Chapter 4
Aspen
Fucking chair!
My back was stiff, I had a kink in my neck, and I had barely slept a wink last night.
Having a stranger in your house would do that to someone. It didn’t matter he couldn’t even sit up for extended periods of time without dizziness setting in. Then there was the fact I was certain Cade had a concussion, so I had set my alarm to wake me up every couple of hours so I could wake him, ask him a few questions then let him fade into sleep again.
I knew staying here rather than heading to the nearest emergency room would lead to more inquiries into my life; and it’s not like I wasn’t already doing what the hospital staff would have done. The more rest Cade got, the clearer his mind would be, and I was sure his questions would come. So far, I’d managed to evade and turn his inquisitiveness to my advantage, getting him to talk about himself instead, but at some point, I knew I’d have to give him something. The question would be what.
I’d learned he loved his dog, and he was the youngest of three, his siblings being evil big sisters (this he said lovingly, with a grin on his face). I knew he did a lot outside if the tanned creases at his eyes and the darkness of his skin was anything to go by. At some point, I began to wonder where the tan lines led. This train of thought had me quickly pretend to feign sleep, where eventually, within minutes, he would also, leaving me wide awake and a total creeper as I inspected the interloper on my everyday life before I had to wake him again for another assessment.
“I told you, I could have shuffled over and made room for you,” he grumbled, sitting himself against the headboard with more ease than yesterday. He ran his hands over his face and through the increasing scruff.
“You wouldn’t want to sleep with a cold floppy fish like me,” I muttered, as I got up and rummaged around in my closet for a sweatshirt. The cottage had cooled down overnight and since Cade had started a slight fever, I’d opted to let the fire in the stove burn out so it was easier to keep his temperature low.
“Seriously, we could have shared,” he said. “I’d have stayed on my side and you would be more rested than you look right now. Are you sure you even slept?” He eyed me suspiciously as though he was on to me and my acting antics to randomly pull a Sleeping Beauty.
“Maybe,” I said with a shoulder shrug, then headed for the bathroom to brush my teeth. As soon as I was done, I gave Cade a cursory glance and made my way to the bedroom door. “I set an extra toothbrush for you on the bathroom counter. Help yourself. I’ll go let the dogs out, start breakfast, and bring it in to you as soon as it’s ready.” He simply looked at me as if I’d grown an extra appendage. “What?” Okay, so maybe the lack of sleep and the ache in my bones were making me a little abrupt with him before I realized our latest conundrum. “Did you need my help getting there?” I asked with a softer, empathetic tone.
His mouth opened, then snapped shut. He gave me a short shake of the head.
Right.Leaving the man with what little pride he must have felt he had right then, I gave him the benefit of the doubt, and left him to his own devices. Okay, so I felt awkward with this morning-after scenario and I really wanted to get out of the room.
Tell yourself what you want, woman, but those abs…
Cade
I may have taken my time, realizing I’d gone and made Aspen feel uncomfortable for the umpteenth time since my waking that morning. When I made my way out of the bathroom, glad my ankle was accepting most of my weight, despite it being sore still, I took one look at the bed and decided I didn’t want to get back in it just yet. Instead, I explored; no matter what my caretaker might have to say about it. I wasn’t stupid or as gullible as she might have decided about me. I’d caught on to her tactics to evade the questions I’d asked to gain information about her. What I didn’t get was why she wouldn’t share even some subtle basics. Her stonewalling only made me more curious, wanting to discover what made her tick.
As soon as I’d gotten to the living area, the massive library lining one of her living room walls beckoned me forward.
There were so many books.
A few of my own favorites, and then…
Penny Sexton.
I repeated the name in my mind, wondering why it seemed familiar. There was an entire collection from said author. Picking one of the books, I slid it out of its spot, glanced at the title on the spine, then turned it to see the front cover.
Fanned Fires.
I peered over my shoulder where Aspen had yet to acknowledge my presence and found her typing away at her kitchen island.
Did the woman ever quit?
And then it hit me.
