Jumped (10 page)

“You were in the hospital for five. Then here for five. But you've been sleeping a lot, which is good.”

It felt like one long day where all he'd done was sleep. Had Bethany asked him about lunch? He
was
hungry. He wanted salt.

“Can I have chicken soup?”

“Coming right up.” She touched his arm and left.

Beth couldn't think of
a better place to recuperate than the new guest cottage at Stately Wayne Manor.

“Grady couldn't stand the thought of his mother sleeping in the same house with us after we got married,” Amanda had told Beth. “When she visits in Malibu, at least she can have her own wing. Grady loves this place. It's his escape. He built the cottage so his mother wouldn't bang on our bedroom door whenever she feels like it. Which she has done.”

The cottage was made of logs, just like the main house and the barn. It was mostly one big room with a huge built-in bed, built-in drawers, a walk-in closet, a fully equipped kitchen with a table, reading nook with two comfy chairs and built-in shelves stocked with books, a desk with a state-of-the-art computer, a sitting area with a pullout sofa, and chairs facing a big ol' TV and fireplace, a bathroom with a shower and claw foot tub, and a wraparound porch with its own private hot tub. It was cozy yet spacious, so that two people could stay there without feeling like they were on top of each other—unless they wanted to be.

Beth heated a can of chicken soup, sat in the bedside chair, and waited for him to wake. His eyes were closed. Yes, he was still handsome even though his face was pale and thinner. He wore a gray T-shirt and several days' worth of stubble. He wore both very well.

Finn opened his eyes. The Percocet kept him from looking perky. Still, “heavy-lidded” worked for him because he looked like he was in full seduction mode, and she didn't mind that at all.

“Mmm,” he said. “Smells good.”

She handed him the mug, making sure he had a good hold on it before she let go.

“Thank you.” He ate a spoonful and winced, his eyebrows going all turbulent. When he wasn't wincing because of something she did, he was adorable.

“Too hot?” she asked.

“It's fine. Thanks.”

“Let's set some ground rules. If you're the slightest bit cranky, I'll hide the Percocet where you'll never find it.” He gave her a look as he blew on the next spoonful of soup.

“Thanks, Nurse Ratched.”

“Way to alienate your only source of pain relief. Don't make me go all
Misery
on you. Because you know I will. I saw a sledgehammer in the barn. And you can't walk so good as it is.”

“Honey, you have the compassion of a jackal.”

“That's cleaner than what I thought you were going to say. But you should be kissing my ass.”

He gave her a look as hot as the soup. “Don't tempt me.”

She laughed. “No need to go overboard, cowboy. Use that energy for healing.”

He resumed eating.

The routine was, he'd eat lunch, sleep, wake for dinner, then back to Slumbertown. He could hobble with crutches, but for now he was supposed to stay in bed as much as possible. As a result, he slept as much as an elderly hound. He experimented the day before and didn't take the Percocet when it was due. Thirty minutes later he asked for some, which was notable because Beth had once seen him silently withstand whacking his thumb with a hammer. So now, as per doctor's orders, he took his meds like clockwork.

Finn wished like hell
he could move his leg without seeing entire constellations of stars, even with painkillers. He also wished Bethany would visit more. He slept a lot, but was slightly disappointed if Grady, Amanda, Grady's personal assistant Jacqueline, or sometimes even Harris brought him food or came to help him dress or get him a fresh pitcher of water. Grady would have hired a nurse, but everyone at the house wanted to pitch in, with Finn's consent. They were extraordinary people. He just wished Bethany wanted to be around him more.

Later that afternoon,
Bethany graced the guesthouse with her presence. “Wouldja mind if I brought Mingo in?” she asked, over her shoulder from the kitchen where she was making tea.

“Mingo?”
Finn tilted his head and gave her his quizzical look. “That some kind of faith healer?”

“My dog. He's . . . enthusiastic, and I was afraid he'd hurt you if he jumped on the bed. It's your call. If you'd rather not take the chance, I get it.”

Finn liked dogs. “Sure, why not?” He paused. “Wait. How big is she?”

“He. Not big.”

“You're a horseperson. You think a Great Dane is a teacup poodle because it's under sixteen hands.”

“He'd fit in a mailbox.”

“What size mailbox?”

“Finn!”

He grinned at her. “I'd love to meet him.”

“I'll bring him later today. We'll see how it goes. If he's too much of a pain, I'll take him outside.” She bit her lip.

“What?”

“I should probably warn you. Harris has a movie idea, starring you and him.”

