His Proposal, Their Forever. Melissa McClone
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morning with her, but she had a backbone and strength. She had to be hurting badly to admit she couldn’t drive.
Bailey sat without being told. That worried him. She leaned her head against the wall. That concerned him more.
He walked toward her. Her face looked pale compared to earlier, her eyes sunken. “This isn’t only about your foot. You don’t feel well.”
“My fault.”
Her reply surprised him as much as her admitting she couldn’t drive herself.
“I haven’t eaten,” she added.
“Since breakfast?”
“Um...since lunch yesterday.”
“You haven’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. Why not?”
“When I get into a painting I lose track of time. That’s what happened yesterday. I don’t think I went to bed until two. And then my grandma called me early this morning.”
“I’ve done that myself when I’m working on a new design. I’ll drive you home in your car. One of the crew can pick me up.”
“No, you don’t have to.”
Take the out. Walk away. That was the smart thing to do. Except she looked as if she might pass out. “I’m taking you home now. You need to eat. Sleep.”
“And shower.”
Justin imagined how she would look naked with water dripping from her hair and down her skin. He tugged at his collar. Getting a little warm in here. Time to turn off the video in his mind. A full view of her strange outfit would do the trick. His gaze ran the length of her. “So this isn’t your normal style?”
Bailey framed her face with her hands. “What? You don’t like the psychotic nutcase look?”
“I’ve never been a big fan of nutcases or clowns.”
“Me, either. I’m glad there aren’t any fun-house mirrors around. I’d scare myself.”
“You don’t scare me.” He hadn’t meant to flirt with her. Maybe she didn’t notice. “I’ll help you to your car, then come back for your artwork.”
Her wary look changed to resignation. “I can carry a painting.”
“It would be easier if I carry you.”
Bailey might be on the fashion police’s Most Wanted List, but if he got to carry her out of the inn, this day would rank up there with a Seattle Seahawks’ Super Bowl win.
“What do you say?” he asked.
So much for carrying Bailey.
Outside the inn, Justin adjusted his grip on her framed painting. Plastic wrap crinkled beneath his fingertips. He could tell this piece meant more to her than the others, so he would be extra careful. But the woman herself...
He should have known better than to get worked up over her.
Passionate, yes, but stubborn to the nth degree.
He’d offered to carry Bailey to the car, then go back for the artwork. She hadn’t wanted to do that. He’d then suggested getting her car and picking her up in front of the inn. She’d said no again. Mules had more sense than Bailey Cole.
She moved at a snail-pace wobble, her steps unsteady on the wet sidewalk. Any second, she might go down and hit the concrete. She would probably want him to let her fall than risk damaging her art.
She might be one of the most annoying women he’d ever met, but she worried him. “You okay?”
Bailey shot Justin a glare, one he’d become familiar over the past few hours. Her lips should thin in three...two...one...
And they disappeared. A line of chalk was thicker than her mouth. As easy to read as the Sunday comics. Too bad her lone-wolf act didn’t make her curves less appealing.
“I told you.” Her know-it-all voice grated on his back teeth. “I’m fine.”
Sure she was. And he had complete control of the Broughton Inn project. What a pair they were. Well, a pair for however long this situation took to get resolved.
He supported the canvas between his far arm and body, in case she needed help. “You’re back to looking like you’re going to fall over.”
“You have bigger things to worry about than me.”
True, but he needed to get rid of her before he could deal with the rest of the mess. “Until I get you home, you’re my biggest concern.”
“It won’t be for much longer. Five-minute drive, max. I’ll be home long before I come close to losing it.”
Whoa. His gaze ran the length of her. Maybe he hadn’t figured her out. “Did you just admit you’re on the verge of a meltdown?”
She didn’t shrug or shake her head. “Maybe.”
That was more than he thought she’d admit. Bailey Cole had ruined his day, but given her injury, she was a trooper—make that a general—who had defeated him. He couldn’t wait for a rematch and to come out on top. Still Justin had a strange desire to comfort her, a feeling not only due to her killer curves.
She shortened her stride again. “If you don’t mind adding a couple of minutes onto the drive to my house, I’d be grateful if you swung by the Burger Boat.”
“They sell burgers on a boat?” he asked.
“Nope. Local fast food place. On land, not water. They have a drive-through, so we won’t have to get out of the car. Not that I could.” She glanced at her foot with a want-to-start-the-day-over look. “But it’s past lunchtime. I’m starving and my cupboards are bare.”
Her words reminded him of the “Old Mother Hubbard” nursery rhyme. Not that they had a dog to feed. Thank goodness the mutt was gone.
Thinking about a rhyme should seem odd, but wasn’t given the way she was dressed and how strange today had been. “No eating. No food at home. You don’t take very good care of yourself, Miss Cole.”
“I take good care of myself.” Her tone was an interesting mix—defensive and honest. She inched toward the curb. Exhaustion creased her face. “Except when I’m wrapped up in a project. Then my plans, like grocery shopping, get pushed aside. Most days bring a surprise or two.”
Surprises, indeed. She’d surprised him.
“You might find a healthy meal and sleep a boon to your creativity.”
“I’ll remember that the next time.”
“No, you won’t,” he said.
“I was trying to be polite.”
“You sound annoyed.”
“I’m that, too.”
“Because you’re hungry.” He didn’t wait for a reply. “A burger sounds good. I need to pick up lunch because Wyatt gave the dog my turkey sandwich.”
Bailey stopped. “Where is the dog?”
“No idea. Dined and dashed. Probably headed home.”
A look of concern returned to her face. “He could be a stray.”
Nope. Justin wasn’t going there. She might want to drive around and try to find the damn thing. Then they’d have to call Animal Control and wait. Again. He’d wasted his morning. He wasn’t about to lose the entire day.
Time to change the subject. “Which car is yours?”
She pointed toward a four-door hatchback with a bright yellow exterior