11. Eleven
Eleven
Juliet
T hough I felt like a kindergartner with a skinned knee, I submitted to Libby’s very thorough inspection as graciously as I could. She wrapped my injured wrist in an elastic bandage, swabbed what must have been a few dozen scratches with antiseptic, checked a number of bruises across my back and shoulders, and probed the area around my aching kneecap as gently as possible.
“Henry's text said you walked pretty far from where you fell,” she said, setting an ice pack on my knee. “You’ll need to take it easy for a few days, maybe a week, but I think you’ll heal up just fine if you rest it. Doctor’s orders. Please, for the love of god, be a better patient than Henry Walker.”
I couldn’t hold back a grin at the doctor’s admonition—I could just imagine what a pain in the ass Henry would be if he were the one all banged up.
“I promise I will not go hiking again anytime soon. Or ever again, really. The shine has definitely worn off. I’m thinking about taking up needlepoint instead.”
Libby laughed. When she moved to inspect my forehead, she hummed in approval at Henry's first aid work. Her concussion check was a bit more in-depth than his, but she seemed fairly confident that I would survive. After applying two butterfly bandages to close the wound, she stepped back to study her handiwork.
“I would really like to run some more tests to be sure you don’t have a concussion,” she said, dark eyes locking on mine, “but that would involve heading over to the hospital.”
My entire body tensed at the words. I would never forget the hospital room where my mother spent her final days, that antiseptic smell and the buzz and beep of machinery. If Sarah found out I was hospitalized, she would probably jump on the next flight back to the States—and I wasn’t sure I’d even try to stop her. Being alone in a hospital was one of my worst nightmares.
“I’d rather not,” I said quietly.
Libby smiled as though she understood completely, though I wasn’t sure if it was because she knew about my mother’s illness or just because she was a perceptive woman.
“I didn’t think so. Is there anyone you can stay with? It’d be best if someone could keep an eye on you throughout the night, at least.”
Oh, shit.
“Um. I don’t really know anybody in Spruce Hill all that well,” I admitted.
Much like my realization that no one in town would mourn me if I’d never come out of those woods, the words threatened to lodge hard in the center of my chest.
“I’ll stay with her,” Henry said from the doorway.
My gaze shot toward him, my lips parting in surprise as his offer sank in. He was leaning one hip against the frame, looking handsome and utterly at ease. Clearly traipsing through the woods hadn’t damaged his aesthetic as much as it had mine.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” I began, but Libby shot me a stern look, so I mumbled, “The spare bedroom isn’t really set up for company yet.”
Henry's mouth quirked at the corners and my pulse kicked up right along with it.
“I can take the couch. Or you’re more than welcome to stay at my place, if you’d prefer,” he added, blinking innocently back at me.
I tried to think of a good excuse—hell, any excuse—but nothing came to mind. Libby smiled brightly, blatantly ignoring the swift rise of tension between us.
“Well, that’s settled then. I’ll get you some things to take home,” she said, stepping aside as Henry moved forward to help me down.
With me still seated on the exam table, we were nearly eye to eye, close enough for me to count the golden flecks in his irises. His body radiated warmth, along with a hint of that damn scent again, and it seeped into my own limbs. As he waited for me to make the first move, he studied me as intently as I was studying him—searching for weakness, maybe, or for confirmation that our uneasy truce was still in effect.
After a moment of silence, I laid the ice pack aside and grudgingly set my palms on his shoulders so he could lift me down. The uncomfortable silence stretched as my left side slid slowly down the length of Henry's body before my feet hit the floor.
“Um,” I said, avoiding his gaze as long as possible.
When I finally glanced up at him, that same little smile was playing across his lips and a lock of dark hair had fallen across his forehead. I couldn’t remember ever being so tongue-tied around a man in my entire life and was somewhat disgusted with myself over it.
“What about Blue?” I asked weakly.
“I dropped her off with Libby’s husband, Mark. They’ll keep her for the night, she’ll be fine. We picked up your car, too, and parked it back at the cottage. I brought something for you,” he said, his hand firm under my elbow as we exited the room. My backpack sat on a chair near the front door. “I found the camera, it’s inside the bag. I searched all over the clearing but I didn’t see a sketchbook anywhere, I’m afraid. It might have fallen into the underbrush somewhere. I hope it didn’t contain anything irreplaceable?”
“Nothing I can’t recreate from the photos. How on earth did you get out there and back so quickly?” I asked, baffled.
Henry gave me a strange look. “You’ve been here for over an hour, Juliet. It’s almost six.”
“Damn,” I breathed. The clock on the lobby wall confirmed it. “Time flies when you’ve got a head wound, I guess. No wonder I’m starving.”
Henry laughed. “I think we can remedy that. I ordered a pizza, we can pick it up on the way to your place. Unless you’d rather spend the night at my house?”
My nose scrunched at the casual way he said it and he responded with another wide-eyed look of innocence.
“Or I can drop you at the hospital, if you’re that opposed to having company.”
