Forever Grace (5 page)

“You don’t have to—”

She cut him off with a raised eyebrow and pointed look at his pine needle- and dirt-encrusted foot. “Unless you have a way of washing that foot before you put it on any more of my furniture, yes, I do have to.”

Without a word, Sean lowered the offending foot and placed it on the floor as she disappeared down the hallway behind him. Then he rested his head against the couch again.

Strawberry-scented, chocolate-eyed Aunt Grace might not be Mommy, but she sure played the role well.

Getting the kids settled required a great deal more than the five minutes she’d promised, but at last Grace headed back toward the living room and their guest, bedding in her arms, pill bottle clutched in one hand, towel and dampened washcloth in the other. Sean McKittrick hadn’t moved in her absence except to close his eyes, and she hesitated at the edge of the room.

Had he gone to sleep? Should she wake him just to get him—?

Bottle-green eyes snapped open to meet hers, turning unexpectedly warm, stealing her breath for an instant. Then they shuttered again.

“I thought you might have changed your mind,” he said.

Grace loosened her grip on the pill bottle and made herself hand it over. “I was looking for these. They’re the strongest thing I have.”

Sean glanced at the label. “Codeine. Pretty heavy-duty.”

“I get migraines sometimes. I’d put them away where the kids couldn’t find them, then forgot where that was. I’m sharing my room with Annabelle, so I had to be quiet while I searched.”

“I’d like to say you shouldn’t have bothered, but I’m glad you did.” He grimaced and tipped three of the tablets into his palm. “Things are starting to get a little dicey pain-wise.”

“Are you sure you should take that many at a time?”

The green eyes met hers again. “I’m sure.”

“I’ll get you some wat—” She paused as he put the tablets in his mouth, tipped his head back, and swallowed. “Or not.”

“Maybe just a cloth so I can clean up my foot?”

Grace set the blankets and pillow on the couch beside him, and held up the cleaning supplies she’d brought. She sat on the coffee table beside his casted leg. “Can you lift it up by yourself, or do you need help?”

Silence. She looked up to find Sean staring at her.

“I’m not letting you wash my foot,” he said. “That’s just…”

“Logical?” she suggested dryly. She reached down, grabbed his pant leg, and hauled up his leg to rest in her lap. Many of the pine needles that had decorated it had already fallen to the floor, so she brushed the others off to join them and made a mental note to sweep in the morning. Preferably before Annabelle got around to tasting them.

She glanced up at Sean. He wore a perplexed, somewhat horrified expression that made her smile. “Relax, would you? It’s not like I’m giving you a sponge bath.”

Though she’d admit there was an odd level of intimacy in bathing the man’s foot that came awfully close to being a parallel. Her smile departed in a sudden flush of awareness, and she lowered her head again, concentrating on her task, hiding behind a curtain of hair. Where the heck had that thought come from?

Refusing to dwell on it—after all, said man would be out of her life first thing in the morning—she dried off his foot and lowered it to the floor again.

“There,” she said, her voice brisk. “Now, you must be hungry. Josh said there were leftovers from dinner, if you’re interested. Sausage and fried potatoes. And maybe some tea?”

“That sounds wonderful. Thank you. And may I use your washroom?”

“Door at the end of the hall.”

She watched to make sure he could get up without incident and listened to him make his way down the hall, the steady thump of crutches marking his progress. Then she rose from the coffee table, put all thought of any sort of intimacy firmly from her mind, and went into the kitchen.

By the time Sean returned ten minutes later, she’d started the fire in the woodstove that would heat the cottage overnight, and she had tea and dinner ready for both of them. She looked up at his entrance, taking in his freshly scrubbed appearance and the damp, spiky hair standing up around his forehead, lending him a boyish look. Sean raised an eyebrow, and she blushed, realizing she stared. She indicated the table and covered her discomfort with words.

“I thought you’d like to use the bench so you can put your leg up. Unless you’re more comfortable in a chair with a back. I’m happy to swap places with you. It’s no trouble at—”

“I’m fine with the bench,” he said, a thread of amusement running through his voice that singed her cheeks a second time.

