“You okay?” asked her brother from the other end of the line.
“Perfect.”
“How’s the arm?”
“Couple of stitches. No big deal.”
Zach frowned, and she waggled her finger at him to warn him off.
“Good to hear,” said Travis. “I guess you’re not coming home tonight.”
Abigail glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was nearly ten. “Tomorrow,” she told her brother.
“I can send someone for the truck.”
“Not necessary. I can drive it home in the morning.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” With the topical anesthetic wearing off, her arm was beginning to throb, but it would take more than that for her to go into damsel-in-distress mode. “Sorry if Zach exaggerated,” she told Travis.
“It was good to get the information.”
“I would have called you myself,” she said, more for Zach’s benefit than hers.
“He was just being neighborly.”
“Right.” If Travis had any idea just how neighborly Zach had been with her in the past, this would be an entirely different conversation.
“You sure you’re okay?” Travis asked.
“Perfect. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
“Bye, Abby.”
She pressed the end button with her thumb. “Why did you do that?” she asked Zach.
“I thought it would be one less thing for you to worry about.” His gaze was steady, sincere.
“You weren’t worried he was still ticked off at you?”
Zach shook his head. “You said it yourself. It was an exemption. That rule applies to everyone. And your brother doesn’t know you helped me.” Zach paused, his expression inscrutable. “Travis thinks he won our last fight, and I went away.”
She thought about taking Zach to task again for making her lie to her family, but she honestly didn’t have the energy. The throbbing in her arm was growing worse. She wished she’d said yes to the painkillers the medic offered. “Travis thought you were being neighborly.”
“I am. How’s your arm?”
“It’s fine.” She set the phone down on an end table, resisting the urge to cradle her injury. She hoped it didn’t keep her awake tonight.
“I won’t think any less of you because you feel pain, you know.”
“I know that.”
“Good. Then let’s try that again. Abby, how’s your arm?”
“It’s sore,” she admitted, tossing back her damp hair and raising her chin. “Can we move on now?”
He gave what looked like a reluctant smile. “Yeah. We can move on. Shot of whiskey, cowboy?”
“Sure. Why not.”
He rose smoothly to his feet. “I’ve got a thirty-year-old Glenlivet.” He opened a cupboard in the small kitchen alcove. “That ought to be in keeping with the theme of our surroundings.”
It sounded good to Abigail. She hoped he made it a double.
“On the rocks?” he asked, setting two short, crystal glasses on the countertop.
“Please.”
The ice cubes clinked, and the cork made a hollow popping sound as he pulled it out of the bottle. She watched as he poured the amber liquid over the small ice cubes. It looked like at least a double. Good. That would help her sleep.
He lifted both glasses and turned. “Do you think it would compromise beer sales if we were to offer scotch whiskey at the restaurant?”
“I think most customers would like to have the choice,” she answered.
“Me, too.” He handed her one of the glasses then sat back down in the armchair. “I liked your idea about flagons of ale. I think we could do a lot with a historic theme.” He swirled his glass and inhaled appreciatively. Then he took a first sip.
Abigail followed suit. The liquid burned her throat, but in a good way, and she appreciated the warmth that radiated out into her bloodstream. She took a second sip. This was going to feel very good on her arm.
“Alex has always been a bit of a scotch aficionado,” Zach continued. “He got me into it, too. There’s no reason why we couldn’t make that a specialty, maybe do a bit of recon through Scotland, check out some of the lesser- known distilleries, the rarer brands.”
Abigail found herself nodding. What a fantastic job that would be. And what a fun addition to the restaurant. She took another sip. It had taken her a while to develop a taste for scotch, but now that she had, she found it a very satisfying and civilized beverage.
“If you feel up to it tomorrow, will you help me hunt through the upper floors?”
“I have to get back to the ranch.” Though, at the moment, driving the stick shift didn’t sound very appealing.
“A hundred different people can drive the truck to the ranch,” said Zach. “You’re the only one who has a vision for my restaurant.”
Though she knew he was only being kind, her heart warmed at the compliment. She did have a vision for his restaurant. At least, she had a vision that she liked. There was no way to know if anyone else would like it. Staying definitely sounded more appealing than going.
Then again, staying anywhere lately sounded more appealing to her than going home to the ranch. She didn’t know whether she’d become spoiled or lazy. But she needed to get past that.
“I really have to go home,” she told him, knowing there was a trace of apology in her tone.
“Let’s play it by ear.” He swirled his drink.
Good enough.
She knew she wasn’t going to change her mind, but she could always tell him that in the morning.
She lifted her glass to her lips and realized she’d emptied it.
“Went down good?” he asked.
“Too good,” she acknowledged.
“Refill?”
She shook her head. She was already pleasantly woozy, and more than a little tired.
“You want to lie down?”
“I should try to sleep,” she admitted, coming to her feet. “Down the hall?” she asked, remembering there were a couple of smaller bedrooms between the suite and the back staircase.
He rose with her. “Take my bed.”
“Oh, no, no, no.” She shook her head.
“Give me a break. I mean you should sleep in it alone. You’ve got the bathroom here, and it’s comfortable-”
“I’ll be fine anywhere. I’ve slept beside campfires and in line shacks half my life.”
He moved toward her. “Good for you. But not when you’re hurt. And not on my watch.”
“I’m not made of spun glass, Zach.”
“Really? Could have fooled me, cowboy.” His arm encircled her shoulder. “What with all your pouting, impatience and temper tantrums.”
“Stop mocking me.”
He urged her away from the couch, while Ozzy settled himself in the warm spot she’d left behind. “Humor me. Please. I’ll feel like a cad if I send you to a cold bedroom down the hall while I snuggle in here.”
She couldn’t help chuckling. “Snuggle?”
Once he had her walking, he steered her to the bed. “Yes. I want you to snuggle.” He pulled back the covers.
“Fine,” she reluctantly agreed. She was here. She was tired. She was sore. If he was going to insist, she’d bloody well sleep in his bed.
