That's Our Baby!. Pamela Browning
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hand took a blow when I broke my fall.”
“You’re lucky it’s your left hand.”
Kerry shook her head. “Not so lucky. I’m left-handed.”
“Well, what I’m going to do is tape your ring finger to the middle one. It won’t hurt so much if it’s immobilized.”
“Wouldn’t a splint be better?
“There are pros and cons. A splint decreases pain, but may increase joint stiffness after it’s healed. If we leave your finger as it is, the pain may last longer and chances are you’ll end up with a stiff joint anyway. Taping it to the adjoining finger is a good compromise.”
“How do you know so much about this?” she asked, watching him as he dug a first-aid kit out of his pack and withdrew a thick roll of gauze.
“I had a broken finger once from a sled accident. The doctor explained the alternative treatments to me.”
His touch was sure and gentle as he bound her ring and middle fingers together with gauze, and he stood so close that his face was only inches from hers. She inhaled the welcome warm male scent of him, a combination of leather, wood smoke, musk and something indefinably exciting. He smelled of the outdoors, of melted snow and a raw wind and, too, of the river.
What he was doing to her finger was painful, and she forced herself not to flinch. Instead she would trust, and that wasn’t easy. She had come to depend on no one but herself long before Doug died. Even as she was thinking how nice it might be to be comforted and cosseted, to have someone to take care of her, Sam’s eyes met hers.
She instantly felt a jolt. Not just a mental one, but a physical one, too, as if a current of electricity pulsed from one to the other. Where it originated, in her or in him, Kerry couldn’t have said, nor did she know if it was conducted from his hand to hers or over the brilliantly charged space between them. It unnerved her and made her want to yank her fingers away, and yet she couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop looking at him, into him, wondering if he too felt something. Felt—what? They had never much liked each other.
This reality check gave her the strength to look away. It was too intimate, that blistering brief moment of eye contact and this electrifying physical closeness. While she was contemplating her own embarrassment, Sam dropped the adhesive tape into her free hand.
“Here, hold this,” he said abruptly. He ripped a piece off the roll and wound it around her fingers. If he noticed anything amiss, he gave no sign.
“What medicine are you taking for the pain?” he asked.
“None,” she replied, striving to keep her tone even. “I didn’t bring any, and there weren’t any medical supplies here.” Did she sound normal? No. But maybe she sounded normal enough to fool him.
“I’ll see if I have something.” Sam rummaged in the first-aid kit and produced a small white envelope. “It’s not much, but it’ll have to do.” Sam shook out two acetaminophen. “Take them,” he said. “You’ll be more comfortable after it kicks in.”
Without comment, Kerry picked up the glass of water she’d set on the table next to the couch and swallowed the pills. She definitely did not feel like herself. The day had been a strain, and she’d been working hard for weeks with no respite. And here was Sam, and she didn’t know why he was here, and her finger hurt worse than anything she could imagine.
“Didn’t you hear what I said?” Sam was wrinkling his forehead at her. He really had such a noble forehead, so wide. And the way that one curly lock of hair fell across it was charming.
Charming? Sam Harbeck was anything but charming. I may have broken my finger, but falling off a ladder hasn’t made me lose my mind, she thought just as Sam grasped her around the shoulders. She struggled to push him away, but he said, “You look a little woozy. Here, let’s ease you down on the couch,” all the while holding her so close that she actually felt the muscles ripple across his chest.
“Now sit down and put your feet up,” he said close to her ear.
“I’m all right, leave me alone,” she replied weakly.
He snorted. “I’m not going to have you dropping in your tracks, at least not until I clean the water and feathers off the floor.”
“I’m all right,” she repeated, but he knelt beside her and studied her while his face kaleidoscoped into several Sams, all of them wearing the same expression of concern.
“I’m going to pull this blanket up over you, and you can lie back and watch me work.” Sam settled the striped wool blanket across her as Kerry allowed herself to sink back on the couch cushions.
“How do you feel?” he asked. Absently he reached over and plucked a feather from her hair; he sat looking at it thoughtfully.
“Lousy,” she mumbled. She wondered if Sam was aware of how endearing he was when he was being kind.
“Great. We should have that finger x rayed, you know. But the nearest x-ray machine is in Anchorage, over three hundred miles away.” He tucked the feather in his pocket.
“Believe me, the same thought has occurred to me. Go away, Sam. Let me suffer in peace.” This dramatic utterance brought a derisive hoot from Sam.
He stood up. “As long as you can talk, I know you’re fine,” he said dryly.
How could she have found his behavior endearing only moments ago? He was making fun of her. “Go on,” she said, pushing at his knee. His jeans were wet from being out in the snow.
After one last exasperated glance at her over his shoulder, Sam went to the supply closet and dug around amid the welter of old brooms, battered skis and bent buckets until he produced a mop.
“Too bad there’s no electricity in the cabin. A vacuum cleaner would come in handy for these feathers.”
“D’you know how to use that?” Kerry said thickly as he began to wield the mop.
Sam paused and indulged in an amused chuckle. “My first job at my Dad’s airport was janitor,” he said.
“Oh,” she said, but she couldn’t help recalling the time she and Doug had flown into that very airport and visited Sam in his plush office, where he was ensconced behind an enormous mahogany desk while he fielded telephone calls from all over the world. Afterward they’d glided in Sam’s Mercedes sedan to his elegant house in exclusive Turn Again by the Sea. The house was an architectural marvel overlooking an arm of Cook Inlet, where his houseman served them a gourmet’s dinner of grilled Alaskan King salmon and wild rice sauted with roasted pine nuts.
It was hard to reconcile that image of Sam with the slightly rakish and unshaven man who was so vigorously mopping the wide planks of the cabin floor and stirring up drying feathers. She watched him through half-closed eyes as he worked, admiring in spite of herself the swift power of his movements and his attention to the task. When he had finished mopping and stowed the mop in the closet, he said, “That’s about the best I can do, so now I’m going to shuck these wet clothes. Close your eyes.”
One thing about Sam Harbeck—he certainly knew how to get a girl’s attention. Kerry roused herself to object, pushing herself to a half-sitting position and regarding Sam with what she hoped would pass for outrage.
“You could step out to the shed to change,” she pointed out. “Or go up in the loft.” Those were the only two possibilities for privacy. The cabin consisted of only one twelve by eighteen-foot room with a loft built above the kitchen section.
“I’m not going anywhere. The shed is too cold and the loft ceiling is only five feet high and slanted, which would require that I change clothes in a crouch.”
“What’s wrong with changing clothes in a crouch?” Kerry said for the sake of getting an argument going.
“Since I’m over six feet tall, I’d end up with a crick in my neck or worse. It’s your choice. You