The Marshal's Mission. Anna Zogg
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Finally she gathered her wits. “Well, you should have made a bigger deal of it. When Toby gets hurt, he hollers until I promise him an extra piece of pie.”
Cole threw back his head and laughed. “I’ll have to remember that.”
“In the meantime...” She hastened into the house. “I have some salve that’ll help.”
He pulled on a sandy-colored curl above his forehead as though he were using that instead of his missing hat to salute her. “Much obliged.”
Where was that salve? She grabbed a jar off a shelf in the kitchen area. “It’d heal faster if you wash your hands before I put this on.”
He did as she bade, using a rough rectangle of soap and wiping his hands on a small towel.
After scooping out the creamy ointment with one finger, she cradled his hand and pulled it to her chest. Barbed wire had caught and torn the flesh in the meaty part of his thumb. It had to hurt. She got a better grip, preparing to apply the salve.
Suddenly realizing this wasn’t Toby, she jerked back. Cole didn’t comment about her abrupt movement. With his strong hand resting on hers, she rubbed the healing concoction deep into his skin.
They stood so close, she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. Her heart began to hammer. Did she imagine it or did his breath quicken too?
“There.” She coughed to clear her throat. Somehow she managed to turn and tighten the lid on the jar without meeting his gaze. Or breaking anything.
“Ow!” His sudden yell made her jump.
She spun. “What’s wrong?”
Grinning, he held up his hand. “You said I might get an extra piece of pie if I hollered. Better late than never?”
Lenora grabbed the towel he’d used and flung the balled-up material at him.
Catching it, he merely laughed, the sound somehow making his blue eyes deepen in color. She lost the war to keep from grinning back at him.
It felt like forever to say something. Finally she found her tongue. “Break time’s over. Get back to work, mister.”
“Anything you say, Lenora.”
She sucked in a slow breath, pleased to hear him call her by name. The way he drawled out the second syllable, like he was caressing the word...
She was the first to look away.
“Thanks for fixing me up.”
After he stepped onto the porch, she called, “Leave your glove, and I’ll tend to it directly.”
By the time she put the salve away, he’d repacked all the contents of her sewing basket. It sat by her rocking chair. Cole’s glove rested on the arm.
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