Page 22 of Brian and Cora (The Bachelors of Three Bend Lake #2)

Instead of quickly letting go, Seth held on for just a few extra seconds before releasing Brian’s hand and glancing from him to Hank. “What we went through that day at the McCurdy hideout forged…”

“Friendships like no other,” Hank finished the thought for him.

For a moment, Brian forced himself to put aside his bad humor. He was still irked with his friend but had come to realize that Andre Bellaire was a force of nature even his friend couldn’t completely stand against.

Hank strode to the coatrack, took his hat, and placed it on his head. “I’ll be back in the morning and bringing Sassy Girl.” He shot the nurse a charming grin. I hope you won’t mind looking after Brian’s puppy. Probably be far easier than looking after Brian.”

The woman suppressed a smile. But her eyes danced. “I had a dog as a child. Adored him. A puppy will bring positive energy into this house.”

Positive energy. Bah! What kind of nonsensical metaphysical talk was that? With the door shut behind them, Brian scowled at the woman—the expression he used in the past to send any other delicate young lady fleeing his presence. Just for annoyance’s sake, he added a growl. That should do it.

Her concerned expression didn’t change. “I know the pain is making you cranky.”

“Cranky!” Brian fired back. “I’m no child in need of a nap.”

She smiled and patted his shoulder in a there, there movement. “A nap is exactly what you need,” she soothed. “Rest will help you heal.”

“Being left alone without any officious nursemaids is what will let me heal.”

Seeming undeterred, she touched his arm. “I know it’s early. But let’s tuck you into bed for the night. Let’s get you clean and comfortable first.”

‘Let’s,’ he harrumphed. How is she staying so calm?

“Soon, you’ll feel better and not be so crotchety.”

“Crotchety!” he ground out. “First you make me into a petulant child. Now, you make me sound like an old woman.”

She flashed him a sunny smile. “Well, if the shoe fits.”

He bared his teeth and growled, louder and longer, which should have done the trick of frightening her all the way down the mountain. But before she turned away and bustled toward the stove, he glimpsed a smirk, which only aggravated him more.

He narrowed his eyes at a small hutch and the brown transferware dishes on the rack.

He imagined picking them up one by one and hurling them at her.

That would break her complacency. She’s lucky I can’t get to them.

The thought gave him some satisfaction, before a niggle of shame made his imagination back off.

He wouldn’t really hurt a woman or throw things at her.

He just wanted this one to be fed up with his piss-poor attitude and march the heck off.

She poured the dirty water from the basin into the bucket under the dry sink and added some warm water. Carrying the basin, a bar of white soap, a small towel, and a washcloth, she returned, setting the bowl on the table and dipping the cloth into the water.

Oh, no! She’s not going to bathe me like a babe. If she tries, I’ll toss the whole thing at her, and she’ll be soaking wet.

Don’t be childish, Brian. His mother’s voice in his head chided. He hadn’t sensed Mama’s presence in a very long time, and he swiftly banished the thought of her. He had enough problems with the real woman in front of him without having to also deal with a dead one.

Wisely, his nursemaid seemed to read his mind, handing him the washcloth and soap before moving the bowl closer. “Just your face and hands tonight. We’ll do a more complete sponge bath and I can shave you tomorrow after you’ve rested.”

“I can shave myself,” he snapped. “Bathe myself.”

“Suit yourself.” Although she stressed the last syllable, she did so in a calm tone, giving no hint of irritation.

Relieved she wasn’t going to wash his face, Brian fingered the cloth, thicker than he expected, and composed of tiny loops.

“It’s called terry cloth. I’d never seen that material before living here. Only the best for Mr. Bellaire, though. I think you’ll like the feel.” She turned and gathered up the dishes, taking them to the dry sink.

He ran the cloth over his face. The moist heat felt good on his dusty skin.

Although he’d slit his throat before admitting it to the woman, he did like the soft feel—at least the part of his face that wasn’t covered with the stubble of his beard, which interfered with a smooth glide over his chin, cheeks, and neck.

He didn’t look at her, deliberately putting his full attention into soaping the cloth, cleaning his face, and then rinsing both. Next, he thoroughly soaped his hands, before dipping them into the water for a rinse and drying them on the towel.

Brian knew he should thank her. Under normal circumstances, he would thank her. But since these weren’t normal circumstances and he didn’t want to thank her, he clenched his jaw on the words. The worse he behaved, the sooner he could drive her away.

He laid his head back and closed his eyes, listening to the domestic bustle of a female doing the dishes and putting everything away. He should be bothered by her presence, and he was. Really he was. But there was also a certain comfort in following her movements.

Hearing her footsteps coming toward him and moving past, he opened his eyes.

She crossed over to the bed and flung back the coverings—a white sheet and snowy feather tick.

Where are my blankets? He looked around but didn’t see them. Perhaps on the bed in the other room. Cringing, he hoped they didn’t smell bad. Then he caught himself. I hope they reek, so she can’t stand to sleep here.

She fluffed up the pillows.

Pillows? I didn’t have three pillows. Brian narrowed his eyes at the crisp bedding, which seemed suspiciously white, and he couldn’t help the stab of shame that someone had washed his dirty linen.

Or they’re new. He didn’t like either option.

In fact, neither of those pillows looked like his own, which was much flatter.

“Where are my blankets? My pillow?” he demanded.

She ran her hand over the bottom sheet, smoothing out what seemed to be imaginary wrinkles. “Taken back to town. Mrs. Murphy will launder them and add goose down to your pillow to plump it up.”

Brian opened his mouth to bark something childish about not wanting a fatter pillow, when suddenly fatigue hit so hard, he lost the impetus to be disagreeable. The bed looked too inviting, and he needed to melt into the beckoning comfort. I’ll scare her off tomorrow.

He gazed longingly at the cozy surface. The only obstacle, the distance between his chair and the bed—a matter of about eight feet.

He might as well try to cross a desert. There wasn’t a way to get from the chair to the bed without the woman’s help.

Your own fool fault. Should have done this when Hank and Seth were here.

“Do you need a bedpan before you lie down?” she asked in a matter-of-fact tone.

He didn’t, thank heavens. He didn’t want to even consider what he’d need to do when the time came. Trudy Flanigan had left the bathing and toileting of Brian to Dr. Angus or Seth or their hired man. Buck Skold, the lucky son-of-a-gun, had managed his own one-handed ablutions.

Brian couldn’t bring himself to reply, only managing a head shake. Bracing himself for the pain, he placed a palm on the table to push himself up.

He rose a few inches, unable to contain the grunt that escaped. As much as he’d chaffed at needing their help, having the men heave him around had sure been easier on his body and on his pride.

“Wait.” She rushed to his side and crouched to fit her shoulder under his other arm.

He wanted to snarl for her to leave him be, but as they slowly unfolded in unison to stand, he was pathetically grateful for the support. Once balancing on one leg, he panted, feeling a bit dizzy.

He half hopped, half shuffled in tandem with her all the way to the side of the bed. He wanted to gasp at each spasm of pain. But he clenched his jaw and reined-in the sounds.

They stopped at the bedside for her to remove his robe, while he awkwardly balanced by holding onto her shoulder.

Even with avoiding looking into her face, the intimacy of their bodies so close together, with him in only a nightshirt, made heat flush through him.

He turned his head slightly and thought he saw pink flush into her face.

But the light was too uncertain to be sure.

By the time he was prone and she’d lifted his legs to straighten them on the bed, he felt like he’d run a mile carrying a fifty-pound sack of grain.

As much as I hate to admit it, I just might need her.