The Winner Takes It All. Alison RobertsЧитать онлайн книгу.
all over it. She was injured. She was his soon-to-be ex-wife. Thinking of her as anything other than a patient would be…wrong.
Cullen checked the beans and the rice. He glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Time for your meds.”
“I’d rather not take them.” The back of the couch hid all but the top of her head. “They make me loopy.”
“Staying ahead of the pain is important.”
“I’m ahead of it.”
Not for long. Her voice sounded strained. He filled a glass with water and dispensed her pills. “This isn’t up for negotiation.”
She poked her head up. “Whatever you’re cooking smells so good.”
“Enchiladas.”
“One of my favorites.”
Changing the subject wasn’t like Sarah. She must not feel well. He carried the water and medicine to her. “Here you go.”
She stared at the pills as if they were poison. “Your patients must call you Dr. Hardnose.”
He handed her the pills. “They might, but not to my face. Well, except you.”
“I’m not your patient.” She shot him a chilly look, popped the pills into her mouth and drank the water. “Satisfied?”
“Very. It’s not often you do what you’re told.”
“I only took the pills because you made dinner.”
“Then it’s a good thing I didn’t tell you someone else made the meal.”
“Who?”
“Carly Porter.” He placed Sarah’s water glass on the coffee table. “She stopped by while you were sleeping.”
A thoughtful expression crossed Sarah’s face. “That sure is nice of Carly.”
Sarah’s voice sounded tight, almost on edge. A good thing she’d taken her pills. “Carly and her husband are good people. Jake’s the one who owns the brewpub.”
A corner of Sarah’s mouth curved upward in a lopsided smile. “Oh, you mentioned him earlier.”
The timer on the oven dinged.
“Dinner’s ready,” Cullen said. “You can eat on the couch.”
“I’ve been eating in bed. I’d rather sit at the table, if that’s okay?”
His stomach twisted. This would be their first meal together since she’d brought up divorce.
She touched her cast. “If you’d rather I eat here—”
“The table works.” He was being stupid. Just because the last time had ended badly didn’t mean this time would. Hell, he’d wanted to kiss her a few minutes ago. No matter how he looked at this situation, an epic fail seemed imminent. “Give me a sec.”
Cullen set the table. Utensils clattered against the plates. His hands shook. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him, but he felt clumsy, a way he wasn’t used to feeling.
He placed the hot casserole dish, bowls of rice and refried beans and a bottle of sparkling apple cider on the table. He left the six-pack of Wy’East Brewing Company’s Hogsback Ale, courtesy of Jake, in the refrigerator. Cullen needed his wits about him with Sarah here. “Dinner’s ready.”
He helped her up from the couch, conscious of her every movement and aware of each brush of his skin sparking against hers.
She squeezed his hand. “Thanks.”
A lump formed in his throat. He grumbled, “You’re welcome,” then escorted her to the table. He kept his arm around her in case she became light-headed—yeah, that was the reason, all right—pulled out a chair and helped her sit. His hand lingered on her back.
“Everything looks delicious,” she said.
Her lips sure did. What was he doing? Sarah had an excuse for acting loopy. Cullen didn’t. He looked away and dropped his hand to his side.
“I can’t believe someone made you dinner.” She sounded amazed.
He sat across from her, then dished up chicken enchiladas smothered in a green tomatillo sauce. “Carly and Jake did this for you, too.”
“No one’s ever done something like this for me.”
He dropped a spoonful of refried beans onto her plate and then his. “People are helpful in Hood Hamlet.”
She motioned to the serving spoon in his hand. “You included.”
Cullen added a scoop of the rice. “You’ll serve yourself soon enough.”
Sarah’s shoulders drooped as if someone had let the air out of her. “I’d make a big mess right now, and you’d have to clean up after me.”
That was what she’d done with the divorce. Left him to deal with it. He took a sip of the sparkling cider. The sweetness did nothing to alter the bitter taste in his mouth. Maybe a beer wasn’t such a bad idea. Just one. He never had any more than that.
“You’re smart for serving tonight,” she continued.
A smart man would never have allowed his heart to overrule logic so that he ended up marrying a total stranger in Las Vegas. “Just trying to be helpful.”
“I…appreciate it.”
As they ate, Cullen wondered if she did. She hadn’t appreciated what he’d done when they were together.
Bubbles rose in his glass, making him think of champagne. Marriage was like champagne bubbles, first rising in pairs, then groups of three, then individually. He was thankful he and Sarah had skipped the middle part by not having a baby right away. A divorce was bad enough without having to deal with a custody battle. “It’s a practical decision. I don’t have time for extra chores tonight. I have to work the graveyard shift at the hospital tomorrow night and need to get back into my routine.”
Maybe sleeping in his bed at home would give him a restful night of sleep. He hoped so.
She studied him over the rim of her glass. “Who will be my nursemaid?”
“I found the perfect babysitter.”
Sarah stuck her tongue out at him.
That was more like it. He grinned. “We could go with nanny if you prefer.”
She waved her cast in the air. “I bet this thing could do some damage.”
“To yourself most definitely.”
“Very funny.” She feigned annoyance, but laughter danced in her eyes. “So who’s stuck here with me first?”
“Leanne Thomas,” Cullen said. “I know her from OMSAR. She’s also a paramedic.”
“Sounds capable.”
“I’d trust her with my life. In fact, I have,” he admitted. “You’ll be in good hands.
“I’m in good hands now.”
He appreciated the words, but he’d fallen down on the job this afternoon. “I’m trying to do my best.”
“You are,” she agreed. “I’m not sure how I’ll ever repay you.”
“You don’t have to.” That was the truth. He didn’t want anything from her. Well, except to finalize their divorce. Soon…“I remember what it was like.”
Wrinkles formed on her forehead. “Remember what what was like?”
“To have a broken arm.”
She leaned over the table. “When did you break your arm?”
“I was eleven.”