She scowled in return, as much at herself as at him. He had no business getting any ideas, and she even less business giving them to him. She turned away as he seated himself awkwardly at the table, and in tight-lipped silence, collected the filled plates from the counter. She would have continued not speaking if she hadn’t felt obliged to apologize for the lumpy, pale heap of food she placed before him.

“I’m not much of a cook, but Josh assured me it tastes better than it looks.”

Her guest poked experimentally at the mush with his fork. A glob of it stuck to the utensil, resisting efforts to dislodge it again. Sean gave up and shoveled the food into his mouth instead. He chewed, swallowed, and didn’t quite meet Grace’s gaze as he looked up.

“It’s delicious,” he said.

They ate in silence, and Grace discovered that the food was far from palatable, never mind delicious. It was, in fact, awful. Undercooked in places, overcooked in others, and far too salty throughout. Sean ate it anyway, though he declined an offer of seconds. She ate hers as well, as much out of a sense of guilt as anything. Those poor kids. How Josh had convinced his sisters to eat their dinner was beyond her.

Unless they were just getting used to her cooking.

She swallowed another mouthful and reached again for her glass of water. That was probably it. After two months, they’d become immune. Or perhaps they’d just given up any hope of a decent meal. She finished the last bite and met Sean’s thoughtful green eyes across the table. Hell. Here it came. She braced herself.

“What?”

“Just wondering what your story is,” he said. “You and four kids, camped out in the woods on your own like this during the school year. I would’ve thought you’d want to keep them closer to the hospital.”

“The hospital?” Grace’s stomach did a twist that threatened to dislodge her meal. How did he know about the hospital?

“One of your nieces—Lilliane, I think you called her—said her mom was in the hospital.”

Grace pictured her sister lying in the bed, pale and silent, tubes and wires sprouting everywhere. She stood. Expecting his questions didn’t make answering them any easier. She stacked their plates and gathered the cutlery.

“She was in an accident,” she said. “I’m looking after them until she recovers.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Was it serious?”

“Are you done with your water?”

He handed her the glass and watched her carry the dishes to the sink. She knew, because she felt his gaze following her, watching her every movement, from taking out the dish soap, to turning on the tap, to nearly dropping a glass on the floor because her fingers no longer seemed to have any nerves. So much for calm.

“You haven’t answered,” he said at last.

“And considering that it’s none of your business, I’m not going to.” She abandoned the dishes in the soapy water and wiped her hands on a tea towel. “I need to get to bed.”

Sean folded his arms on the table before him. “Something I said?”

“Of course not. I just have a busy day ahead with the kids, that’s all.”

“You really aren’t very forthcoming, are you?”

“Mr. McKittrick—”

“Sean,” he interrupted.

“Mr. McKittrick, I suspect you came out here for the peace and quiet as much as we did, am I right?”

“Today’s events to the contrary, yes. I did.”

“Then I suggest we agree to accommodate one another. You’ll be back in your cottage tomorrow, I’ll keep the kids away from you, and we’ll both be happy. This” —she indicated the couch in the living room with a wave— “can be the sum total of our neighborliness. Agreed?”

Sean drummed the fingers of one hand against the table, curiosity at war with acceptance in his expression. At last he nodded. “Agreed.”

Relief making her knees wobbly, Grace wrapped both hands over the sink edge and held tight. “You can have the washroom first. There’s a new toothbrush on the top shelf that you can have. I’ll make up your bed while you’re brushing.”

“I can make do without brushing until tomorrow.”

“And live with the taste of those potatoes all night?” she asked wryly.

The corner of Sean’s mouth quirked. “Good point. I’ll brush.”

SEAN LOWERED HIMSELF TO THE
sheet-wrapped couch and let out a long, heartfelt sigh. He was tired—no, beyond tired—and in more pain than he’d been since they’d put on the cast. He shook his head, leaned back, and let the simple act of sitting wash over him. This cottage plan of his had so not turned out the way it was supposed to. He’d known he was pushing his limits when he’d wedged himself in behind the wheel of his SUV after the painkillers had worn off, but he’d been so determined—

Stubborn, McKittrick. Call it like it is, you pigheaded idiot.

He scowled at his internal voice, which sounded remarkably similar to his cousin’s.

