Chapter Seven
He sounded like a jealous idiot, but he hadn’t liked watching the friendly Officer Jones hover over her while she was being treated.
At least he’d refrained from yanking him aside and punching him in the face.
That would likely have gotten him arrested.
His job was to keep a low profile. So far, he was failing spectacularly.
Georgia was a beautiful, vibrant woman. It was natural she’d date. There was likely more than one man in town who was interested in her. Not my business. He’d repeated that over and over, but it made little difference to his simmering temper.
Seeing his father appear by the wreck had further soured his temperament.
Invisible to all but his son, he’d pointed his scythe at Kieran, a not-so-subtle reminder of the job he’d been sent to do.
Whether Georgia was supposed to have died in the accident was moot, since it hadn’t happened, but Kieran was aware he was standing on shaky ground.
Whether his father had come for the driver or to drive home the point with his son remained to be seen.
He was totally out of sorts and didn’t know what to do about it.
His cold dispassion had vanished. Was it a result of his powers being suppressed, or was it something more?
He barely recognized himself, and he didn’t like it.
His life was regimented, controlled. Since he’d arrived in Redemption, everything had been turned upside down.
Georgia began to box the few remaining cupcakes and brownies. She’d given everything else away. “Cal’s a friend. He was expressing concern.”
“How close a friend is he?” Shut up, Kieran. His mouth seemed to have a mind of its own.
She paused in her task. “I went to school with him and his sister. I’ve known them my entire life.” After closing the box, she stared intently at him for several seconds. “Are you… Are you jealous?” She sounded incredulous.
“No!” The denial was fast and furious, maybe too fast and furious. “I have no reason to be.”
“No, you have absolutely no reason to be,” she agreed.
Head down, she closed out the register and began shutting down the coffee makers.
It occurred to him he should be helping.
He’d whacked his head against the pavement.
Not hard enough to cause major damage, but he wasn’t as sharp as he normally was.
Damn his father for curbing his healing abilities.
“Let me get that.” He reached around her to take the coffeepot.
“I’ve got it.” She tightened her grip on the handle and shifted it away from him.
He grabbed hold and tugged it toward him. They wrestled briefly, neither of them letting go. “Why are you being difficult?”
“Are you joking? I was almost killed. You were almost killed.” She gave a hard yank at the same moment he released the pot, and her hand bounced off the edge of the counter. The coffeepot slipped from her grip and crashed on the floor. Glass and coffee flew everywhere. Georgia burst into tears.
He felt lower than a snail. No, a worm. One about ten feet below ground. He scooped her off her feet and carried her out from behind the counter, where he set her down in a clear area. “Did you get hit by glass? You need to invest in metal carafes.”
“It’s in the plan for down the road. These are commercial grade, but I got them cheap. Bought them from a place going out of business.”
Ignoring the sting in his back and arms and the protest of his stiffening muscles, he went down on one knee and examined her calves.
“I don’t think enough of the coffee hit you to cause a burn.
” Fortunately, there hadn’t been much left in that pot.
He ran his hands lightly over both legs, searching for damage but finding only smooth skin.
He made the mistake of looking up, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. Silent tears tracked down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. Her bottom lip quivered.
“Oh, sweetheart.” He rose and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close to his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.” That drew a watery chuckle that eased the pressure in his chest. “You stay here while I clean this up.”
She sniffed and shook her head. “You’re hurt worse than I am.” Her fingers lightly touched his arm. “You were only trying to help. I’m as much at fault as you.” It was perverse of him, but he liked that she didn’t let him entirely off the hook.
Arms around her, he rocked her gently. They swayed back and forth until she began to relax.
She fit perfectly, her head tucked under his chin.
Closing his eyes, he swallowed heavily. He was fine, and so was she…
this time. If it had been her destiny to die in the crash, he’d royally screwed things up.
That meant something would happen soon to set things right.
There was nothing he could do to change fate—the appearance of his father had been a stark reminder of that.
