Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Fuck.
What was he doing? He’d pace up and down if it wasn’t for the pain shooting up his leg and into his back.
Instead, he sat in one of the armchairs by the fire.
He should take a pain pill and go to bed. But he didn’t think he could sleep with her in the house.
What? Are you worried she’s going to murder you in your sleep?
That would probably be a relief.
He pushed that thought down deep. It had been a while since he’d thought like that and he didn’t want to return to that dark place.
The one that Joey, Lochlan, and Miles had pulled him out of.
He should probably message one of them. Have Miles run a background check on her. But the service out here wasn’t great at the best of times, during a storm it was generally non-existent.
Not to mention that you don’t even know her name.
Smart. That was real smart.
He glanced over at her luggage and grocery bags sitting by the back door. Then at the puddles of water and mud on his wooden floor.
Shit.
Once upon a time, he’d have insisted on carrying all of those for her. He wouldn’t have let her lift anything. Especially if she was his.
Which she isn’t.
He would have had that mess cleaned up quickly.
But not now.
He tightened his hands into fists. That was the worst thing about this injury. Not the loss of his career. Not the huge change in the way he lived his life.
Not even the constant pain.
It was his fucking independence. His ability to take care of someone else. Instead, he had to rely on other people to look after him.
And for a man like Anson who lived to take care of others, that was a fucking bitter pill to swallow.
Suddenly, the girl appeared with a bucket and mop. She started mopping before getting onto her hands and knees to run a cloth over the wet areas.
He gritted his teeth against telling her to get up off the damn floor.
Not his girl.
Not his problem.
He was aware of her shooting him short looks and finally, he sighed, unable to take it any longer.
“Ask me.”
“Sorry? I mean, uh, pardon?”
“You want to ask me something. What is it?”
“What’s your name?” she blurted out.
This was the tricky part. Give her his whole name? It was clear she didn’t recognize him. But he looked far different than he used to. He’d grown a beard. There was now some gray in his hair. And wrinkles around his eyes.
Apparently having your leg partially crushed and being in near-constant pain for eight months would do that to a man.
However, that didn’t mean that she wouldn’t recognize his name.
“Anson,” he finally said.
“Oh, nice to meet you, Anson. I’m Alice.”
Alice. It was a pretty name. He let himself study her as she went back to cleaning. A bit too pale and her cheeks were sunken as though she hadn’t eaten properly in a while. Her clothes hung off her frame. He wondered if she liked wearing them oversized or if she’d lost weight recently.
There was a constant worried air to her that he didn’t really like. As though she expected to be attacked at any moment.
Christ.
He should probably be a bit nicer to her. It wasn’t exactly her fault that she was gatecrashing his peace and solitude.
“And thanks for letting me stay the night. I promise that you won’t even notice I’m here.”
That was something that he highly doubted.
Alice was aware that he was staring at her and it made her even more nervous.
Thankfully, she managed to pick up the bucket and carry it back to the laundry without spilling anything.
She took care of the dirty water and cloth, putting it in the washer she found.
Then she took a deep, fortifying breath.
You have this, Alice. All you need is another list.
1. Make the bed.
2. Put away the groceries.
3. Find something quick to eat.
4. Get in your pajamas.
5. Sleep.
Lord. She really hoped that she could sleep. And that this storm would stop sometime in the night so she could make a quick getaway in the morning.
Battling her exhaustion, she made the bed and then stumbled out to grab her things.
She took her suitcase to her room and left it there to deal with later.
The groceries really needed to go into the fridge. Thankfully, she didn’t have anything that could melt. Carrying the groceries into the kitchen, she put a few things into the fridge and then set the other bags on the bench.
She’d make herself some toast. No way could she handle making anything else tonight. Already her vision was growing blurry and she could feel a headache developing.
She just needed to eat and take some painkillers and she’d be fine. Alice often got headaches from stress or when she went too long without eating. Both of which she’d experienced today.
So she stuck some bread into the toaster that she found on the bench and grabbed out a soda, sipping on it slowly. The caffeine might help.
Then she grabbed the bags to take them to her bedroom.
“Where are you taking those?”
She jumped. Holy heck. How had she forgotten that he was there? Turning, she saw him staring at her from the armchair by the fire.
“Um, I thought I’d put them in my room, keep them out of the way.”
He waved a hand. “Leave them. Come eat here.”
Sheesh, he was bossy.
But she couldn’t argue with him. That would take more courage than she had. Today had wiped out her supply.
Plus, it would be rude. This was his house, after all.
He frowned as she carried over her buttered toast and soda. She also grabbed out some painkillers, grateful that she’d thought to buy some at the store. Her stronger ones were in her handbag but she didn’t feel like going to get them.
“Um, do you want some?” she asked.
“That’s your dinner?” he asked with clear disapproval.