But to whomever the voice belonged, it was right. He’d been so fixated on the idea of being at the cottage, he hadn’t thought ahead to how he’d manage once he got here. Had conveniently forgotten he’d have to make multiple treks on crutches down a sloped path to the cottage, carrying heavy bags. Forgotten he’d have to do his own cooking and cleaning. Forgotten he’d have to find a way to bring in firewood now that the nights were cooling off.

And sure as shit had forgotten the broken door lock that had gotten him into this current predicament.

In all honesty, he owed young Josh a debt of gratitude, because if it hadn’t been for the boy’s presence on his deck…if that lock had slipped into place when Sean had been alone…if he’d somehow fallen even without Josh’s help, and no one had known…

Sean listened to the steady drum of rain on the roof overhead. His mouth twisting, he glanced at the makeshift bed beneath him, barely wide enough to accommodate his frame. He might have a long night ahead of him, but at least he’d be spending it indoors.

Down the hallway, a door opened and footsteps sounded. His most reluctant hostess had finished her nighttime preparations and was no doubt coming to check on him. Time to pretend he’d be able to sleep. Sean reached up to undo the buttons of his shirt. He shrugged out of it as Grace came into the living room, balling it up and tossing it onto the table. To his amusement, Grace stopped dead in her tracks for an instant and turned the same color as the strawberries of which her scent reminded him. He raised an eyebrow.

“I hope you don’t mind.” He indicated the shirt. “It’s not very comfortable for sleeping in.”

Her gaze left his bare chest and flicked down to the tear-away athletic pants he wore—the only garment he’d found that would accommodate his cast. Sean grinned.

“Those stay on,” he promised.

“I wasn’t—I didn’t—” Grace’s blush deepened, and she crossed her arms and favored him with a sour look. “I just wanted to make sure you have everything you need.”

“I do, thanks.”

“I’ll leave the light on in the bathroom in case you need to get up. Do you still have the painkillers?”

He patted the pocket of his pants.

Grace nodded her satisfaction. She crossed the room to the wood stove, opened the glass door, and bent down to feed two sizeable chunks of wood into the flames. Sean’s gaze skimmed her silhouette against the firelight, lingering on the line of her—

Grace straightened again and turned to him, and he yarded his attention back up to her face.

“I should warn you that Annabelle is an early riser,” she said. “I’ll try to keep her quiet, but I can’t promise anything.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied. “I’m not likely to get much sleep as it is, so an early wake-up won’t be much of a hardship.”

Her gaze traveled to the couch. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you something more comfortable…”

“Don’t be. Given the sound of that”—he tipped his chin toward the roof and the rain that drummed against it—“I’m just glad to be inside.”

“I suppose.”

“I’ll be fine. Seriously.” He watched her begin to turn away. “And, Grace?”

Chocolate eyes met his.

“Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”

She raised a finely arched brow. “If I remember correctly, it was my nephew who initiated your predicament. Giving you my couch is the least I can do.”

“And if I’d somehow gotten myself locked out without your nephew knowing I was even at the cottage?”

Grace considered the idea, then smiled faintly. “You’re right. You definitely owe me—and him. You can begin by apologizing to him in the morning for yelling. Good night, Mr. McKittrick.”

She disappeared back down the hallway, and a moment later Sean heard the soft closing of a door. With a rueful shake of his head, he plumped up the pillow she’d left him, got himself arranged full length and covered on the couch, and reached to switch off the table lamp near his head. The room plunged into dark, the pitch-black kind that came from having no street or city lights, and silence settled, leaving him with nothing to focus on but the grim, angry throb of the leg he had so abused that day. Sean drew a long, deep breath through his nostrils. Then he paused, sniffing at the scent rising from the pillow beneath his head.

Strawberries.

He smiled faintly.

“Sweet dreams, Grace,” he murmured.

Grace slid under the duvet, shivering at the chill of its cotton cover. Annabelle’s soft, even breathing drifted from the cot on the other side of the room, muffled by the utter silence that came with living in a cottage in the middle of nowhere.

It had taken Grace a full week to adjust to the lack of familiar, everyday sounds here. No sirens, no traffic, no neighbors. Not even so much as a dog barking. The absence of sound had felt deafening. And that had only been half the equation.