As anxious as he seemed to be for her to leave him to suffer in solitude, Annie had no intention of doing so. Nor did she intend to allow him to drive home. She wasn’t sure how she was going to accomplish that, exactly—whether it would involve calling his brother or simply threatening to do so—but she couldn’t stand back and let him do anything that foolish.
She would, however, refrain from hovering over him. “I have some things to do in the kitchen,” she told him. “Call out if you need me.”
He nodded, avoiding her eyes. “I’ll be fine.”
He wasn’t fine, of course. He looked miserable. Hurting, embarrassed, chagrined. As much as she hated leaving him, she knew he wanted privacy. Just to give herself something productive to do, she went into the kitchen and began to make lasagna, her hands busy but her thoughts focused on the man in the other room.
Everything she had heard about Trent McBride during the past couple of months reinforced her belief that he must hate being in this awkward situation. He’d apparently been accustomed to being treated like a local hero. Star athlete in school, extremely popular with the local girls, then on to the Air Force Academy, where he had excelled in his studies. She could imagine how dashing he must have looked in his pilot’s uniform.
It had to be galling for a man like that to be found on the floor, unable to walk even a few steps on his own.
She made herself wait twenty minutes before checking on him. He was asleep when she tiptoed into the living room. The pain medication he had taken must be strong, she thought, studying the hollows beneath his eyes. She wondered if he always carried it with him or if it had been a lucky coincidence that he’d had it today.
Funny how young he looked when he slept, she mused, unable to resist lingering another momen
t. She’d gotten into the habit of thinking of him as older than herself, when they were actually the same age. She realized now that the shallow lines around his eyes and mouth had been etched there by chronic pain. And even though she knew he would hate it, her heart twisted in sympathy.
He stirred restlessly against the throw pillow and she moved swiftly toward the door. She didn’t want him to wake up and find her watching him sleep. But as she returned to the kitchen, it occurred to her that she wouldn’t have minded standing there watching him a while longer.
4
TRENT WOKE disoriented, groggy and still uncomfortable enough that he concentrated first on the pain, then on his surroundings. He grimaced when he realized where he was and remembered how he’d gotten there.
It humiliated him that Annie had found him sprawled on her floor, utterly incapacitated. After his arrogant assurances to her that morning, his unreliable back had chosen the worst possible time to fail him. Now he had to face her again, see the pity in her eyes, resign himself to having Annie—like everyone else—treat him as an invalid from here on.
Which only went to show how foolish he’d been to start imagining that Annie needed his help. He’d rather liked believing he had something worthwhile to offer her, even if only physical labor. Lately he’d even found himself wondering if maybe he should ask her out sometime, just to see if she might be interested in something besides his skill with power tools. Not that he’d been thinking long term, or anything, he assured himself quickly. He just thought maybe they could keep each other company occasionally. But that seemed unlikely, now that she’d seen him at his worst. Even if she agreed, he wouldn’t know if she’d accepted his invitation because she liked him, or because she felt sorry for him—something he simply wouldn’t tolerate.
Their arrangement had been pretty good while it had lasted, he thought glumly, but it was over now. She wouldn’t want him doing any more repairs for fear that he might hurt himself, and he would be damned if he let her work for him without accepting his help in return.
Moving very carefully, he slid his legs off the side of the couch and pushed himself upright. His back muscles clenched in protest, but he ignored them, rising slowly but relatively steadily to his feet. Sliding his glasses onto his nose, he remembered that Annie had said she would be in the kitchen. The tantalizing aromas coming from that direction let him know she’d been busy. Bracing himself for cloying sympathy, he made his way stiffly toward the kitchen.
Annie was sitting at the table, a glass of iced tea beside her, an open paperback in her hands. She looked up when he entered. Her eyes widened, then narrowed assessingly. “You look a little better,” she said, her voice surprisingly matter-of-fact.
“Yeah. Better.” Marginally, but he would take what he could get.
“Are you hungry? It’s almost two o’clock and I don’t suppose you’ve eaten since breakfast.”
He hadn’t eaten breakfast, actually. Just coffee. He was surprised to realize that he was hungry.
“I made lasagna,” she said when he hesitated. “I was just about to have some, myself. Why don’t you join me?”
Lasagna just happened to be one of his favorite foods. He might as well join her for lunch since she was offering and he saw no evidence of the pity he had dreaded. He’d consider it a farewell meal, of sorts. “Sounds good. Thanks.”
She set her book aside and motioned him toward the rickety-looking wooden chair across the table—the only other seat available in the small kitchen. “What would you like to drink? I have tea, cola, juice…”
He chose the tea, then sank slowly into the chair. It rocked a little when he sat in it. Some wood glue and putty would reinforce it, he thought automatically. Next time he was here, he would…
He brought himself up short, reminding himself there probably wouldn’t be a next time.
Annie set a well-filled plate of lasagna and steamed vegetables in front of him, along with a glass of iced tea. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“No, this is fine. Um…do you always eat this well for lunch?”
She chuckled as she settled across the table with her own plate. “Hardly. I usually just have a sandwich or a liquid-meal replacement. But I had a couple of cancellations today, so I’m free until five, which is when I clean your father and brother’s offices.”
“So you made lasagna.”
Her smile turned wry. “It gave me something to do besides hover over you and worry.”