Rescued By Mr. Wrong. Cynthia ThomasonЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      HE ALMOST DROPPED the spatula he was using to flip the bacon. Without looking at Carrie, he said, “You want me to help you take a shower?”

      Her laughter was infectious and at the same time intimidating. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”

      He grunted under his breath. “Take it from someone who knows a bit about words, little girl. You should watch what you say to avoid finding yourself in a heap of trouble.”

      “Quit calling me little girl and princess and all those other demeaning names.”

      He scrambled three eggs. “Sorry. You’re right.”

      “Why do you know so much about words? Do you do crossword puzzles?”

      “Never. My interest goes beyond knowing what q words don’t have a u following them.”

      “So, you’re a writer?”

      “I write a bit.” She was curious this morning, and he was just as determined to keep his anonymity. Once a person realized who he was, who he had been, the questions began, and so did the reliving. Unless he was writing, Keegan had no interest in remembering his past.

      She shrugged, accepting his succinct answers. “About the shower, I meant what I said. I certainly need help. You can get me into the bathroom, turn on the water, lay out some clean clothes and then leave. Oh, and maybe put a plastic bag over this soft cast.”

      He turned the bacon once more. Concentrating on cooking was not as simple as it had been a minute ago. Maybe he’d allowed his mind to wander to inappropriate places. “I can do that,” he said.

      He brought a plate to the table and escorted her to a chair. “Toast is coming up.”

      “This looks great.” She took the paper towel he’d left by her place mat and settled it on her lap. “Where did you learn to cook?”

      “You call this cooking? I call it survival training. Some of the places I lived, I’d have to prepare a meal and eat it before the insects could carry it off the plate.”

      “You make it sound like you lived somewhere in the outback.”

      Close. Though the outback would have been easier. He went to get her toast, and brought his plate to the table. He took the only other chair available and sat across from her. The third chair, the one his grandmother and grandfather had used when he visited, was still sitting by Carrie’s bed. She looked refreshed this morning, like maybe the pain had subsided and she could make a decision about her immediate future. But the bandage on her swollen forehead was surrounded by a sickening purplish color which he knew must be tender to the touch.

      “How are you feeling?” he asked after they’d both consumed most of their breakfasts.

      “Pretty good. I slept well, but that’s because I had the bed. Tonight we’ll switch. I don’t want to take up your bed when you need it. I’ll be fine on the couch.”

      Tonight? He stared at the top of her head. Had that been a slip of the tongue or was she planning to stay another night? And another? He thought she’d be gone by this afternoon. Well, okay. He could deal with one more night if he had to. Heaven knew, he’d dealt with worse situations than this. But what did she think would change after the second night? She’d suddenly be cured?

      After breakfast he helped her into the bathroom, lowered her to the closed toilet lid and set out a washcloth and towel. He then brought a large black plastic bag which he used to wrap her leg from her foot to her knee and secured it with duct tape. “That should work.”

      “Where did you put my bag?”

      “In the bedroom.”

      “Okay. Would you pick out some clean clothes for me? My shampoo and conditioner is in a zippered case on the right side of the suitcase.”

      “What clothes do you want?”

      “I don’t care. Anything is fine.”

      “Be right back.” He went into the bedroom, transferred the suitcase to the bed and opened it. A pleasant scent wafted up to his nostrils, and he resisted the urge to see where the floral fragrance originated. Not your business, Breen, he told himself. He picked out a pair of sweatpants, a shirt and some underwear, and went back to the bathroom.

      Carrie gave him a strange, almost critical glare when she saw his choices.

      “You told me to pick something,” he said. “Do you have a problem with this stuff?”

      “Not with the sweatpants. The boot will fit around the ankle with no problem, but...” She held up a jersey knit shirt that had been embellished with silver beads. She’d brought it along in case her family wanted to go out to dinner. “Are we going someplace fancy tonight?”

      “Which is why I asked what you wanted,” he said. “I just grabbed the first things I saw.”

      “I understand. Just bring me a simple T-shirt. They are rolled up at the bottom of the case.”

      He reached for a small bundle, held it up and wished he hadn’t. “Your underwear?” The miniscule thing hardly seemed to fit its description. Keegan was not comfortable around lace, especially when there was such a small amount of it connecting two triangles of nylon.

      “Well, yes, but I wear that when I want to achieve the three f’s.”

      “Which are?”

      “Feminine, fancy and fun. I don’t think this situation applies.”

      Darned right. Keegan would have felt better holding up a cotton brief he could have used as the jib sail on his boat. “I’ll put it back.”

      “Never mind. It will do.” She waved her hand to dismiss him. “If you’ll just bring another shirt, I’ll manage.”

      He set the bottles of shampoo and conditioner in the shower, brought a different shirt for her and left. As he picked up the breakfast dishes, all he could think about were those tantalizing scraps of lace.

      She came out of the bathroom a short while later wearing the sweatpants and the green T-shirt which said Save a Tree, I Value My Job. Keegan smiled at the shirt. “I guess you really are a tree hugger.”

      “I like things that grow and bloom and change with the seasons. Always have. I guess I believe that if people are close to nature, they can change, too.”

      “Is there a human person in your life you love as much as you love trees?”

      “A few,” she said. “But overall, I find it much easier and more comfortable to cultivate relationships with nature, cultivate being the definitive word. Trees adapt to their environment. Too many people don’t even bother trying. They settle into lives of stagnation.”

      Keegan cringed inside. He’d been basically living a stagnant life for over a year, and he’d been fine with it. He wondered how her job choice fit in with her illness. Keegan didn’t know a whole lot about asthma, but he did know it was not curable. Once you had asthma, you had it forever. “So how do you manage your asthma out in the wilderness?” he asked her.

      She sat on the sofa and patted the damp bandage on her forehead. He reminded himself to change the dressing for her.

      “With medications and common sense. Asthma can be controlled if a person is aware of their triggers.”

      “And what are your triggers?”