“You were limping when you came in and you still seem hesitant to put weight on your left foot. What’s that all about?”
He turned back warily. “Nothing. I twisted my ankle a little when I fell but it’s really fine. Just a little tender.”
“You twisted your ankle and then you hiked back down to the trailhead and drove all the way here? Why didn’t you say something? We need to put some ice on it.”
He had to be the world’s clumsiest idiot and right now he just needed to put a little space between himself and the enticing Anna Galvez before he did something he couldn’t take back.
“It’s really not a big deal. I can take care of it upstairs. You’ve done enough already.”
More than enough. Or at least more than I can handle!
“Oh, stop it! How can you possibly take care of it when you can’t use your shoulder?” she pointed out with implacable logic. “I’m willing to bet your foot is swollen enough that you won’t be able to even take off your boot by yourself, even if you didn’t have your shoulder to contend with as well.”
He knew she was right but he wasn’t willing to concede defeat, damn it. He’d figure out a way, even if he had to slice the boot off with a hacksaw.
With his eye firmly on his objective—escape—he took another few steps for the door. “You can stop worrying about me anytime now. I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can. But you don’t always have to,” she answered.
He had no response to that so he took a few more steps, thinking if he could only make it to the door, he was home free. She couldn’t physically restrain him, not even in his current pitiful condition.
But Abigail’s blasted dog had other plans. Before he could take another step, Conan magically appeared in front of him and planted his haunches between Max and the doorway, looking as if he had absolutely no intention of letting him leave the apartment.
He faced the dog down. “Move,” he ordered.
Conan simply made a sound low in his throat, not quite a growl but a definite challenge.
“You might as well come back,” Anna said, and he heard a thread of barely suppressed laughter in her voice. “Between the two of us, we’re here to make sure you take care of that ankle.”
He gave Anna a dark look. “Are you really prepared for the consequences of kidnapping an officer in the United States Army, ma’am?”
She laughed out loud at that. “You don’t scare me, Lieutenant.”
I should, he thought. I damn well should.
Once again, he felt foolish for being so churlish when she was only trying to help. He could spend an hour trying to wrestle the boot one-handed or he could let her help him and be done in five minutes.
He sighed. “I would appreciate it if you would help me take off the boot. I can handle the rest from there. I’ve got ice upstairs.”
“Of course. Come back and sit down.”
He ignored Conan’s look of triumph as he slowly returned to his spot on the sofa. Instead, he cursed his stupid arm and shoulder all over again.
If not for the crash and his subsequent injury, none of this would be happening. He would still be carrying out his duty, he would be flying, he would be in control of his world instead of here in Oregon wondering what the hell he was going to do with the rest of his life.
She knelt on
the floor and worked the laces of his hiking boot. Her delicious scent swirled around him again and he told himself the fact that his mouth was watering had more to do with missing dinner than anything else.
Conan seemed inordinately interested in the proceedings. The dog plopped down beside Anna, watching the whole thing out of curious eyes.
The dog was spooky. Max couldn’t think of another word for it. Though he felt slightly crazy for even contemplating the idea, he was quite certain Conan understood him perfectly well.
Throughout the day he had carried on a running commentary with him and Conan barked at all the proper places.
He was trying to distract himself, thinking about the dog. It wasn’t quite working. He still couldn’t seem to avoid noticing the curve of Anna’s jawline or the little frown of concentration on her forehead as she tried to ease his tight hiking boot over his swollen ankle.
He jerked his gaze away and his attention was suddenly caught by an open doorway and the contents lined up on shelves inside.
“You kept...” His voice trailed off and he realized he couldn’t just blurt out his surprise that she had kept his aunt’s extensive doll collection without revealing that he knew about the collection in the first place.
“Yes?”
He couldn’t seem to hang on to any thought at all when she gazed at him out of those big dark eyes.
“Sorry. I, um, was just thinking that it, uh, looks like you’ve kept the original woodwork in the house.”
“Actually, not in this room. There was some old water damage and rot issues in here and the trim was beyond saving. I was able to find a decent oak pattern that was a close imitation, though not exact.”
“You wouldn’t know it’s not original to the house.”
“I have an excellent carpenter.”
“You must have to keep him on retainer with a house of this size.”
She made a face, tugging a little harder on the stubborn boot. “Just about. It helps that he only lives a few houses down. And he’s marrying Julia Blair, the woman who lives on the second floor.”
Brambleberry House Page 24
