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I squinted one eye, looking up in thought. Well, nothing for it, really. I got out, went around to her side, and opened herdoor. She almost slumped out of the open door, so I caught her with one arm around her shoulders, undid her seatbelt, and wiggled my right arm under her knees. I lifted her out of the car—not without some difficulty—and managed to get the door closed with my foot. It was like carrying several armfuls of wet pasta. She slid down as I carried her to the open garage door, and I hefted her back up, adjusting my grip on her body.

At least she was short. She didn’t weigh much, either, but she started writhing around as I headed up the outside stairwell to my front door, and I had to stop several times to fix my grip on her jelly limbs. Whose idea had it been to buy a house that required a trek up thirty-two steps? The stairs also dipped back down before stretching out to a long balcony porch that really gave the house that treehouse feel high above the foliage.

I reached the front door, and carefully, I set her on her feet. “Hey, Shortstop. Can you stand?”

She mumbled something incoherent in response and slumped hard against me. Grunting, I kept my left arm wrapped around her tightly, trying in vain to ignore the fact that I basically had a palm full of her breasts, and I tapped in the code to my front door before swinging it open. I decided carrying her was easier than dragging her to the living room, so I swept her up again and maneuvered us both through the front entryway.

“Are you always this much of a pain?” I asked, my voice strained as I hefted her down a pine floor step and then down one more level as we went into the sunken living room.

“Mhm,” she sighed into my neck. Her breath tickled my skinand sent goosebumps rippling over my arms.

Windows surrounded the space, looking out over a rolling ocean of pines and leafy trees beyond it. The house wasn’t a normal configuration with one level and then stairs up to another. Because it had been built to follow the natural flow of the hill, the living room sat lower than the kitchen and dining room behind it.

It wasn’t huge, either, but I didn’t need huge. It was just me here, and I’d slowly acquired furnishings and decor that reflected how very little I cared about the practice. The couches were comfortable, overstuffed modular pieces that formed an L in the middle of the room, and across from it, my entertainment system took up the only wall that wasn’t made of windows. I’d mounted a few shelves to display odds and ends I’d picked up while traveling, and a basic rug I’d found in a home improvement store covered the light pine floors. With the sun setting behind the trees, I found the living room dark and swathed in shadows.

Figuring Dr. Love wouldn’t appreciate bright lights in her condition, I kept them off as I shuffled across the floors with her still in my arms. I lowered her carefully to the sofa, settling her head on a brocade pillow and making sure she stayed propped up on her side in case she did vomit. She huffed out a little sound of distress, and as I pulled away, she gripped the fabric on my sleeves. I paused, still bent over her. “Ruth? You okay?”

“Wassa door locked?” she mumbled.

“Usually,” I replied, smiling lightly. “That okay?”

“S’locked?” she asked, sitting up in concern. She looked around, bewildered. “Where are we?”

“My house,” I said, keeping my tone even and low. “I’m going to get you some medicine and water. Lie down. You’re safe.”

Ruth groaned, pressing her forehead to my arm. “Who’re you again?”

“Admittedly, not anyone you like. Lean back. Relax. I’ll be back in a second with water, okay?” I helped her back down to the pillows, and she puffed out a pained breath.

“Are you—are you going to lock me out?” she asked in a small voice.

I paused, hands on her arms, and I took in her shadowed, worried features. Her eyes shimmered even in the darkness, and she gripped my sleeves like she could keep me from leaving. Slowly, I lowered myself to my knees so our eyes were almost level. “What do you mean?”

She pulled me closer, gaze unfocused but full of worry. “Don’t lock me out. Please?”

I massaged her upper arms, coaxing her to relax back against the pillows. “I’m not going to lock you out of my house, Ruth. You’re safe here. I promise.” What did she mean by getting locked out? Had she gotten drunk once and been locked out by a roommate by accident? If so, I could imagine that that would have been a bad experience. “Did you get locked out before?”

She nodded, eyes wide behind her glasses. “Please don’t, okay?”

“Okay,” I assured her quietly. My thumbs caressed her armssoothingly. “I won’t.”

Ruth sighed, letting her head fall back and her eyes close. “This couch is spinning.”

“I’ll bet,” I muttered with a dollop of amusement. “I know you’re not all there, but I’m going to get you some blankets and some water, and you can sleep here as long as you need to. I’ll ream you out for being a terrible matchmaker when you’re less drunk. Sound like a deal?”

She nodded, eyes still closed. “Imma verra bad matchmaker.”

“Self-awareness is important,” I agreed, rubbing her arms again before standing. I stared down at her as she melted back into sleep. She had one arm draped over the belt that divided her black blouse and flowy skirt, and she looked like a librarian who had passed out between the shelves. I reached back down to remove her glasses, folding the temples carefully before setting them on the low table beside the couch.

Somehow, I’d ended up with Dr. Love on my couch. Only, as I watched her frown in her sleep, her curls spread around her head like a chocolate halo, I had to wonder at how she’d ended up with that title. If I had to guess, I’d say that Ruth Coldwell didn’t know much about being loved. If what she’d said in the last hour or so was any indication, I might even go so far as to say that she had been badly hurt by someone.

But, strangely, it wasn’t the doctor in me that suddenly wanted to heal her. It was something else entirely.

Chapter six

Ruth

Ruth