Chapter 7 #2
If Tilly had said it once, she’d said it a dozen times since Ryder’s arrival at the Ruban estate.
And she was saying it again as Joshua passed through the kitchen on his way upstairs with an ice bag for Miles’s head.
The soup bubbling on the stove was for Casey.
The tears running down her face were those of relief after she’d seen for herself that her girl was all right.
The house phone rang just as Ryder came in the back door.
Startled by the sound, Tilly jumped and the soup she was stirring sloshed over the side of the pot and splattered with a hiss onto the hot cooktop.
“Lord have mercy!” she muttered again.
“I’ll get it,” Ryder offered, and answered the phone before Tilly burst into a fresh set of tears.
Well aware that the call had to be from someone in the family, Ryder’s answer was less than formal.
“This is Ryder, what’s up?”
Erica’s complaint was left hanging on the edge of her tongue. Somehow she didn’t have the guts to say what she’d intended to say, at least not in the same tone of voice.
“Umm…I was wondering if someone was bringing up the ice bag for Miles’s poor head.”
Miles’s poor head be damned, Ryder thought, but kept his opinion to himself. He glanced at Tilly.
“Erica wants to know about some ice bag.”
“Tell her it’s on the way up.”
“It’s on the way—”
“I heard her,” Erica said. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Ryder said, and started to hang up.
“Wait!” Erica shouted.
Ryder waited. It was her call. Her question. Her move.
“Is Casey all right? I mean, Miles said she’d had an accident.”
“Come see for yourself,” he offered. “She’s at the apartment lying down, and I think she’d appreciate her sister’s presence.”
The thought of being in close proximity with Ryder gave Erica a chill. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly leave Miles on his own. Grandmother isn’t here and when she comes in, she’s going to be beside herself that all of this happened while she was having her hair done.”
A quiet anger he’d been trying to stifle suddenly bubbled over. “There’s not a damned thing wrong with Miles. He’s hung over, not hurt. Casey is the one who could have died today.” He slammed the phone sharply onto the cradle and hoped that the disconnect popped in her ear.
Tilly hid her reaction, but she was secretly pleased. It was comforting to see someone else willing to champion her girl, especially a man who wasn’t afraid to speak his mind.
Ryder turned, anger still evident in his voice. “Did Casey grow up in the same house with Miles and Erica?”
Tilly nodded.
“Then tell me something—how in blazes did she turn out so right and them so wrong? That pair must have been raised on ice water, not milk.”
“They had each other,” Tilly said. “After Casey’s parents died, she didn’t have much of anyone to baby her. Delaney loved her, but his intentions were focused on giving her the skills to run his empire, and truth be told, Mrs. Deathridge played favorites with the twins.”
“Casey had you,” Ryder said.
Tilly nodded. “Yes, that she did.” She handed him a pot filled with the soup she’d just made. “It’s vegetable beef, her favorite.”
Ryder accepted the offering. “Thanks. Considering the blow Casey took to her mouth, that’s about all she’s going to feel like eating.”
Tilly let him out the door, then watched as he crossed the courtyard, went up the stairs and into the garage apartment, carrying the hot pot of soup as if it were the crown jewels.
When he was safely inside, she stepped back and closed the door.
For the first time in weeks, she felt confident that things in this household were about to change for the better.
Not only did Ryder seem to respect Casey, but it looked as if he were willing to become her protector. However, just to be on the safe side, she might concoct a little potion. It wouldn’t amount to much. Just a few herbs for good luck that she could sprinkle on their doorstep. Not a real spell.
* * *
Reclining in a nest of pillows, Casey winced as she reached for the phone, then had to shift the stack of papers in her lap to allow room for the smaller pillows beneath each of her elbows.
Even though the accident had caused her to miss a stockholder’s luncheon, it hadn’t taken her long to regroup and bring the business to her.
At her request, her secretary had sent files on the most pressing issues and left the others that were pending back at the office.
With a bowl of Tilly’s soup for sustenance and the knowledge that Ryder was no farther away than the sound of her voice, she set up office in the middle of her bed and began going over the reports in question.
She read until the pain between her eyebrows grew too sharp to ignore and changed her tactics to returning the phone calls that had come to her office during her absence.
It wasn’t any easier. By late afternoon, it felt as if her lip was swollen to twice its normal size and the left side of her jaw was becoming increasingly sore.
