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Authors: Loree Lough
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mighty sure of yourself.”
“I’d bet my house, if I still had one.” She lifted her chin to hide the ache caused by stating the awful fact. “Because it’s written all over your face.”
Now the well-arched brows rose high on his forehead. “What’s written all over my face?”
“You’re confused. Bewildered—”
He closed one eye. “Mmm, wasn’t that a song back in the ’40s?”
Tempted to grin, she set her mouth in a taut line. She couldn’t let him get away with changing the subject that easily. “You don’t have a clue why I want to stop off at the beauty parlor on the way home.”
“’Course I do.” He tucked his fingertips into his jeans pockets. “You don’t want your kids to see what the fire did to your hair, ’cause it might scare ’em.”
Self-consciously, she put a hand on her flame-frizzed locks. He’d said it so matter-of-factly. And hit the nail square on the head, as her daddy used to say. Which shocked her, more than she cared to admit, because Ernest had never understood anything about her, least of all something as frivolous and vain as this. He’d have called the mission silly, a ridiculous waste of money.
Thankfully, Lamont broke the moment tension by making himself comfortable in the dusty-pink chair beside her hospital bed. “Soon as the nurse gives the nod, we’ll head out. Need anything in the meantime?”
Closing her eyes, she bobbed her head left, then right, trying to flex kinked muscles. Evidently, she’d lain long enough in a pretzel position near the pantry to put a serious cramp in her neck. Good old-fashioned massage would be nice, she thought, rubbing her temples.
Nadine heard the shuffle of his boots on the fleck-tiled floor, then felt his big, warm hands on her shoulders. “Lamont London, what do you think you’re—”
“Doc said you need some of this antibiotic ointment on your burns. Besides, looks to me like you could use a good old-fashioned rubdown. Between the concussion and everything else…”
Had she spoken her thoughts aloud? She must have; how else could he have known exactly what she’d been thinking?
Gently, he rubbed the healing salve into her knotted shoulder muscles. “Tell me if I get too rough,” he said. “Sometimes, I don’t know my own strength.”
How many times had Ernest said that? Only every time he’d left her bloodied and bruised, which would amount to hundreds of times over their years together. For some reason she couldn’t explain, Lamont’s simple comment made her think of the time when she’d seen him lose his temper at the hardware store. His coupon was valid, he’d insisted, the sale on screwdrivers wouldn’t officially end until closing. The gum-chewing teenager behind the counter relented, with one minute to spare, and Lamont filled it with a stern lecture about respect for one’s elders and paying attention to details.
Suddenly, Nadine felt uncomfortable, having his hands on her, having him this close. Lamont must have sensed her tension, because he stepped back and gingerly wiped his oily palms on a tissue, plucked from the box on her bedside table.
She knew why he was being so careful with his hands, and felt horrible for comparing him to Ernest, especially when she could plainly see that the fire hadturned his face sunburn red, how tiny pocks of the exploding windowpanes had dotted his cheeks, forearms and knuckles. He’d risked his life to save hers.
“Want me to check with the nurses’ station?” he asked, tossing the tissue into the trash can. “See what’s holding up your release?”
Unable to meet his eyes, Nadine shook her head. Once they left the hospital, there’d be the long ride home, and a stopover at the salon next door to Georgia’s Diner. She needed to collect her thoughts, stiffen her resolve before spending that much time alone with Lamont. She’d made a promise to herself, and she aimed to keep it. She had no business entertaining romantic feelings for him
“I’d bet my house, if I still had one.” She lifted her chin to hide the ache caused by stating the awful fact. “Because it’s written all over your face.”
Now the well-arched brows rose high on his forehead. “What’s written all over my face?”
“You’re confused. Bewildered—”
He closed one eye. “Mmm, wasn’t that a song back in the ’40s?”
Tempted to grin, she set her mouth in a taut line. She couldn’t let him get away with changing the subject that easily. “You don’t have a clue why I want to stop off at the beauty parlor on the way home.”
“’Course I do.” He tucked his fingertips into his jeans pockets. “You don’t want your kids to see what the fire did to your hair, ’cause it might scare ’em.”
Self-consciously, she put a hand on her flame-frizzed locks. He’d said it so matter-of-factly. And hit the nail square on the head, as her daddy used to say. Which shocked her, more than she cared to admit, because Ernest had never understood anything about her, least of all something as frivolous and vain as this. He’d have called the mission silly, a ridiculous waste of money.
Thankfully, Lamont broke the moment tension by making himself comfortable in the dusty-pink chair beside her hospital bed. “Soon as the nurse gives the nod, we’ll head out. Need anything in the meantime?”
Closing her eyes, she bobbed her head left, then right, trying to flex kinked muscles. Evidently, she’d lain long enough in a pretzel position near the pantry to put a serious cramp in her neck. Good old-fashioned massage would be nice, she thought, rubbing her temples.
Nadine heard the shuffle of his boots on the fleck-tiled floor, then felt his big, warm hands on her shoulders. “Lamont London, what do you think you’re—”
“Doc said you need some of this antibiotic ointment on your burns. Besides, looks to me like you could use a good old-fashioned rubdown. Between the concussion and everything else…”
Had she spoken her thoughts aloud? She must have; how else could he have known exactly what she’d been thinking?
Gently, he rubbed the healing salve into her knotted shoulder muscles. “Tell me if I get too rough,” he said. “Sometimes, I don’t know my own strength.”
How many times had Ernest said that? Only every time he’d left her bloodied and bruised, which would amount to hundreds of times over their years together. For some reason she couldn’t explain, Lamont’s simple comment made her think of the time when she’d seen him lose his temper at the hardware store. His coupon was valid, he’d insisted, the sale on screwdrivers wouldn’t officially end until closing. The gum-chewing teenager behind the counter relented, with one minute to spare, and Lamont filled it with a stern lecture about respect for one’s elders and paying attention to details.
Suddenly, Nadine felt uncomfortable, having his hands on her, having him this close. Lamont must have sensed her tension, because he stepped back and gingerly wiped his oily palms on a tissue, plucked from the box on her bedside table.
She knew why he was being so careful with his hands, and felt horrible for comparing him to Ernest, especially when she could plainly see that the fire hadturned his face sunburn red, how tiny pocks of the exploding windowpanes had dotted his cheeks, forearms and knuckles. He’d risked his life to save hers.
“Want me to check with the nurses’ station?” he asked, tossing the tissue into the trash can. “See what’s holding up your release?”
Unable to meet his eyes, Nadine shook her head. Once they left the hospital, there’d be the long ride home, and a stopover at the salon next door to Georgia’s Diner. She needed to collect her thoughts, stiffen her resolve before spending that much time alone with Lamont. She’d made a promise to herself, and she aimed to keep it. She had no business entertaining romantic feelings for him
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