He’d never felt more helpless.
Rather than dwell on what he couldn’t change, he focused on what he could. “You sit here.” He all but forced her down on a chair. “Give me five minutes to clean up the mess, and we can go.”
By the time he returned with the broom and mop, she’d already picked up the largest pieces of glass and debris and tossed them in the garbage.
Smothering a curse at her stubbornness, he sighed and got to work.
By the time the mess was cleared and he’d put everything away, she’d done everything else and was waiting by the back door with two bakery boxes in her hands.
“Let me carry those.” Rather than try to take them, he waited until she passed them to him. See, he wasn’t too old to learn something new.
“I don’t know about you, but I need a brownie. And a cupcake. Maybe two.” She gave the door handle a tug to ensure it was locked. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything to offer you to wear.”
With everything else happening, he’d forgotten he was shirtless.
His shirt had been cut to ribbons and tossed before the medic had cleaned debris from the affected areas.
That had not been fun. As an immortal and a reaper, any injuries he sustained healed almost instantaneously.
The pain was fleeting. This was decidedly not.
Whatever had been sprayed over the area had helped, but healing was going to take time.
The idea that anything of hers would fit him made him smile.
“It’s not a long walk home. I’ll manage. ”
A few people gave them sidelong glances as they passed. Several asked about the accident. Georgia fielded questions but didn’t stop to chat. He kept one eye on her and the other on their surroundings, half expecting another vehicle to come careening out of nowhere.
Her feet were dragging by the time she pushed open the gate to her home and went up the walkway.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.
I’m going to get cleaned up.” She nibbled on her bottom lip as she dug through her purse for her keys.
“You probably don’t feel like going out to eat and likely haven’t had time to shop for groceries.
Russo’s Pizza will deliver. Or, if you’d like, you could come over in an hour for chicken pot pie.
It’s not fancy, but it’s filling.” Her eyes were red from crying with dark circles beneath.
“And I have dessert.” She plucked the boxes from his hands.
“Holding the cupcakes hostage?”
“Maybe.” Her smile was teasing. “Truthfully, if you’d rather stay at your place, you can take one of the boxes. I divided the baked goods evenly, just in case.”
Warmth permeated his entire being. She was trying to take care of him again. The smart thing would be to put some distance between them. “I’ll be over in an hour.”
Her eyes widened. She seemed surprised and slightly pleased. He wished he knew what was going on in her mind. “Okay, then. An hour.” Flashing him another brief smile, she went inside.
God, he kept digging himself a bigger and bigger hole.
He needed distance, detachment. Not whatever this was he was feeling.
He’d come up with an excuse in an hour, grab supper, and take it back to the apartment.
All he’d have to tell her was that he wasn’t feeling well.
She’d easily accept that. And it wasn’t a total lie. His entire body was one giant ache.
Halfway up the garage stairs, a black bird swooped in front of him, the tip of its wing deliberately hitting him in the face. He grabbed the railing to keep from tumbling backward. “Malaki, you bastard, what do you want?”
Perched on the top railing, the crow preened his feathers while he made several croaking sounds. The message was as clear as if the bird had spoken English. Relief washed over Kieran, and he broke out in a cold sweat. He hadn’t screwed everything up.
“The accident wasn’t where she was supposed to die,” he repeated what Malaki had said. “If I hadn’t been here, she would have been having lunch behind the counter to watch for customers.”
A few clicking sounds were followed by a throaty croak, the warning given.
“I know my job.” If he’d momentarily lost sight of it, the glimpse of his father—and now Malaki’s message—had driven it home.
He climbed the remaining stairs and brushed by his father’s messenger—not so accidentally hitting him with his elbow in retaliation.
Malaki flapped his wings and resettled. “Tell the old man I don’t appreciate having my skin peeled from my body.
I didn’t agree to give up my powers when I came here.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he wanted me to fail. ”
Malaki cawed—the bird’s version of giving him the finger—and flew away in a huff.