A Wish For Love (Gates-Cameron 2)

She sighed and stepped back from the door, letting him enter the cottage. She knew he wouldn’t be leaving now until he’d heard everything. She closed the door and locked it, then limped toward the couch. “I was in a car accident.”

Bran’s hand moved toward her, as if he wanted to assist her, but he didn’t touch her. “What happened? How badly are you injured?”

“A drunk driver in a half-ton pickup slammed into the side of the car I was driving and knocked me off the road. Aunt Mae and Cara and Casey were in the car with me. If we hadn’t been belted in, or if the car had flipped, we’d have all been seriously injured. As it was, we were all bruised and battered, and Casey fractured her wrist, but she’ll be fine.”

“Your aunt is all right?”

Bailey was touched that he seemed so concerned about Mae. “She’s okay. She’s resting. Elva—the cook—is going to look in on her tonight.”

“Who’s going to look in on you?”

She leaned her head against the back of the couch and closed her eyes. “No one. I’m fine, Bran.”

“You were limping.”

“I twisted my ankle. Nothing serious, I promise.”

“I’ll stay with you tonight—for as long as I can.”

“That isn’t necessary, but thank you.”

“I’m staying,” he insisted.

She swallowed a groan of defeat. “Fine.”

“Do you have anything to take for the pain?”

“I’ve already taken it. It’s not too bad, just a pounding headache.”

“You should be in bed.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him, regretting the way she’d snapped at him. He looked so genuinely concerned for her, so anxious about her welfare.

She couldn’t help softening. “I’m working up the strength to walk to the bedroom,” she said with an attempt at a smile.

He didn’t smile in return. “I wish there was something I could do to help you.”

She made a weak effort to tease. “Okay, carry me.”

His fists clenched at his sides. What might have been anguish crossed his face, so fleetingly she decided she must have imagined it.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said, no inflection at all in his voice.

Rather embarrassed, she gave a flat laugh and pushed herself off the couch. “Forget it. The medicine must be kicking in. I’m starting to feel light-headed.”

“I’ll wait in here while you dress. Call out when you’re in bed, or—or if you need anything. Er, leave the door ajar so I can hear you if you call.”

She nodded and limped toward the bedroom. She left the bedroom door open, as he’d ordered, and closed herself into the attached bathroom to change.

How did he do this to her? she wondered as she washed then tugged a soft T-shirt over her head. Here she was, battered and bruised, and yet she found herself hurting for him. Something about that look in his eyes had broken her heart.

She might be hurting physically, but Bran’s pain was much deeper, much sharper. He was obviously suffering from something, and, as foolish as it might be, she cared enough about him to want to help him.

It seemed she hadn’t learned from her mistakes, after all.

BRAN WAS WAITING by the bed when Bailey came out of the bathroom. She hadn’t turned on the overhead light, so the glow from the lamp on the nightstand was the only illumination in the room. Bran’s dark face was thrown into shadow, but she felt his eyes on her as she padded across the floor and climbed self-consciously into bed.

Ruefully, she thought that she certainly had no reason to be uneasy about being alone with Bran this way. Though he’d had ample opportunity, he’d never even touched her. He seemed to go out of his way to avoid doing so, in fact.