Beach tomorrow, so I’m desperate. It’s either you or me, or…” Her head turned so that her gaze included Tanner.
Finn stood. It wasn’t that it bothered him she was looking farther afield. It was that it released him from looking at her anymore: her mouth, that skirt, those legs. So “See you later,” he said, and made for the exit.
Damn if Gram’s T-Bird wouldn’t start. He’d taken it instead of his SUV because its battery needed the workout, but now it
And if she didn’t, if she found her knight in Santa’s clothing within Hart’s bar, then Finn wouldn’t have to know anything about it.
There wasn’t a reason in the world he couldn’t make the less-than-a-mile home on foot. Lucky him, he was wearing his running shoes.
He took off at an easy jog. A turn or two and there weren’t a lot of streetlights to go by, but he continued at a decent pace. At the hospital, he’d been taught to move his head slightly from side to side to compensate for the loss of peripheral vision on his left. The first attempts at walking briskly or running outdoors had freaked him-in the same way as weird vibes could creep up on him while snorkeling. In the ocean, there was that foreboding awareness of great depth and darkness lurking somewhere ahead. Without one eye he would perceive a similar shadowy looming well to his left.
Picking up speed, he shoved the uneasiness away by congratulating himself on his escape from Bailey. Then a slow-cruising car approached him from the rear. It wouldn’t be…it couldn’t be…
He glanced over his right shoulder, groaned.
She must have spotted him. He increased his pace, but she accelerated to get even with him. Then her window rolled down. He kept his gaze focused ahead.
“Hey, Finn,” she called out.
He pretended deafness.
She tooted her horn.
And scared something out of the darkness on his left. He heard its rustle, but he didn’t see it-cat-until its path bisected the visual field of his remaining eye. Too late to avoid the tangle.
Too late to avoid the tumble.
He went down on his knees, hands, and elbows, hard. He kept the position for a few minutes, to catch his breath and to curse black cats, black shadows, blindness, Bailey.
“Finn!” Her high heels clattered on the sidewalk. “Are you okay?”
Yeah, but of course he had to accept her apologetic offer of a ride back to Gram’s-unless he wanted to look even more like a graceless idiot. Then he let her talk him into allowing her to play nurse.
Trailing him through Gram’s house toward the kitchen, she spared a single glance for the set of medieval armor with the wide gold bow tied around its chest that he’d propped up against a wall in the living room. There really was no sane way to explain it, so he didn’t bother.
First aid supplies had always resided in the narrow cupboard to the right of the sink. He settled into a kitchen chair, holding a paper towel against the worst wound on his left elbow to staunch the bleeding. When Bailey approached, a box of bandages in one hand and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide in the other, he drew back in his chair.
“I just remembered,” he said, eyeing the brown bottle with distaste. “You used to enjoy this kind of thing.”
She laughed. “
“They’re all gone now.” The ring on his left hand squeezed his finger. “And that was a long time ago.”
Her citrusy-flowery smell filled his head as she neared. He watched her saturate a cotton ball with the peroxide, and then she pushed his palm toward his shoulder and pulled the paper towel away from his elbow.
Finn focused on the kitchen faucet and waited for the first sting.
It didn’t come.
He glanced up at pseudo-Nurse Sullivan. She was staring at the wound on his arm, sticky with blood. A single tear ran down her cheek.
“Bailey?”
She blinked, then rubbed her face with the heel of her hand. “I’m okay.” Another tear spilled over.
“GND? What’s the matter?”
Shaking her head, she swiped at her cheek again, then under her nose. “Lost…” With a little cough, she cleared her throat. “Lost my clinical detachment for a moment, I guess.”
Finn frowned. “It’s not that bad. Really.”
Nodding, she sank to her dominatrix heels and made quick work of cleaning, then bandaging his elbow. Without looking at his face, she moved on to his hand, then his other elbow. His right palm, the least injured, she saved for last, dabbing it with peroxide on a clean cotton ball.
He stared at her bent head, bemused by her odd mood and uncharacteristic silence. She threw the used cotton onto the table but kept hold of his hand, studying it as if she was reading his fortune.
Weird, he thought, frowning again. “Bailey?”
She made a choked sound and pressed her face to his fingers. More tears.
“God, Bailey.” His pulse jacked up and he touched her hair with his free hand. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”
Her voice was thick. “Something happened to you.”
Now he felt even more like a graceless ass. “It’s just a little case of road rash.”
“You could have died, Finn.”
“Not even cl-”
“Not t-tonight. Then.”
Oh. She was crying about, thinking about, talking about, the assassination attempt.
Sometimes he wondered if maybe he should have died. Maybe it would have been easier than to live with the screwed-up mess the assassination attempt had made of his life and his future. At least it would have saved him from the damn agony of feeling Bailey’s hot tears and not knowing what the hell to do about them.
“But I’m okay,” he said. “I’m okay.”
Tears continued to drip between his fingers. Hating this helpless feeling, he pulled her up and onto his lap. She buried her face against his neck, whether for comfort or out of embarrassment, he didn’t know.
“Shhh,” he said, stroking her soft hair again. “I’m right here.”
Her shoulders continued to shake, and a sick sense of panic rose inside him. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her cry. She’d never been that kind of girl.
He cupped the back of her head, trying to curb his anxiety. “What can I do to make it better?”
“Nothing.” Her mouth moved against his wet skin. “I’m sorry, and I f-feel so d-dumb. I’m not usually sloppy. I’m tired, I g-guess. J-just really tired.”
“You’ve been working too hard,” he said, relief calming his heartbeat. He could fix
When she didn’t immediately respond, he promised more. “I’ll do that Santa gig and anything else you want from me at The Perfect Christmas.”
“What?” Her voice was still muffled against his shirt.
“I’ll help you out at the store. Whatever you need.”
Her head lifted. His nose touched her pink one. Her lashes were wet and spiky, and he thought he could execute an Acapulco cliff dive into the drenched blue of her eyes.
Her forefinger reached out to trace the outline of his eye patch. Her pretty mouth turned down. “You don’t want to do that.”
He wanted her to stop looking at him with something that looked suspiciously like pity. He pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger and adjusted her head so she was looking at him, and not at the stupid patch. “I offered, didn’t I? I’ll help you with The Perfect Christmas.”
It was as if the sun had come out. A smile broke over her face. “Oh Finn. Oh
