“Maybe some other time, Doc. I didn’t exactly come with a prepared speech for a shrink.”
She half-smiles. “I thought Doc was your friend. Don’t get me mixed up with him.”
“Pretty sure there’s no way in hell I could. Doc doesn’t look anything like you.”
It’s out before I can stop it.
Shit. Believe it or not, it could be worse.
I barely stopped myself from saying Doc ain’t got a body like that. I mean, it doesn’t mean a damn thing because Doc doesn’t look like her, but hell.
We both know what I meant.
She stops, her hand resting lightly against my thigh, her eyes locked on mine, wide and questioning.
I never quite noticed the shade of green in her eyes before. I’ve always been looking at her in the dark or in firelight, never with clear sunlight reflecting in those glassy pools.
They’re pale. Like the soft jade tokens I saw in the window of a shop when I visited Chinatown in Seattle once. It’s a misty color, but mist was never this clear, this vibrant. Like I can see all the way to the bottom of her soul if I just look hard enough.
Glacial runoff, I think.
Glacial lakes, their green so pure, so vivid, and so pale.
But her eyes could never be as cold as ice, watching me with a warmth I have no fucking clue what to do with.
So I tear my eyes away before hers do a Medusa trick on me. Eyes that pretty could turn a man to stone, and it’d almost be worth it for the poor sucker who stares at her too long.
Clearing my throat, I turn my face to one side.
“Feels like you’re done,” I mutter. “Haven’t we been at this an hour?”
I hear her breath catch, and then her hands drop away. “For now, yep. You’ll need more than one session to see lasting results instead of just temporary relief. How do you feel?”
I shift my leg gingerly—and I’m surprised how easy it moves.
I’d been locking up, bracing for agony, but instead my leg flexes nice and smooth, bending and unbending, with only a little soreness that could be just as much from the kneading those nimble fingers gave me as from the injury.
“Huh. Not bad,” I say.
Dumb, I know, but that’s all I got.
I push myself up on one arm, staring down at the scar. It’s still there, still the same angry red, but it doesn’t feel like this vampire parasite, sucking my life out through its burning teeth right now.
“Well?” She taps a foot, giving me a smile.
“It ain’t perfect, but I think I can stand without wanting to holler myself blue. Warren and Haley’s little niece would never shut up about the damn swear jar if she ever heard me go off.”
Peace giggles.
“We wouldn’t want you going blue or bankrupting yourself,” she says.
I let myself look at her again. But she’s not looking at me.
She’s turned away, her hands busy wiping the oil off on a towel.
I think it might be deliberate.
Feels like she’s hiding from me, almost.
Did I just fuck up?
Maybe a little.
“Hey.” I swing my legs over the side carefully, then drop down to my feet. My left leg’s still a little shaky, but it holds me pretty well as I stand and reach over for my clothing. “You did good, darlin’. I’m sorry I ever doubted you. How much do I owe?”
She glances over her shoulder. Her smile comes faint, wistful, sad; those jade-green eyes are suddenly clouded, and I can’t see to their bottoms.
“Freebie this time,” she says, quiet and strange. “Call it thanks for saving me from turning into Frosty the other night.”
“You, uh…” I scrub my hand against the back of my neck, then busy myself stepping into my boxer-briefs and jeans. Maybe if I’m more clothed, I’ll feel less naked, but something about this has nothing to do with my damn body. “You want to schedule another appointment?”
She studies me. Her head tilts to one side.
Christ, she’s so young, but sometimes when she looks at me it’s with this wordless wisdom that makes me feel like she sees so much beyond her years.
Sees me.
And that shouldn’t make me want to freak as much as it does.
“How about,” she murmurs, “you find me when you need me?”
There’s so much unsaid there.
So much I can’t read, even if I want to.
So I pull my shirt on, throw my coat over my arm, and nod.
“Sure,” I say numbly. “Thanks.”
Then I turn and get the hell out of Dodge, leaving that cabin and heading into the morning so the cold winter air can slap some sense into my fool head.
If I’m lucky, it’ll knock this girl clean out of my thoughts.
* * *
Call me paranoid, but there’s a part of me that doesn’t want Holt in my house.
Call it a holdover.