dried.
She bent across the bed and lightly shook him. “Jon?” There was no response, so she shook him again.
“Don’t,” he muttered. “I need to rest.”
So do I, buddy, and you’re in my bed
. “You have to change first. Put these on while I see if I can find some fresh bandages.”
He pushed upright. She dropped the clothes next to him and walked into the bathroom. The soft rustle of clothing told her he was at least attempting to change. She hunted around in the cupboards, but couldn’t find any bandages. She’d have to go back out to the truck and get the first aid kit. Maddie glanced at her watch and gave Jon a few more minutes before she walked back in.
The clothing was a whole lot tighter on him than it was on her. The T-shirt strained across the width of his shoulders, and the pants … well, they were tighter than his own jeans—if that was possible. She shook her head slightly. Where the hell was her mind? Jon was a stranger, a complete unknown. Yet she’d given him her bed and her clothes, and placed her trust in the fact that he meant her no harm. Had she learned nothing from the past?
His head came up suddenly, his eyes meeting hers. There was no deceit in that slightly unfocused gaze, no lies. And none of the contempt that had been all too evident in her husband’s gaze.
Jon reached out and gently caught her hand. His fingers were a warm, suntanned brown, and his palms were slightly callused. Totally the opposite of Brian’s … and why did she keep thinking of him? What was it about Jon that dredged up a past she’d much rather forget?
“Trust me, Madeline. I mean you no harm.”
Trust me, trust me
. How often had she heard that?How frequently had it been the warning of trouble heading her way?
“I’ll have to go out to the car to get some bandages,” she said, jerking her hand out of his.
His gaze narrowed slightly. “Be careful.”
She gave him a tight smile. “I always am.” Very careful, very cautious. Because when she wasn’t, people died. “You rest. I won’t be long.”
She turned and walked quickly from the room.
F EAR SURROUNDED HIM—AN ACID CLOUD THAT STUNG HIS mind and forced him awake. Jon jerked upright and, for an instant, wondered where he was.
The morning sun peeped around the outer edges of the curtains, gilding the framed painting opposite the bed. He half smiled. He had to be at the inn—there couldn’t be many paintings around that used such appalling colors to depict a farmyard setting. Or many places that would hang them on their walls.
So why was Madeline in his room? And why was she so afraid?
He shoved the blankets aside and swung his feet out of the bed, then stopped, staring down at his legs. Speaking of appalling colors, why in hell was he wearing these sweatpants? They were Madeline’s—he could smell the lingering scent of roses. But what had happened to his clothes?
He couldn’t recall much about the latter half of last night, and what he did remember was a blurred nightmare he never wanted to repeat.
The fear swirled around him again. He rose too quickly and had to grab at the bedpost to remain upright. Although fast healing was a gift of his shapeshiftingheritage, it would be a day or two yet before he would recover fully from this particular wound and the resulting blood loss. He took a deep breath, then padded quietly across the room.
“The room’s a shambles. Can’t you come back to fix the window later, Mr. Stewart?” Madeline’s voice stopped him near the bedroom door. There was nothing in her soft tones to indicate the fear he could almost taste.
“Hank,” the stranger replied. “And I’m afraid not. If I don’t do it now, it won’t get done for several days. Last night’s storm caused a bit of damage, I’m afraid.”
There was an underlying threat in the man’s tone, one that told him the stranger wouldn’t take no for an answer. But why was the man so determined to get into his room? And why
She bent across the bed and lightly shook him. “Jon?” There was no response, so she shook him again.
“Don’t,” he muttered. “I need to rest.”
So do I, buddy, and you’re in my bed
. “You have to change first. Put these on while I see if I can find some fresh bandages.”
He pushed upright. She dropped the clothes next to him and walked into the bathroom. The soft rustle of clothing told her he was at least attempting to change. She hunted around in the cupboards, but couldn’t find any bandages. She’d have to go back out to the truck and get the first aid kit. Maddie glanced at her watch and gave Jon a few more minutes before she walked back in.
The clothing was a whole lot tighter on him than it was on her. The T-shirt strained across the width of his shoulders, and the pants … well, they were tighter than his own jeans—if that was possible. She shook her head slightly. Where the hell was her mind? Jon was a stranger, a complete unknown. Yet she’d given him her bed and her clothes, and placed her trust in the fact that he meant her no harm. Had she learned nothing from the past?
His head came up suddenly, his eyes meeting hers. There was no deceit in that slightly unfocused gaze, no lies. And none of the contempt that had been all too evident in her husband’s gaze.
Jon reached out and gently caught her hand. His fingers were a warm, suntanned brown, and his palms were slightly callused. Totally the opposite of Brian’s … and why did she keep thinking of him? What was it about Jon that dredged up a past she’d much rather forget?
“Trust me, Madeline. I mean you no harm.”
Trust me, trust me
. How often had she heard that?How frequently had it been the warning of trouble heading her way?
“I’ll have to go out to the car to get some bandages,” she said, jerking her hand out of his.
His gaze narrowed slightly. “Be careful.”
She gave him a tight smile. “I always am.” Very careful, very cautious. Because when she wasn’t, people died. “You rest. I won’t be long.”
She turned and walked quickly from the room.
F EAR SURROUNDED HIM—AN ACID CLOUD THAT STUNG HIS mind and forced him awake. Jon jerked upright and, for an instant, wondered where he was.
The morning sun peeped around the outer edges of the curtains, gilding the framed painting opposite the bed. He half smiled. He had to be at the inn—there couldn’t be many paintings around that used such appalling colors to depict a farmyard setting. Or many places that would hang them on their walls.
So why was Madeline in his room? And why was she so afraid?
He shoved the blankets aside and swung his feet out of the bed, then stopped, staring down at his legs. Speaking of appalling colors, why in hell was he wearing these sweatpants? They were Madeline’s—he could smell the lingering scent of roses. But what had happened to his clothes?
He couldn’t recall much about the latter half of last night, and what he did remember was a blurred nightmare he never wanted to repeat.
The fear swirled around him again. He rose too quickly and had to grab at the bedpost to remain upright. Although fast healing was a gift of his shapeshiftingheritage, it would be a day or two yet before he would recover fully from this particular wound and the resulting blood loss. He took a deep breath, then padded quietly across the room.
“The room’s a shambles. Can’t you come back to fix the window later, Mr. Stewart?” Madeline’s voice stopped him near the bedroom door. There was nothing in her soft tones to indicate the fear he could almost taste.
“Hank,” the stranger replied. “And I’m afraid not. If I don’t do it now, it won’t get done for several days. Last night’s storm caused a bit of damage, I’m afraid.”
There was an underlying threat in the man’s tone, one that told him the stranger wouldn’t take no for an answer. But why was the man so determined to get into his room? And why
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