“Yeah. I don’t have the energy for anything more and I have to eat because I’m starting to feel sick.”
“Sick?” he repeated.
“Oh yes! But nothing contagious. Don’t worry, it’s just that when I go too long without eating or I get overly stressed I can get these headaches. And sometimes I feel ill. Also, my blood pressure gets a bit low. It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t sound like nothing,” he growled.
“It really is.” Or that’s what George used to say. That she was just seeking attention. That low blood pressure was a good thing. And that people had real medical conditions.
That she should stop complaining.
She knew that compared to what others were going through her issues were nothing. So she’d stopped mentioning it to him.
“Why aren’t you eating?” he demanded.
“Oh, um. Well.” She had to swallow her apology. Instead, she took a bite of toast. A moan escaped her lips.
Oops.
She paused.
“Keep eating,” he told her.
She swallowed her mouthful and took her pills with a few sips of soda. “You’re very bossy.”
“That a problem?” he asked.
“Ahh. Well. I guess not.”
“That’s good. Because I’m not going to change. My house. My rules.”
“That’s fair enough.”
“And one of my house rules is that you eat. Regularly. So eat.”
“That’s one of your house rules?” Was he joking? He wasn’t smiling. But she wasn’t certain that he knew how to smile.
“Yes. Why? Did I sound like I was joking?” he asked. “Eat.”
She’d taken a bite before she realized it. How did he do that?
“Do you know how to joke?”
“No. I seem to have lost that ability,” he said dryly.
“So that’s really a house rule? That your guests need to eat?”
“You’re my first guest here. So I’m making the rules up as I go.”
She was his first guest? Alice wasn’t sure why but that made her feel quite sad.
“And don’t go feeling sorry for me. I don’t want any guests.”
Right. So she was now feeling worse about just turning up at his house, unexpectedly.
“I’m—”
“You say you’re sorry and you’re going to be in trouble.”
“Right.” She bit her lip.
“Eat more. House rule.”
“Are there many more house rules?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Like I said, I’m making them up as I go along.”
“But what if I break one because I don’t know what they are?” she asked worriedly.
Remember, you’re not going to be here long. After you eat your toast, you can go to your room and just stay out of his way.
Right. Good.
Breathe.
“I’ll let you know if you break one.”
“It would be easier to just know up front. Then I won’t cause any problems.”
Anson eyed her for a long moment. He really was a gorgeous man. He just needed to smile. “You? Cause trouble?”
Alice had no idea if he was being sarcastic or not.
“Eat,” he repeated.
Oh, Christmas bells. She was already breaking a rule.
“You seem quite concerned about breaking the rules,” he stated as she hastily finished her dinner.
She paused then took a quick sip of soda to wash the last of her toast down. “Um, I guess I’m a rule follower.”
He grunted.
“Are you?” she asked.
“I prefer to make them rather than follow them.”
Yeah. George had too.
Not that she should compare this man to her husband. George was a narcissistic asshole. Anson was . . . grouchy and kind of sad. She wasn’t sure why she thought that. Maybe because he lived in the middle of nowhere on his own.
“So the house rules are no lying, no invading your privacy, and eating regularly?”
Very strange rules.
“And no apologizing unless something is really your fault.”
“These are the oddest house rules I’ve ever heard of.”
“Yeah? If I was a guest in your house what would your house rules be?” he asked.
Well, that wasn’t going to happen since she didn’t have a house.
But she couldn’t say that. What would her rules be? She thought about all of George’s rules. She could use some of them.
Or not.
“I wouldn’t have any.”
“You don’t have any house rules?” he asked, leaning forward.
“No.” It wasn’t a lie. She didn’t have any. George had made them all. And they were extensive. Although they weren’t for guests.
Nope. They’d all been for her.
He rubbed his chin. “Good you’ve got some now, then.”
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind living without rules for a while. It would be freeing.”
“You think so? Sometimes, the right sort of rules and consequences, and reinforced by the right sort of person can make you feel secure. Cared for.”
She gaped at him. That was not what she’d expected him to say.
And she didn’t know what to say in return. So she took the coward’s way out.
Because that’s what she was.
“I need to go to bed.” Jumping up, she rinsed her plate and took her soda with her as she raced off to bed. Getting into her room, she took a moment to just breathe.
What had just happened?
Setting the soda down and wishing she’d thought to grab some water, she opened her suitcase and drew out Lola, her ballerina mouse.
Alice had gotten Lola when she was a child. George had thought it was ridiculous that she still had a toy at thirty-one. But it was one of the few things she’d stood up to him about.
Sure, she’d had to hide her away, but she’d kept Lola safe.
Her parents had died when she was twenty-four and she was an only child. Lola was one of the few things she had left of her childhood.
The stuffed mouse was her only friend. And she’d never let anyone hurt her.