His Honour, Her Family. Tara Randel
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cooled even more since she’d been inside. Shivering, she gulped in several deep breaths of pine-scented air, debating the wisdom of her actions as the night grew darker. She rounded the corner of the cabin, heard a thud and a deep groan.
Okay, that was no animal. A burglar?
Quickly turning, she began running back to her cabin to call for help, something she should have done from the start, when she collided with a solid human body.
* * *
DEKE GRUNTED AT exactly the same time the woman who’d barreled into him screamed.
“Hold it,” he yelled, hands outstretched as he saw an object moving toward his head. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The woman took a step back, brandishing her weapon in defensive mode before her.
“How do I know that?”
He recognized that voice. “Miss Harper?”
The broom lowered. A click, then a sudden flash of bright light blinded him.
“Mr. Matthews?” she asked as she aimed the flashlight directly at his face. “What are you doing here?”
“Trying to get into this cabin.” He squinted against the harsh light. “Mind lowering that thing?”
“Oh, right.” She moved the beam to the ground. “I didn’t see a car when I pulled up.”
“I parked around back.”
“I’m confused. My uncle lives here.”
“He rented the cabin to me. I’ve been trying to find the key but it’s not where he said he left it.” Deke cradled his left hand. First he’d dropped a heavy planter on it while hunting for the key, then he’d knocked into a patio table. His fingers throbbed. He felt moisture and suspected he was bleeding.
“It’s usually under the plant,” his soon-to-be boss said.
“There’s more than one in the back.”
“No. It should be here in the front.”
“I just looked.”
She turned the light to the front porch, skipping over the large decorative planters to a small potted plant situated beside the steps.
“He said planter.”
“Probably he just said plant.”
She walked over, tipped the pot and sure enough, the light hit on a shiny silver key. She grabbed it and held it up. “See.”
“I could have sworn he said planter.”
“He’s out fishing and when he’s off by himself he usually chews tobacco. Maybe you misunderstood him.” She held out the key. When he reached for it, she angled the light on his hand and gasped. “You’re bleeding.”
“Yeah,” he said as the aftereffect of his inept search grew increasingly painful.
She took hold of his arm. “C’mon.”
“Where are we going?”
“To my place. I have bandages.”
“I’m okay, really. Now that I have the key I’ll go inside and clean up.”
Tugging on his arm, she said, “No way. I couldn’t in good conscience let my newest employee bleed out.”
“I’m hardly in danger of bleeding out.”
“But we don’t know that since it’s dark and we can’t properly see the damage.”
Ignoring his protest, she dragged him across the property to a matching cabin. She had him inside in seconds flat, pointing left. “This way to the kitchen.”
“Are you always this bossy?”
“Mostly.”
In the bright light he could now see a gash across his palm. Two of his fingers were turning a faint purple.
“Goodness, what did you do?”
“I lost my balance when the planter fell on my hand and I bumped into the patio table. It toppled over and I cut myself on the edge of the glass top.”
She took his hand, studied it for a second, then nudged him to the sink. “Rinse that off,” she commanded, then disappeared. Moments later she reappeared with boxes of bandages, hydrogen peroxide, a small tube of what he guessed was some sort of salve and whatever else an injured man needed.
“Is it deep?” she asked as she dumped the supplies on the counter. “Should we go to the emergency room?”
He winced as the warm water trickled over the cut. “I don’t think so.”
“Any glass in it?”
“Not that I can see.”
She took hold of his hand again. “Sure you don’t need stitches?”
He tried not to be insulted. Stitches? For a medium-sized cut? “A butterfly will do.”
She glanced up at him. “You’re trying to act all manly, aren’t you?”
“I am manly. And like I told you at the office earlier, I know first aid. A butterfly should be fine.”
She fished through the box to find the bandage. “If you say so.”
“Mind getting me a towel?” he asked when a thin line of red still ran off his hand.
She opened a drawer and pulled out a towel. He took it and covered his palm.
“That’s going to hurt tomorrow,” she informed him.
“It hurts right now.”
She grinned. “Not so manly after all?”
He ignored the teasing.
Once his hand was dry, he lifted the towel to find the blood welling over the cut, but not gushing. He applied pressure again while she opened the bottle of peroxide. “This is going to sting,” she warned.
“I know, but the cut needs to be cleaned.” He removed the towel and braced himself. “Anytime you’re ready.”
Grace lowered his hand over the sink and poured. The muscle in his jaw jumped, but that was all the satisfaction he’d give her after she’d insulted his manliness. Yes, it hurt like crazy but he sucked in a deep breath.
“Sorry,” she said.
“Uh-huh,” he grunted.
Finished, she grabbed another towel and placed it over the cut. “Give that a few seconds to work and I’ll place the bandage.”
While she tidied up, Deke blew out a breath and rested his hip against the counter. With the worst part over, he now noticed his boss’s blond hair glow under the harsh kitchen lighting. Her fair skin attested to her not personally leading the outdoor tours. He was intrigued by the softness that was in direct contrast to her very take-control attitude.
“So,” he said, “you’re a nurse, too?”
“No, but after years of working with vacation clients, I know first aid.”
“Makes sense.” He lifted the towel, glad to see the bleeding was minimal. “Let’s get the bandage on now.”
Grace unwrapped the butterfly and within seconds had it secure. Blood seeped around it.
“Still needs pressure.”
Grabbing a box of gauze, she unrolled a long length and wrapped it around his palm with enough pressure to stanch any more blood flow. She tied it off, then looked up at him, a smile of victory curving her lips.
Their gazes met and held. A ripple of awareness took him by surprise. Yeah, he’d noticed how pretty his new boss was when he’d applied for