Page 95
Story: Walking the Edge
She followed him up the stairs to the house, and he unlocked the door. A light bulb in the uncovered ceiling fixture brightened the stark room. Two bare windows faced the road. Two more looked out the sides. Mitch strode to the counter below a window in the back wall. “We’ve got a microwave here and a mattress, in case one of us wants to stay overnight. We’re still working on the bedroom, but all the walls are in.”
An old pole lamp and a ratty armchair faced across the room to the mattress. A black sweatshirt draped one of a pair of sawhorses next to an old canvas suitcase.
“We’ve got a toilet and sink and running water back through the bedroom. Essential food.” He opened a cabinet to show her assorted canned goods, showing off the place as if she were visiting royalty.
She clutched her coat collar closed and rubbed her arms. An accumulation of cold nights all winter made the inside temperature glacial.
He closed the cabinet and frowned. “You’re cold.”
“No, no. I’m fine.” She hadn’t shivered, had she? Like he said, it would only be for one night, and there wasn’t much night left, anyway. “It’s perfect.”
He stopped rubbing the back of his neck. “Why don’t you go ahead and use the bathroom?”
A few minutes later, with her face washed and hair brushed, she walked back into the big room to find sheets on the mattress and a white case draped over a foam pillow. Mitch stripped off his jacket and holster. He lifted his injured arm. “I had trouble with the pillowcase.”
“You should have let me do this.”
“You want to finish and open the space blanket while I get out of my vest?” He handed her a small package from one of his many utility pockets, then lifted his bulletproof garment over his head.
“Glad to get out of that.”
“I remember the feeling. I can’t believe that was only last night.”
“How’s your bruise today?” He shed his T-shirt.
“I haven’t even noticed it.” She gaped at the circular welt scoring his magnificent abs. “Did the doctors see this?”
He looked down at himself. “They told me to ice it, but that’s not happening. Not here.”
She fingertipped the skin beside the swelling, her insides clenching. Maybe they should have driven on. A motel would have had an ice machine. “You should have told me about this.”
He sat down and removed a boot. “You would have fussed over me and used it as an excuse not to give me back my keys.”
“You’re right.” She tapped a finger against her lips. “But this proves something I’ve been thinking.”
“What?” He scowled.
What did he think she would say? “Even though you ‘separated’”—she made air quotes—“you are still brave enough to earn a medal.”
“Just doing what had to be done.” He rubbed a hand over his bare chest. “It took guts to go to the bar on your own when you knew you were a target.”
He’d already made her admit that had been a mistake, but now he admired her courage? And didn’t mind telling her? What a concept. “Your attitude must have rubbed off on me.”
“If we get closer, more of me can rub off.” His dark gaze threw lightning bolts deep inside her, and any minute she would melt into a puddle.
How did he do this to her with only one look? “I don’t know how much I can take.” Of you or your lightning.
“You keep telling me how tough you are.” A suggestive smile tugged at his mouth.
“And you keep telling me I don’t need to be.” She rubbed his five-o’clock shadow. “If I got closer, I might get all scraped up.”
“Can’t have that, can we?” He glanced toward the back room. “You done in the bath?”
“Be my guest.” She opened the survival blanket and spread it out, considered whether or not to continue wearing her coat before discarding it and sitting in the chair. Once again, they had to go over the sleeping arrangements, but she wouldn’t mind resolving those once and for all. Which would mean throwing away all caution. Could she do that?
The sound of splashing water stopped and Mitch reappeared, scrubbing a towel over his face. He looked at her, then pulled on his T-shirt. He looked at her again. Why? What was he thinking?
He gestured her up from the chair and set the flashlight beside the mattress. “Get in the bed. I’ll take the chair.”
An old pole lamp and a ratty armchair faced across the room to the mattress. A black sweatshirt draped one of a pair of sawhorses next to an old canvas suitcase.
“We’ve got a toilet and sink and running water back through the bedroom. Essential food.” He opened a cabinet to show her assorted canned goods, showing off the place as if she were visiting royalty.
She clutched her coat collar closed and rubbed her arms. An accumulation of cold nights all winter made the inside temperature glacial.
He closed the cabinet and frowned. “You’re cold.”
“No, no. I’m fine.” She hadn’t shivered, had she? Like he said, it would only be for one night, and there wasn’t much night left, anyway. “It’s perfect.”
He stopped rubbing the back of his neck. “Why don’t you go ahead and use the bathroom?”
A few minutes later, with her face washed and hair brushed, she walked back into the big room to find sheets on the mattress and a white case draped over a foam pillow. Mitch stripped off his jacket and holster. He lifted his injured arm. “I had trouble with the pillowcase.”
“You should have let me do this.”
“You want to finish and open the space blanket while I get out of my vest?” He handed her a small package from one of his many utility pockets, then lifted his bulletproof garment over his head.
“Glad to get out of that.”
“I remember the feeling. I can’t believe that was only last night.”
“How’s your bruise today?” He shed his T-shirt.
“I haven’t even noticed it.” She gaped at the circular welt scoring his magnificent abs. “Did the doctors see this?”
He looked down at himself. “They told me to ice it, but that’s not happening. Not here.”
She fingertipped the skin beside the swelling, her insides clenching. Maybe they should have driven on. A motel would have had an ice machine. “You should have told me about this.”
He sat down and removed a boot. “You would have fussed over me and used it as an excuse not to give me back my keys.”
“You’re right.” She tapped a finger against her lips. “But this proves something I’ve been thinking.”
“What?” He scowled.
What did he think she would say? “Even though you ‘separated’”—she made air quotes—“you are still brave enough to earn a medal.”
“Just doing what had to be done.” He rubbed a hand over his bare chest. “It took guts to go to the bar on your own when you knew you were a target.”
He’d already made her admit that had been a mistake, but now he admired her courage? And didn’t mind telling her? What a concept. “Your attitude must have rubbed off on me.”
“If we get closer, more of me can rub off.” His dark gaze threw lightning bolts deep inside her, and any minute she would melt into a puddle.
How did he do this to her with only one look? “I don’t know how much I can take.” Of you or your lightning.
“You keep telling me how tough you are.” A suggestive smile tugged at his mouth.
“And you keep telling me I don’t need to be.” She rubbed his five-o’clock shadow. “If I got closer, I might get all scraped up.”
“Can’t have that, can we?” He glanced toward the back room. “You done in the bath?”
“Be my guest.” She opened the survival blanket and spread it out, considered whether or not to continue wearing her coat before discarding it and sitting in the chair. Once again, they had to go over the sleeping arrangements, but she wouldn’t mind resolving those once and for all. Which would mean throwing away all caution. Could she do that?
The sound of splashing water stopped and Mitch reappeared, scrubbing a towel over his face. He looked at her, then pulled on his T-shirt. He looked at her again. Why? What was he thinking?
He gestured her up from the chair and set the flashlight beside the mattress. “Get in the bed. I’ll take the chair.”
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