Finn raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Prepare yourself. He calls it . . .
Broke Leg Mountain
.”

Finn groaned. “That's terrible. But if he keeps making me those freaking amazing dinners, I don't see how I can turn him down.”

Bethany laughed. “I'm not going to tell him—he'll send you lines to memorize. You also have a fan. Wave, the nine-year-old, can't wait to meet you. You're this big mystery in the guesthouse. It's like I've captured Bigfoot.”

He laughed. “Big
leg
is more like it.”

“Now, Finn,” she started, in what he thought of as her schoolmarm voice, “I know you can take care of yourself—there are lots of things you can do—but you might overestimate how much you can handle. Remember yesterday when you didn't take the Percocet and what a bad idea that was? I'm here to save you from yourself.”

Aw. The Cronut was looking out for him.

She continued. “Are you bored here? Do you want to go outside? It's nice out. Do you want to go to the house? Eat there? You're more than welcome to—everyone would love it, for reasons I've already said.”

“I want to get better on those things first,” he said, indicating the crutches next to the built-in bed.

“Okay, okay. But if you change your mind and you want to go out, let me—or someone—know. You can visit my horse, if you want. But you don't have to. Ooh, hey, you can take a long tour of the house. If you want, you can stay there. You don't have to stay here. That's the other thing, you can stay in the house if you want. Grady was worried about the girls being too noisy while you were trying to sleep, which is why he thought you might prefer here. You have all the privacy you want.”

“I'm happy wherever. I don't want to be more of a pain than absolutely necessary, so I'll go wherever Grady wants. When is Ming Vase coming?”

“What?”

“Your dog that lives in a mailbox. Does the ASPCA know about that?”

“Mingo. His name's Mingo. I'll bring him by later, if I can find him. He likes to roam on all these acres. And eat horse poop.”

“I might have just changed my mind.”

Mingo was the color
of hot chocolate made with creamy milk and a lot of love stirred in. He was a canine zeppelin, taller and sturdier than a dachshund, with a tail like a spent cigar. He had floppy velvet triangles for ears, a nose the same shade as his sleek fur, and big liquid-brown eyes designed to melt human hearts and willpower. Beth had fallen for him hard as she'd walked by his cage in the Florida shelter, because he'd sat and raised a front paw, all the while staring at her as though he were auditioning for a pet adoption ad. His eyes had won the day. That was two years ago, and he had proven to be a great horse-show dog, happiest when he was with her, but quiet and calm if he had to stay in the truck or trailer, and an excellent salesdog in her vendor tent.

That afternoon Beth opened the door to the cottage and yelled, “Incoming!” Mingo charged past her and stopped in the middle of the room, assessing. People were his favorite, so as soon as he saw Finn, he pricked his ears, ran, and launched himself onto the bed.

“Oomph!” Finn said as he sat up. Mingo planted his paws on Finn's chest and wagged his body. Clearly, his tail called the shots and the rest of his solid frame followed.

Finn said, “Hiya, Mingo. My, aren't you a lot heavier than you look?”

Beth stood by the bed and chuckled. “Meet Mingo.”

“He's . . . husky. Damn, he's like matter in a black hole.”

“We prefer ‘compact.' But, seriously, is he bothering you? You can tell him ‘off.' He's marginally obedient.”

Finn slid her a look. “Like his mistress.”

“It all depends on the request. And the requester.” She smirked.

But Finn was busy scratching Mingo's chin and, most likely, falling in love. For his part, Mingo lay happily on Finn's chest, eyes half-closed, lost in dog nirvana.

“Hey, do you want to come to the house for dinner tomorrow night? It might do you good to get out.”

Finn looked at her while ear-rubbing. “Sure, why not? Give me an hour to get up the driveway.”

“I'll tell Harris. Any requests?”

Finn shrugged and shook his head. “He hasn't let me down yet.” Mingo groaned.

“One of Grady's friends is coming for dinner, the guy who's going to help me with my shirts.”

“Great.”

Good
. Beth had been afraid Finn would stay in the cottage until he was able to walk again, which was completely unlike the man she had been married to. She had to remember that this injury was, as the doctor told her, painful. She also had to remember that Finn seemed perkier and more alert today than he had been since the accident. Although when he slept, from what she could tell, he was
out
. Since he'd been sleeping so much during the day, often he had trouble staying asleep at night. He'd told her that sometimes, if he couldn't sleep in the middle of the night, he'd read or work on his laptop.