Butterfly Bayou (Butterfly Bayou 1)

She started to reach for the bags, but he moved in quickly.

“I’ve got it.”

She nodded and went to get her purse. She was quiet as he led her to his SUV, quiet as he drove her past the parking lot where the accident had happened, quiet as he turned onto her street.

She waited as he killed the engine. He was surprised she was still in the car when he got around to her door, but she was staring out the front and he knew she wasn’t seeing the yard or the night. She was somewhere else, and it was his job to bring her back to the present with him.

He opened the passenger-side door and held out his hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you inside. We’ll feed you, get you a glass of wine or two, another shower, and put you in bed.”

“Okay.”

She was an automaton, going through the motions. She let him take her hand but dropped it the minute her feet hit the ground.

“Maybe we should have eaten at the clinic.” She glanced back down the road that they’d just driven. “I have a microwave in the back.”

“I fixed yours.” He hoped what he told her next didn’t make her mad. “I might know where Bill kept his spare key and I might have gone into your house after we finished up at the scene and I might have fixed your microwave and the stove and that drip in the bathroom sink. I know I shouldn’t have but I had to do something. I couldn’t go home. I needed something to do with my hands.”

“You fixed my microwave?”

“It needed some rewiring. My dad was an electrician. He worked on the oil rigs. I know a little. It works, though it’s ancient. It will definitely warm up those red beans and rice.” He got her to the door and used the key he’d taken earlier to open it. “I also stocked your fridge with the important stuff. Wine. Beer. There’s a bottle of bourbon in your pantry. That’s for me.”

She sighed. “I love bourbon. That’s mine. You can have the wine. Wait. I think I want the wine, too.”

She could have anything she wanted.

“I’m going to get the bags from Dixie’s. You go in and sit down. I’ll take care of everything.” He jogged back to the SUV and grabbed the bags.

He’d hurt her. She’d said some things, too, but he could handle it. He understood her, or at least he thought he did. When she felt hurt, she punched back. He could do that, too. He’d certainly done it before himself. Hell, he’d deserved it. He’d basically told her she needed to fucking smile more.

He locked the car door and ran up the steps. He needed to fix those, too. In the few days she’d been in the house, she’d started to clear out a lot of the clutter. He could move easily through the front hall.

The sound of Billie Holiday’s “Fine and Mellow” pulsed through the house. She’d obviously found Bill’s old-school stereo. It was really old school since Bill had bought it back in the seventies and had original vinyl from long before then.

It would be good to listen to some old jazz and relax with the bourbon. He would make sure she slept tonight.

“Do you want the salad?” He thought she needed something more, but he wasn’t going to argue with her. Not tonight. In the morning he would get up and make her bacon and eggs and gently prod her to eat. “Or I can heat up the meatloaf or the rice and beans.”

She stood and turned. “I would rather you kissed me.”

He dropped the bags and moved to her because that was definitely something he could do.* * *• • •

She knew she should go to bed. Without him. She knew she was making a mistake, but after the day she’d had she needed hands on her. His hands. One night. That was all she would let herself have.

But why? If it went well why couldn’t she continue to have him in her bed? What was the problem?

She shook off her inner questions. This wasn’t the time to make decisions. It was the time to fill a need, and he was the only man she’d wanted in years.

The day had been so long.

There had been the thrill of the contract with the oil company. Not that it would be a ton of money, but it meant patients. And then the confrontation with Miranda, the confrontation with Dixie, the one with Armie. So much conflict.

She hadn’t thought about it at the time but if she’d been off even a little, someone would have died today. It had all been on her. It would always be on her.

It was only now when the world had finally slowed down that it all hit her. She could cry. She could let out all the tension by screaming until her throat was sore. She could pound on something.