completely helpless.
Caleb pulled his hand away. “That dress can’t be comfortable.”
“It’s fine,” she mumbled. “I’m fine.”
She could barely keep her eyes open, but—through the slits between her mostly closed eyelids—she saw Caleb shake his head again in frustration and then leave her to the mercy of a woman who must be a housekeeper.
Soon the doctor came and left, pronouncing her with a mild concussion—nothing serious—and saying she should be woken up a few times during the night to make sure she was all right and that she should rest for the next couple of days. Next, the housekeeper came in with a T-shirt for Kelly to wear instead of her dress. And then finally, blessedly, she was allowed to sleep.
She needed her wits about her to face Caleb again, and that wasn’t going to be possible until she got some sleep.
—
She slept better than she would have expected, considering the circumstances, had woken only when the housekeeper came in to check on her every couple of hours. It was starting to get light outside the next morning when the door opened again, and the woman came in with a tray.
As Kelly shifted under the thick, soft covers and started to wake up, her first conscious thought was that she still had a raging headache.
Her second thought was that there must be coffee on that tray.
She mumbled something incoherent when the room got suddenly lighter. Blinking, she realized that the housekeeper had pulled open the curtains.
“I’m sorry, miss. Would you rather I keep them closed?”
“No.” Kelly was expecting Caleb at any minute, and she’d be far more prepared for the conversation if fully awake. “It’s fine.”
The woman smiled in her direction, poured Kelly a cup of the fragrant coffee, and brought it over to set it on the nightstand. “Mr. Marshall said he wanted to talk to you for a few minutes before he leaves for work.”
Of course he did.
That was why Kelly was getting woken up like this.
Kelly propped herself into a sitting position against her thick pillows. “That’s fine. I know he needs to leave early. He has to work pretty hard, I guess,” she said, partly to make conversation and partly to see if the housekeeper had a tendency to gossip.
Shaking her head disapprovingly, the woman said, “He works every day, the stubborn boy. Even Sundays. I tell him to get more rest and take some time to restore himself, but he just smiles and ignores me. Works himself into a stupor. Poor dear.”
Kelly tried not to snort at anyone calling Caleb Marshall a
poor dear
. “Thank you,” she said, gesturing to the mug she was holding. “I’m not used to this kind of treatment.”
The housekeeper smiled. “Not many of us are.” She studied Kelly intently, in a way that Kelly found a little unsettling. “That bruise isn’t as bad as I thought.”
Kelly raised her fingers to the bruise on her cheekbone. She’d almost forgotten about it.
A reminder of how many things could go wrong.
Smiling sympathetically, the housekeeper went on. “Poor thing. You have had a rough time, haven’t you?”
After blinking in surprise at what appeared to be genuine kindness from this woman who was a stranger to her, Kelly suppressed an ironic smile. The housekeeper was like a character from a schmaltzy novel. All she needed was some knitting and a cat.
“You should visit the dog.”
Kelly blinked again. “The dog?”
“The shepherd,” the woman explained. “Ralph. Mr. Marshall’s dog. He hangs out in the stables most of the time during the day. Dogs put things in perspective.”
Kelly managed to smile and thank the woman for this bizarre invitation. Even if it were true, Kelly couldn’t risk putting things into perspective, or her whole revenge plan might tumble down around her feet.
The woman took a step over and patted Kelly’s hand, which was lying on the thick coverlet. “Mr. Marshall will be here soon. I’m Breah. Just let me know if you need anything. A long
Caleb pulled his hand away. “That dress can’t be comfortable.”
“It’s fine,” she mumbled. “I’m fine.”
She could barely keep her eyes open, but—through the slits between her mostly closed eyelids—she saw Caleb shake his head again in frustration and then leave her to the mercy of a woman who must be a housekeeper.
Soon the doctor came and left, pronouncing her with a mild concussion—nothing serious—and saying she should be woken up a few times during the night to make sure she was all right and that she should rest for the next couple of days. Next, the housekeeper came in with a T-shirt for Kelly to wear instead of her dress. And then finally, blessedly, she was allowed to sleep.
She needed her wits about her to face Caleb again, and that wasn’t going to be possible until she got some sleep.
—
She slept better than she would have expected, considering the circumstances, had woken only when the housekeeper came in to check on her every couple of hours. It was starting to get light outside the next morning when the door opened again, and the woman came in with a tray.
As Kelly shifted under the thick, soft covers and started to wake up, her first conscious thought was that she still had a raging headache.
Her second thought was that there must be coffee on that tray.
She mumbled something incoherent when the room got suddenly lighter. Blinking, she realized that the housekeeper had pulled open the curtains.
“I’m sorry, miss. Would you rather I keep them closed?”
“No.” Kelly was expecting Caleb at any minute, and she’d be far more prepared for the conversation if fully awake. “It’s fine.”
The woman smiled in her direction, poured Kelly a cup of the fragrant coffee, and brought it over to set it on the nightstand. “Mr. Marshall said he wanted to talk to you for a few minutes before he leaves for work.”
Of course he did.
That was why Kelly was getting woken up like this.
Kelly propped herself into a sitting position against her thick pillows. “That’s fine. I know he needs to leave early. He has to work pretty hard, I guess,” she said, partly to make conversation and partly to see if the housekeeper had a tendency to gossip.
Shaking her head disapprovingly, the woman said, “He works every day, the stubborn boy. Even Sundays. I tell him to get more rest and take some time to restore himself, but he just smiles and ignores me. Works himself into a stupor. Poor dear.”
Kelly tried not to snort at anyone calling Caleb Marshall a
poor dear
. “Thank you,” she said, gesturing to the mug she was holding. “I’m not used to this kind of treatment.”
The housekeeper smiled. “Not many of us are.” She studied Kelly intently, in a way that Kelly found a little unsettling. “That bruise isn’t as bad as I thought.”
Kelly raised her fingers to the bruise on her cheekbone. She’d almost forgotten about it.
A reminder of how many things could go wrong.
Smiling sympathetically, the housekeeper went on. “Poor thing. You have had a rough time, haven’t you?”
After blinking in surprise at what appeared to be genuine kindness from this woman who was a stranger to her, Kelly suppressed an ironic smile. The housekeeper was like a character from a schmaltzy novel. All she needed was some knitting and a cat.
“You should visit the dog.”
Kelly blinked again. “The dog?”
“The shepherd,” the woman explained. “Ralph. Mr. Marshall’s dog. He hangs out in the stables most of the time during the day. Dogs put things in perspective.”
Kelly managed to smile and thank the woman for this bizarre invitation. Even if it were true, Kelly couldn’t risk putting things into perspective, or her whole revenge plan might tumble down around her feet.
The woman took a step over and patted Kelly’s hand, which was lying on the thick coverlet. “Mr. Marshall will be here soon. I’m Breah. Just let me know if you need anything. A long
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