I’d seen that same cover and many others, similar in theme, before it…on Dalton’s coffee table, and at Nightshade when both Emberlyn and Devolin—my coworkers’ Shane’s and Dalton’s women—gushed over the latest release. They’d often left them in the reception area, littering the little table along with a few magazines.
Mommy porn, huh?
Before I knew it, the paperback was snatched from my hand and shoved back on its shelf, but not without me noticing the author’s picture on its back cover.
“Don’t touch!” she scolded me, a blush on her face.
“You?” I asked, turning to face the woman at my side, my lips quirking upward.
“Me, what?” She shifted on her feet, another uncomfortable tick.
“You write that kind of shit?”
Her face flushed with red, an attractive look when combined with her emerald eyes and that auburn hair of hers. “Excuse me, did you just call my work shit?” she ground out.
Oops.
I lifted my hands, palms out in a peacekeeping gesture. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I paused. “I swear. What I meant is that… Well, you don’t look like… So that’s what… What I’m?—”
Hands on her hips, barefooted toes tapping on the hardwood floor, she laid into me. “I write books. Damn good books. It’s how I make a living,” she stated. “It’s not mommy porn, it’s not porn at all. Yes, I like detail in my scenes, and I admit they are creative at times. I’m good at it, and I don’t plan on?—”
“Whoa! Whoa!” I waved my hands in the air to show her I really hadn’t meant to set her off.
“And by the way?—”
“I think it’s pretty awesome,” I stated, hoping I’d defuse her temper. “I’ve seen your books on store shelves. My friends’ women love them. I just didn’t think before I spoke.” I moved to grab her left hand and put it in mine, her dark pink lips forming an ‘O.’
“I’m a bestseller. Multiple times over,” she defended without as much heat to her tone this time, and I was glad.
“And from what I’ve heard, rightly so,” I said, then turned toward her library once more, daintily running my fingers over the spines of her works. “Which one was your favorite to write?”
“Um…what?”
“I want to know which one is your favorite so I can start by reading it first,” I told her, and I meant it.
The woman’s eyes widened with surprise, but I was pretty sure laughing at her expression right then wasn’t the right response, so I simply offered her a kind smile.
Aspen
Was this guy for real or had the hit he sustained to his head in that fall knocked the good sense out of him?
Sure, I’ve had men read and review my work. That’s nothing new to me; but talk about a one-eighty. He went from calling my life’s blood shit, then proceeded with flattery, and now he wanted to read me?
“Your favorite, Aspen. What’s your favorite?” he asked again.
My mouth opened, then snapped shut as I focused on his back while he continued to peruse my titles.
“Ah!” He reached out, then turned around to present me with Sheltered Rescue. “I’m guessing this one’s it, since you have three copies of it and only one of the others.”
He got it in one.
Damn him.
My eyes left the book, meeting his.
The man knew he was dead on I gathered, what with the smirk on his smug-looking face.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
“So what?” Who cared if he had me pegged within twenty-four hours of being in each other’s presence?
“Do you mind if I read it?” he asked, his eyes showing concern.
Somehow that made the small smidgeon of humiliation that still lingered, dissipate. I shook my head from side to side and cleared my throat. He really was being genuine. “No.” Yes.
“Good.” He smiled. “You really should be proud of this, you know.” Hobbling toward the couch, he lowered himself slowly, then settled in, even as he made to pull down the throw blanket I had draped on the back of the sofa over his legs and feet.
“The bed’s that way,” I said, my hand pointing behind me in the general vicinity of where my bedroom was. “And I am proud. Can we… Uh! Can we just stop talking about my writing now? And what’s more, you shouldn’t be reading with a concussion.”
He snorted, then stated, “I’m bored of the bed. I’d help you cook, but as you can see,” he pointed to his head, then lifted his foot, “I’m kind of useless.”
“You’re mouth works just fine,” I grumbled, as I turned and stomped toward the kitchen to check on the breakfast skillet I had baking in the oven. It should be just about done. Maybe if I kept his mouth full with food, conversation would be history.
Then I can go work outside. Or better yet, maybe I can drive him back to town and be done with him once and for all.
I didn’t dwell with the slight bereft feeling last idea had left me with.