The last time she’d gotten up to go to the bathroom, she’d groaned at the sight of her face.
The abrasion on her cheek was starting to scab, and by tomorrow, she was going to have one heck of a black eye.
Twice during this time, Ryder had appeared in the doorway. Once he’d frowned at the stack of work in her lap before disappearing without comment. The second time he’d come, the glare on his face was impossible to ignore, yet he’d still maintained a stoic silence about her behavior.
But the shock of the wreck was beginning to take its toll.
Casey was near tears and wishing she could sweep everything off her bed, curl up in a ball beneath the covers and maybe cry herself to sleep.
She heard footsteps coming up the outside stairs, then again inside the apartment.
It was Ryder. She recognized the rhythm with which he walked.
He entered her bedroom without knocking just as the phone rang near her elbow. Before she could answer, he had it in his hands.
“Ruban Enterprises. No, I’m sorry, she is out for the rest of the day. Call 555-4000 and make an appointment with her secretary.”
He tossed the portable phone completely out of her reach.
Casey frowned. “Hey! I wasn’t through….”
“Yes, you are. Besides, I brought you a surprise.”
Casey sputtered in useless dismay as Ryder swept aside the files on which she’d been working. When he held out his hand, she sighed and took what he offered, using his strength to lever herself to an upright position on the side of the bed, then groaned when her muscles protested.
“Oh! I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”
“That’s not funny,” Ryder said, and scooped her into his arms before she had time to argue. “Besides, if you think you hurt now, just wait until tomorrow.”
If it hadn’t been so painful, she might have smiled. “Thank you for such inspiring words of wisdom,” she said, and slid her arm around his neck for balance as he carried her into the living room.
When he settled her down on the couch, she put her feet up on the footstool and eased herself into a comfortable position.
“Trust me, I know what I’m talking about,” he said. “By morning, every muscle you have is going to protest. At any rate, you should have been in bed hours ago.”
“I was in bed,” Casey argued.
“I meant, alone. Not with a half-ton of papers and that damned phone. If you’d wanted company, you should have let me know. I would have been glad to oblige.”
When she blushed, Ryder knew he’d gotten his point across.
Refusing to give him the benefit of seeing how much his words had bothered her, she folded her hands in her lap and looked around the room.
“So, where’s my surprise?”
He went to the kitchen, returning moments later with a handful of paper towels and a box he’d taken out of the freezer.
“What’s this?” Casey asked, as he plopped it in her lap.
“Popsicles. Assorted flavors. Pick which one you want and I’ll put the others back for later.”
Her delight was only slightly more than her surprise. “Popsicles? You brought me Popsicles?”
“They won’t hurt your mouth, I swear. In fact, it’s going to feel pretty darn good on that swollen lip.
” He took the box out of her lap and tore open the top like an impatient child who couldn’t wait for permission.
“Which one do you want first? The red ones are cherry. The green ones are lime. The orange ones speak for themselves.”
“I like grape. Are there any grape ones?”
“Grape it is,” Ryder said, as he peeled the paper from a length of frozen purple ice.
Casey wrapped a paper towel around the wooden stick and took a lick, then another, then carefully eased her mouth around the end of the Popsicle and sucked gently.
Cold, grape-flavored juice ran over her lips, into her mouth and onto her tongue.
She closed her eyes, savoring the uniqueness of a childhood treat she hadn’t had in years.
“Ummm, you were right. It tastes wonderful and doesn’t hurt a bit.”
Ryder caught himself holding his breath and squeezing the box of Popsicles until one broke inside the box under pressure. If someone had ever tried to tell him that women with black eyes and fat lips were sexy, he would have laughed in their face.
Unaware of the war waging inside her husband’s conscience, Casey looked up. “Aren’t you having any?”
Ryder shuddered then blinked. “I’ve had more than enough already,” he muttered, and when someone knocked on the door, was saved from having to explain. “I’ll get it Sit still and eat your Popsicle before it melts.”
Surprised by the unexpectedness of company, whoever it might be, Casey lifted a hand to her face. “I look so terrible.”
Ryder’s expression went flat. “I think your priorities got a little confused. Be glad you’re alive to tell the tale.”
The chill in his voice was only less intimidating than the look he was wearing. At that moment, Casey realized how little she really knew about the man who’d given her his name.