sure?”
“You may sit on the veranda. I’ll bring you
a drink, and you can call your brother. Come.” Without waiting to
see if he would, she turned and continued her climb to the house.
He followed.
As he climbed behind her up the steps onto
her veranda, he noticed that she was leaving a dark footprint with
every step of her right foot. She was bleeding. She’d been limping,
but not to the extent he would have thought, seeing these
prints.
“Sabina?”
In the act of opening her front door, she
turned. “Yes?”
He gestured to the plank floor of the
veranda. “You’re bleeding.”
“ Ai . Yes. I think found a piece of
shell in the sand. No matter. I have bandages.”
“May I help?”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “No, I think I
don’t need your help.”
She took everything he said as if it were a
move of some kind. It wasn’t. She was beautiful and charming, but
she was married. And he wasn’t back in the game yet after Jenny. He
had no ulterior motives at all—in fact, he wanted to get back to
Quiet Cove and check in on Trey. But he supposed it wasn’t paranoid
of her to think that a man she barely knew might have bad intent
when he was trying to get into her house.
“Okay. You’ve been walking on it for a
while, haven’t you?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t move.
“Okay. It’s probably pretty deep if it’s
still bleeding. You need to make sure you get all the sand out of
it. Soak your foot in hot water for a while. Do you have a washtub
or something? And lots of antibiotics.”
Still she didn’t move.
“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sliced
my feet up around here. I’m happy to help. Just help.”
Expressions moved across her face with
surprising speed. She was the very definition of conflicted.
“I’ll just wait out here, if you want. I
have no other intent, Sabina.”
“Bina.”
“Hmm?”
“Bina. I am Bina.”
He smiled. “Bina. May I help you?”
With a single bob of her head, she conceded.
Then she turned and stepped up into her house, leaving the door
open behind her. He followed her in.
The house was as handsome, and predictable,
on the inside as it was on the outside. It had obviously been
professionally decorated in the kind of tasteful eclecticism that
predominated among the affluent summer-home dwellers in the area.
Lots of weathered whitewash, all the accent hues ocean blue and
sage green.
Trying not to bloody the pale wood floors or
the light, woven area rugs, Bina was limping now much more
noticeably. She hobbled to the kitchen and began opening cabinets.
And closing them. She was searching. She didn’t know where things
were in her own kitchen. This was a woman used to having a
staff.
Finally, she came out of the pantry with a
white plastic tub and waved it at Carlo, lifting her eyebrows in a
question. He nodded. “That’s perfect. Do you have first aid
supplies?”
Her look had a hint of pride, and she turned
back into the pantry and came quickly out with a small first aid
kit. She’d known where to find that.
He took the tub from her and brought it to
the sink to fill with hot water, running the stream over his wrist
to check the temperature, as he did for Trey’s baths. Looking over
his shoulder, he saw her watching, her expression now inscrutable.
“Washcloth?”
She stared at the drawers under the counter,
clearly trying to remember. When she did, she took a step forward
and opened a drawer, pulling out a white tea towel. “This will
do?”
“Yes.” Terry cloth would have been better,
but he thought he might really put her at a loss to get that
specific. “Have a seat.” He nodded toward the rustic, whitewashed
table surrounded by wooden chairs painted ocean blue.
She sat, and he squatted, setting the tub on
the floor between her feet. He moved to lift her right foot, but
she pulled away and put her foot
“You may sit on the veranda. I’ll bring you
a drink, and you can call your brother. Come.” Without waiting to
see if he would, she turned and continued her climb to the house.
He followed.
As he climbed behind her up the steps onto
her veranda, he noticed that she was leaving a dark footprint with
every step of her right foot. She was bleeding. She’d been limping,
but not to the extent he would have thought, seeing these
prints.
“Sabina?”
In the act of opening her front door, she
turned. “Yes?”
He gestured to the plank floor of the
veranda. “You’re bleeding.”
“ Ai . Yes. I think found a piece of
shell in the sand. No matter. I have bandages.”
“May I help?”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “No, I think I
don’t need your help.”
She took everything he said as if it were a
move of some kind. It wasn’t. She was beautiful and charming, but
she was married. And he wasn’t back in the game yet after Jenny. He
had no ulterior motives at all—in fact, he wanted to get back to
Quiet Cove and check in on Trey. But he supposed it wasn’t paranoid
of her to think that a man she barely knew might have bad intent
when he was trying to get into her house.
“Okay. You’ve been walking on it for a
while, haven’t you?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t move.
“Okay. It’s probably pretty deep if it’s
still bleeding. You need to make sure you get all the sand out of
it. Soak your foot in hot water for a while. Do you have a washtub
or something? And lots of antibiotics.”
Still she didn’t move.
“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sliced
my feet up around here. I’m happy to help. Just help.”
Expressions moved across her face with
surprising speed. She was the very definition of conflicted.
“I’ll just wait out here, if you want. I
have no other intent, Sabina.”
“Bina.”
“Hmm?”
“Bina. I am Bina.”
He smiled. “Bina. May I help you?”
With a single bob of her head, she conceded.
Then she turned and stepped up into her house, leaving the door
open behind her. He followed her in.
The house was as handsome, and predictable,
on the inside as it was on the outside. It had obviously been
professionally decorated in the kind of tasteful eclecticism that
predominated among the affluent summer-home dwellers in the area.
Lots of weathered whitewash, all the accent hues ocean blue and
sage green.
Trying not to bloody the pale wood floors or
the light, woven area rugs, Bina was limping now much more
noticeably. She hobbled to the kitchen and began opening cabinets.
And closing them. She was searching. She didn’t know where things
were in her own kitchen. This was a woman used to having a
staff.
Finally, she came out of the pantry with a
white plastic tub and waved it at Carlo, lifting her eyebrows in a
question. He nodded. “That’s perfect. Do you have first aid
supplies?”
Her look had a hint of pride, and she turned
back into the pantry and came quickly out with a small first aid
kit. She’d known where to find that.
He took the tub from her and brought it to
the sink to fill with hot water, running the stream over his wrist
to check the temperature, as he did for Trey’s baths. Looking over
his shoulder, he saw her watching, her expression now inscrutable.
“Washcloth?”
She stared at the drawers under the counter,
clearly trying to remember. When she did, she took a step forward
and opened a drawer, pulling out a white tea towel. “This will
do?”
“Yes.” Terry cloth would have been better,
but he thought he might really put her at a loss to get that
specific. “Have a seat.” He nodded toward the rustic, whitewashed
table surrounded by wooden chairs painted ocean blue.
She sat, and he squatted, setting the tub on
the floor between her feet. He moved to lift her right foot, but
she pulled away and put her foot
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