I smiled sweetly in response. “Oh no, you can be my honored guest. Of course, the couch is probably as old as your grandfather, but I’m sure it’s quite comfortable.”
A wicked gleam entered his eye. “If you’d prefer to—” He broke off, snapping his mouth shut as Libby reappeared.
I was desperately curious about what he was going to say, but I forced myself to pay attention to Libby as she went over instructions for changing bandages and taking painkillers. Henry was tasked with ensuring I stayed awake for the next several hours and Libby ordered him to check in on me throughout the night, which made me cringe.
Finally, the good doctor patted my shoulder, handed Henry the paper bag of supplies, and smiled approvingly as he looped the backpack over one shoulder and slid his arm around me once more.
This was getting to be a bad habit, but that warning didn’t keep me from appreciating his support. It was a little too easy to lean on him, to trust his strong limbs to keep me upright in case I stumbled. I attempted to bear a bit more weight on my own two feet, grimacing in the process, but Henry's grip stayed firm.
I would have rolled my eyes, but I was afraid I’d get dizzy and collapse against him.
Once we were situated in the truck, I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. Henry sang along with the radio, the deep timbre of his voice lulling me nearly to sleep, but every so often, he’d murmur my name or squeeze my uninjured knee to keep me awake.
Until a few hours ago, the mere thought of him was enough to send my blood pressure sky high. Now, I found myself comfortable enough with him to give up on all semblance of polite conversation.
If I ever had to defend that feeling, I would blame my injuries.
Drowsing in the passenger seat, I barely even noticed when he shifted the vehicle into park and ran in to pick up the pizza. The smell of it was enough to bring me back to my senses, though. My stomach rumbled loudly and I cracked open one eye to peek over at him.
“Almost home,” he said, grinning at me.
I closed my eyes again, embarrassed. Though Henry made sure I never dozed off, before I knew it, the truck had stopped again and the rush of cool evening air swept over me as he opened my door. When his arm slid under my knees, I peeled my eyes open as quickly as I could.
“I can walk,” I insisted. The words came out a little too shrill for my liking.
“Sorry, just trying to help. By all means,” he said, gesturing toward the cottage.
Henry plastered a benign smile on his face. He had my backpack slung over his shoulder again, leaving me with only my battered body to contend with.
I took a deep breath, hoping the painkillers Libby gave me at the clinic had kicked in already, and slid off the seat, landing with my weight on my good leg. Henry waited patiently while I tested out my injured knee and I found myself able to limp along a little less pathetically than before.
“The key is in the front pocket of my bag,” I told him.
“Huh.” The way he said it made it clear it was an observation rather than a question.
“What?” I demanded.
I risked a quick glance at his pensive expression before returning my gaze to the path leading up to the cottage. The last thing I needed was another fall, especially right in front of him, so I picked my way carefully along.
He was quiet for a moment, then replied, “I don’t think Nan ever locked the front door, that’s all.”
“I forgot to, the other night,” I admitted. “Then I had to search the house with my keys between my fingers, in case someone broke in.”
“If you were afraid there was someone inside the cottage, you shouldn’t have gone in at all.” When I glanced at his face again, he looked horrified at the prospect of me trying to fend off an intruder with only my keys for a weapon.
Flustered, I shrugged. “I didn’t want to overreact by calling 911, and I wasn’t going to ask your grandfather to check my closets for the boogeyman.”
With a disgruntled scowl, he said, “Next time, you can call me.”
I nodded, unwilling to argue after this hellscape of a day, and watched him fish the key from my backpack before I recognized the familiarity in his earlier statement.
“You knew Nan well, then?” I asked, curiosity chipping away at the fog in my brain.
Henry paused to unlock the front door before he answered.
“Nan was my Gram’s best friend. They used to meet for tea every afternoon when I was little. My parents were both working, so after school, my brother and I would go to my grandmother’s house for a couple hours. After she died, Nan arranged for us to come here after school until we were old enough to be home alone. She’d bake cookies or snag some desserts from the inn for us to snack on. She was like family.”
His wistful smile made my heart ache for him. It was strange how things worked out. My first nemesis in town turned out to be my first source of real insight into Nan’s life.
Instead of being jealous that he’d gotten to experience a childhood with Nan in such a vital role, I was touched, pleased to know Nan hadn’t gone without young children to dote on in the absence of her only grandchild.
“I’m sorry,” I said, wishing I could think of something more eloquent to offer.
Losing a grandparent you hadn’t known existed wasn’t quite the same as losing one who’d helped to raise you. Suddenly, I doubted Henry would make such a distinction—he seemed to have a good heart. I wished I’d been able to sense that when we first met, to see beyond the antagonism caused by my arrival and my risk to not only his livelihood, but to Nan’s legacy, as well.
I couldn’t blame him for lashing out under those circumstances. It wasn’t the first time my temper got the better of me and I was sure it wouldn’t be the last, but I hoped Henry and I had turned a corner.
And maybe, if I stopped fighting it, a friend with a good heart was exactly what I needed in my life right now.