Page 40 of Beach Cottage Kisses

Sage was out of town.

And Iris was up.

By the time she was shown into the curtained-off cubicle where they’d brought Scott from recovery, Iris had a bag filled with supplies and written instructions. And a head filled with everything the pharmacist,RN, neurologist and surgeon had told her, too.

RICE was foremost for the knee. Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation.

And wound care. Warm water. Soap. Waterproof bandage. Stitches out in ten days. Antibiotics. Pain reliever. No weight-bearing. Some immobility.

For the back it was RICH. Rest. Ice. Compression. Heat.

Armed for whatever fight Scott might give her, she stepped behind the curtain quietly, not sure he was awake.

“You look better than my sister would right about now.” His words were a little slow. Sleepy sounding. But still Scott.

And relief hit so hard, so fast, she dropped down to the chair beside his bed. Setting her bag on the floor with her purse. “How would Sage look?” she asked, simply because she wanted to know.

“So serious you’d feel like you were at a funeral.”

She tried to smile. Couldn’t. He had no idea how close he came to how she’d felt when she’d first picked up the phone earlier that day.

And he wasn’t going to know, either.

The man didn’t need a confessor.

He needed a keeper.

And she was it.

* * *

That face. The green eyes, oval cheeks. What guy wouldn’t like to see them appear in his drug-induced haze?

“They gave me something for pain,” he said, fighting sleep so that he could take charge, get up, get out, get home. “No more.”

“Did you tell them?”

He wasn’t sure. He’d meant to. “I think so. Could you check on that?”

She’d looked like she needed something to do.

And he didn’t want anyone witnessing his first attempt to take back his autonomy. Not until he had an idea what it was going to cost him.

And knew for sure what he did or did not have on under the sheet covering him.

“I’ve, um, already talked to everyone.”

What in the hell did that mean? “Who’s everyone?” He struggled to find his beach voice. The one where he was relaxed, confident, taking on the world.

Hoping once he got the voice, the rest would follow.

“Sage, the nurse in charge, your surgeon.”

They were ganging up on him. Had sent her in to do their dirty work.

Because they thought she was the one who’d be able to convince him to stay.

Sorry to disappoint them all. “I’m not staying,” he said.