Hovering at the door, he held a crumpled sheet in front of his private area like a shield, which didn’t hide much from her view. His wide shoulders and muscular arms, lightly furred chest, and well-built, nicely shaped legs drew her gaze like a moth to the proverbial flame. She couldn’t drag her eyes away.
Slowly, her mind replayed his words and she realized what he was about. He’d been forced to hide from Wanda. The fact that he chose to hide in her room gave her both a gleeful thrill and a painfully embarrassed twinge.
Knowing she should say something, she cleared her throat and finally croaked, “Oh…do you think she saw you?”
He glanced back toward the door and shook his head. “No, I made sure of that.”
She managed to move her head in a nod. “Oh, good.”
Then, they were back to silence, both quickly averting their eyes and looking anywhere in the room but at one another. She snuck a peek at him again, noticing his wildly tousled hair and his contrite expression, before once again redirecting her view.
Dwight cleared his throat, about to say something, when suddenly Mary was hit out of nowhere with an attack of the dreaded morning sickness.
“Ohhhh,” she moaned, tossing back the quilt and scrambling out of bed. She made it to the washbasin just in time, her stomach revolting against what little it had left from last evening’s ice cream. When the spasm finally passed, she reached down to grasp the pitcher on the bottom level of the wash stand, but found Dwight’s hand already there.
Her eyes flew open as her face and neck flamed to see him so near. He reached for a wash rag hanging on the stand, and he drenched it in the clean water from the pitcher before wringing it out and gently began to wipe her face.
She closed her eyes again, never having felt such complete humiliation in her life. Oh, why did this happen now, with Dwight here to witness my shame?
“This happens every morning, right?” Dwight’s voice was soft, his breath warm and so close to her ear she shivered in response.
Without opening her eyes, she nodded.
He continued his ministrations, turning her toward him for easier access. “Nausea is the worst feeling,” he sympathized. “I remember Mama getting sick like that when she was expecting the twins. I was eleven, and I felt so sorry for her,” he continued quietly. “I wished I could do something to help, but there wasn’t much I could do. I used to hold her hair back for her while she…well,” he paused. “Do you need to sit down?”
Mary swallowed and shook her head, managing to mumble, “No, but…I’d like to rinse my mouth…”
Dwight quickly filled a glass with water and handed it to her.
Once she’d taken care of that, she began to feel human again and turned to shyly meet his concerned focus. “I’m all right now…th…thank you, Dwight.”
Then came that smile, with that dimple winking at her. “You’re welcome, Mary.”
Their eyes held and Mary’s heart thumped hard within her chest. Her skin tingled with awareness from her scalp all the way down to her toes. Heat and a delicious, male scent emanated from him and it took everything she had not to sway toward him with a sudden longing to feel his arms close around her—and to press herself against that bare chest. Oh, for the love of pie, does he know what he’s doing to me? Standing here nearly in the raw and looking at me like he loves me?
Suddenly, he cleared his throat and shook his head as he backed off a step and said brightly, “Um… I’ll just get some clean clothes on and be out of your way.”
She watched as he walked over and opened the wardrobe, removing the items he needed. Making her way back to the bed, she covered herself with the quilt and stared at a picture on the wall while he dressed.
When he was finished, he walked to the door of the room.
“See you downstairs, Mary,” he offered cheerfully.
She looked over in time to see him grin and wave before the door closed.
Good heavens, what a way to start the morning!
Chapter 9
T wo days later, Dwight walked into David Mincer’s office with butterflies in his stomach and his palms a bit damp as he reached to shake hands with the older man.
Although Doc had apparently spoken to the attorney at length about Dwight possibly working for him, Dwight had not yet met him as the man had been called out of town unexpectedly overnight.
“Attorney Mincer, I’m Dwight Christiansen. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
David Mincer, a big boned man with blond hair combed neatly to the side, a square jaw, and sharp hazel eyes, took Dwight’s hand with a firm grip as his wide mouth curled in a friendly, relaxed grin.
“Likewise, son. Sit down, let’s chat a while,” he added, sweeping a hand toward one of the chairs in front of his desk as he headed around behind it to resume sitting in his own swivel chair.
Dwight settled into one of the client chairs, crossed one booted foot over a knee, and tried his best to keep from nervously drumming his fingers on his leg. He had the feeling that this interview…if you could call it that…would be the catalyst of a major turning point in his life, and he didn’t want to stick his foot in his mouth and mess it up.
The man behind the desk grasped a coin from the desktop and leaned back, the old, worn chair protesting with a loud squeak as he made eye
