“Then I’ll ignore my scruples and take you up on that suggestion.” She smiled in anticipation as she hobbled past him.
“Chloe.” Donovan caught her arm when she would have passed him.
She looked up at him. He pressed a hand to her forehead, testing for fever. Their faces were very close together and for a moment she saw real emotion in his bright-green eyes. A quiver of response ran through her. But then he masked whatever he was feeling, released her, and stepped back. “You’re still running a fever. I didn’t see any aspirin in the bathroom, but I’ll look around in the rest of the trailer, see what I can find while you’re taking your bath.”
She nodded and left the room as quickly as her battered feet would allow.
Donovan was waiting outside the bathroom door when Chloe finally emerged. He’d begun to worry that she’d been in there too long. For all he knew, she could have passed out in the tub or something. He was too tired and stressed to consider how unlikely it was that, having survived a flooded stream, she would drown in a bathtub.
Her hair was wet again, but looked squeaky clean this time. Her fresh-scrubbed skin was starkly pale, except for the purple smudges beneath her eyes. She wore a big flannel shirt that almost swallowed her, falling all the way to her knees. Her poor battered feet were bare, revealing all the abuse they had taken in those woods.
The big shirt made her look small in comparison. Delicate. Almost fragile. He knew first-hand how deceptive that impression could be.
He remembered the first day he’d met her, when he’d thought of her as more pretty than beautiful. Funny how that impression had changed during the past few days. Now he was convinced that he’d never seen a more attractive woman.
“I found coffee in the kitchen, and I brewed a pot,” he said, his voice a bit brusque. “And I heated some canned soup. I also found a first-aid kit stuffed in one of the kitchen cabinets. I set out a bottle of acetaminophen. Take a couple to reduce your fever and then you can eat while I bathe. After that, we’ll see about treating some of your wounds.”
She nodded in response to his list of directions. “Soup and coffee sound good,” she admitted. “The hot bath warmed my outside, but I still feel cold inside.”
He smiled a little, as she had hoped he would, but it was hard for him to find any humor in what she had been through. “The food is in the kitchen. Have all you want, I’ve already eaten. I’ll hurry with my bath and join you in a few minutes.”
“Don’t hurry. Trust me, it feels too good to be clean again to rush through it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He watched her walk away, taking a moment to appreciate the graceful sway of her hips. Even walking on shredded feet, she carried herself like a princess, he thought—then scowled at his uncharacteristic fancifulness as he turned to lock himself in the bathroom.
A short while later, bathed, clean-shaven, dressed in a flannel shirt that was too short in the sleeves and jeans that were too big in the waist, Donovan ran his tongue over his brushed teeth and reminded himself to reward the owner of this trailer generously.
He’d removed the waterlogged, rigged-up splint before his bath. His leg was about three different shades of purple, but the painkillers he’d taken while he was making the coffee had eased the throbbing somewhat. He didn’t know if his leg was broken, cracked or bruised to the bone, but he figured it wouldn’t fall off before he could have it treated.
The cut at his temple had stopped bleeding, but that was a new lump and bruise to add to his collection. In his ongoing battle with nature, the other side was definitely a few licks ahead, he thought in resignation.
He found Chloe in the living room, sitting on the couch cross-legged with the first-aid kit beside her. She was making some rather odd contortions in an attempt to see the bottom of her feet.
“I told you I would help you with that,” he said, moving toward her as quickly as his own injuries would allow.
She must not have heard him approaching. Hurriedly making sure the big flannel shirt covered her adequately, she tucked an almost-dry strand of hair behind her ear and asked, “Why did you take off your splint?”
?
?I couldn’t take a bath in it.”
“I’ll help you get it back on.”
“Never mind. I’m not sure it was helping much, anyway.”
“But—”
“Forget it, Chloe. Let’s see about your feet.” He sat beside her and reached for the first-aid kit. “Did you have enough to eat?”
“Yes, plenty, thank you. The soup was wonderful.”
“Straight out of a can. You were just hungry enough for anything to taste good.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Give me your feet.”