By Request Collection April-June 2016. Оливия Гейтс
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into the cabin. He reached to hold the door at the same time she did. The awkward dance ended with her the victor. Then she nearly ran into him when he stepped inside and stopped dead still.
This was more like a line shack than a cabin. A crappy line shack at that. There was a beaten-up table in the center of the small room, three mismatched chairs pushed under it. A counter held a microwave while a toaster oven and a big coffeepot flanked the sink. On the sideboard sat a computer, and above that was a large chalk duty roster that listed volunteers, chores, memos and reminders. Under the sideboard was a dorm fridge. A leather recliner had been pushed so far up against a wall he doubted there was any chance of it actually reclining.
Stairs led up to a loft, which he imagined was her bedroom. The only other door had to be the bathroom, and that was it. He could probably fit the entire place into his walk-in closet at the ranch.
She touched his arm to sneak around him, making him jump. “Sorry. The bathroom’s back there. Why don’t you go in first and wash up? You should probably take off that shirt and let me have a go at that cut.”
Tucker nodded and made his way to the bathroom, maneuvering around the table. He noticed a brass lamp, the only decorative object on the lower floor. There were no pictures, no trinkets, no nothing. He assumed the cupboards were as sparse as everything else. It would have made a perfect home for a monk. But hard for someone who had things to hide. With no space to spare, she’d have to get creative.
He’d sure like to get a look upstairs. If there was anything tying Leanna to her past, she’d keep it close when she was most vulnerable.
The bathroom was so small it made his jaw drop. The toilet desperately needed replacing, and next to that was a very tiny shower. There was enough room to turn around. That was it. The plastic curtain was too long for the bar, and he couldn’t picture any woman he’d ever known who would last two days in this miniature house.
The pedestal sink looked old with its stains, but clean. Underneath, there was a medical kit, and above, a wooden cabinet with a small mirror.
His hand hit the shower enclosure as he took his shirt off. Putting it on the closed toilet, he soaped up. He checked his torso for bruises and cuts, but there was only one on his upper right hip, and while it was getting ugly, he’d survive. The cut on his arm stung, and it started bleeding a little, but it was shallow and would stop soon. No stitches needed, although an aspirin would be welcome.
Using one of the fresh-smelling towels, he dried off, grabbed his shirt and the medical kit and went back to the main room. “It’s all yours,” he said.
Annie opened her mouth but didn’t speak. Instead, she stared at his bared chest. He knew he wasn’t anything like one of those six-pack guys in catalogs, but he kept himself in good shape. The way she blushed surprised him, but then again, this was ostensibly a business meeting.
“I made some coffee,” she said, finally, and that’s when the aroma hit. “You’ll find everything you need, unless you want cream. I do have some goat milk in there, though.”
“Thanks.”
He watched her go, feeling huge and clumsy in this small room, although he normally wasn’t. But as he investigated, finding mugs along with plates and glasses and utensils, he realized how organized Annie had to be to make things work.
What was the use of running away with the money if this is how she had to live? There weren’t two mugs that matched, or two plates. Everything looked secondhand. The fridge had very little to say for itself—the milk, a couple of bags of greens, some condiments, two beers way in the back. A tiny freezer section held a couple of frozen burritos and ice trays.
It wasn’t surprising that the most abundant food in the cabin were packages of ramen noodles. This was worse than a dorm room.
She came out of the bathroom with her T-shirt untucked. She’d lost the pink on her cheeks, but she wasn’t back to meeting his gaze. “Please sit,” she said, kicking out one of the chairs.
“Can we have coffee while we do this?”
“Yes.” Her demeanor changed with that one word, her face somehow expressing real pleasure without having to smile. “Of course.”
So, without the smudges on her smooth cheeks, her eyes were still that incredible blue. He liked her mouth, as well. Full lips, well-defined and naturally pink. She wore no makeup, and she sure didn’t need any.
He tensed when he realized what he was doing. Twenty minutes since he’d met her and he was already getting distracted by her looks. Christ.
She blinked, then lowered her lashes. “Go ahead,” she said, with a jerky tilt of her head that had him cursing himself for staring too long. “I’ll get the supplies sorted, then fix myself a cup.”
Together, they made it through the dance of moving with only one open path. She almost avoided his chest, but that one brush of her shoulder made them both freeze as if they’d done something illegal. Annie cleared her throat, and he managed to ignore the contact.
He sat down with his coffee and tore open a package of gauze while he waited for her to fill her mug. The situation was perfect for his purposes. Sudden intimacy with a relative stranger was something no one could plan for. He would find out more about Annie in the next ten minutes than he would being shown around the sanctuary. But only if he stopped allowing himself to be distracted. She was a stunner, no argument there. Knowing how she’d used her looks to dupe his brother made him more the fool if he fell victim.
Along with her coffee, she brought a wet cloth and clean towel to the table with her. A pair of scissors, antiseptic and other first-aid needs had already been laid out. He watched her eye his arm, her top teeth toying with her bottom lip. She winced a second before she swabbed him with alcohol, and so did Tucker.
Far from the cool distance of someone used to causing pain, her expression was the picture of concern. A sharp inhale through clenched teeth, a soft, “Sorry,” as she used a second swab. Once she covered the cut with gauze, her shoulders relaxed, and she was again the confident woman in charge. What he couldn’t tell yet was if her empathetic response was completely false.
“Thanks,” he said. “Now you.”
“Oh. No. I can handle it.”
“I doubt it,” he said, watching her reluctance turn into another blush. “I was there.”
When she finally responded it was with a weary sigh. “Okay, but I know it’s nothing.” She slowly got to her feet, looking as if she’d rather be walking barefoot on hot coals. “It’s my back. I got caught on a wire.”
He turned in his seat as she stood directly in front of him, his eyes level with her leather belt. Now that he was looking for it, he could see spots of blood on her shirt. She lifted it carefully, exposing a long stretch of what would have been perfectly pale skin. Instead, there were two sizable bruises that were coloring in darkly.
“I don’t know,” he said, in no way faking his own concern, which made him uncomfortable. “Maybe you should get these checked out. It looks bad.” He touched the worst of it with careful fingers.
Annie inhaled sharply. “If you’d stop poking at it.”
“I’m trying to make sure there’s no internal hemorrhaging.”
“I’m fine. I’ve had worse.”
“This one’s over your kidney. It could be dangerous.”
“I know there’s no real damage,” she said, lifting the shirt higher, but now with evident tension running through her. “I know because I was kicked by a horse years ago. So, the cut?”
“Right,” he murmured, the word coming out low and slow as her bra strap came into view. It was the least fancy bra imaginable. White, no frills. A sensible bra that had no business looking like that against her pale flesh. Just as he had no business noticing.
The bruises hurt him to see, and the cut was no