Just a Kiss (8 page)

R
iley shuffled into the shelter behind Paige, who held the door for him. Things had been awkward between them since the night before. The thought of being on that stage beside all the other bachelors—whole, healthy bachelors—was enough to darken his already foul mood.

What had the girls been thinking? Who'd want to go out with him now? Oh, he'd get plenty of bids all right—pity bids. His skin heated at the thought.

He ignored the pain in his stump as he hobbled over to the air conditioner. Paige headed toward her office, flicking on lights. He was getting ready to punch the On button when a shriek reached his ears.

He turned as fast as he could and hobbled toward the hallway, coming to a stop a couple feet in, right behind Paige.

The tips of his crutches were covered in water. The dampness began seeping into his shoe.

“What in the world!” Paige dashed ahead, splashing through the inches of water.

Riley struggled to follow her. Dogs were yapping in their kennels, but he passed the door, looking for the source of the flood.

At the end of the hall he came to a stop at the utility room, where Paige was shutting off the spigot.

Her hands turned, palms up. “What—? How—?”

Riley tore his eyes from her shocked face, staring at the overflowing tub. Yesterday came rushing back. The boxer in need of a bath. Going for shampoo. Hearing Paige and Dylan in the lobby.

Had he turned on the water? He couldn't remember. Surely he wouldn't have left it running.

“The animals . . .” Paige pushed past him, splashing up the hall, and disappeared into the kennel.

Riley followed, his heart pounding, his thoughts spinning. No. He did not do this. He couldn't have. His eyes scanned the hallway where water inched up the woodwork and into all the rooms along the way. The carpet in Paige's office, the boxes on the floor in the supply closet. The bags of dog food, kept on the floor . . .

He entered the room where Paige was, the cacophony growing louder as he pushed the door open.

“Help me get them outside.”

The water was barely into the cages. Paws were wet, and the cats were distressed, but no damage had been done in here.

“They're fine,” he said.

Paige shot him a look. Tears trembled on her lashes. “They're not fine! They're terrified!”

He opened a tabby's cage while Paige passed with two dogs in her arms. He dumped one crutch so he could carry the cat outside. He didn't know why he bothered. The tabby clung to him for dear life, its claws going right through his shirt and into his skin.

Paige returned, putting two of the more aggressive dogs into
higher kennels and grabbing the boxer and a mixed breed. By the time they had the animals outside, Paige's cheeks were wet with tears.

Riley's gut clenched. This was all his fault.

Paige put the boxer in a run and closed the door. She picked up the little mixed breed, who was still shivering, and cuddled her close.

Paige raked her fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and squeezed. “I don't understand. How could this have happened?”

The weight in his chest grew heavier. He had to tell her. “Uh, Paige, I—”

“You were outside before we left, and I didn't use the tub all day yesterday. Could someone have broken in and done this?”

“Paige, I—”

“Should I call the sheriff? The front door was locked, but they could've come in another way. Did I leave a window unlocked? Why would someone do this? I should call the sheriff.”

She pulled her phone from her pocket.

“Paige.” Riley grabbed her arm, unsteady on his crutch.
“Paige.”

She finally looked up at him, mid-dial, and the sight of her panicked blue eyes cut right through him. After everything she'd done for him, this was how he repaid her? She was going to hate him. And she should. This was going to cost her a fortune she couldn't afford, and it was all his fault.

“What?” She was looking at him, something like hope filling her eyes and, man, how he hated to disappoint her.

He swallowed hard, then forced the words out. “This is—this is my fault, Paige.”

She studied him, confusion in her eyes, waiting.

“Yesterday after you left me out here, I decided to give the boxer a bath. You'd mentioned he needed one. But there was no shampoo by the tub, so I went to the supply closet.” And then he'd heard Dylan's voice and gotten all jealous. But he couldn't tell her that. “I got . . . distracted. I must've turned on the spigot and forgotten to shut it off.”

“But how— I can't— Are you—?”

He watched helplessly as the emotions in her eyes shifted from confusion to denial to frustration. Her face grew flushed, and finally her lips pressed together. A sure sign she was holding back what she really wanted to say.

“I'm sorry. I'll help you get it cleaned up. I'll stay here as long as I need to. I'll pay for all the damage.”

“Do you have any idea—?” She clamped her lips against the words that obviously wanted to tumble out.

“Go ahead and say it. Say whatever you want.” He deserved it. He was a real idiot. Who left a spigot running all night?

She drew in a long breath, her shoulders rising then sinking as she blew it out. “It was an accident.” Her voice trembled like she was holding on by a thread.

“That's not what you were going to say. Not what you want to say.”

He needed her to be real with him. They'd always been honest with each other, and he sure didn't need her holding out on him now just because he was a cripple.

“It doesn't matter.”

His jaw flexed. “Yes it does.”

She set the dog down. “We should get this cleaned up. I have a Shop-Vac in the—”

“Stop it.”

She huffed at him. “Stop what, Riley?”

“Stop treating me different. You never held back on me before, why hold back now? I was an idiot, so call me a flipping idiot.”

“You're not an idiot.” She turned to go inside.

He took her arm. “I flooded your shelter.”

“It was an accident.”

“It was stupid. Just say it.”

She jerked her arm loose. “Stop it.”

“Just say it!”

“Fine! You're an idiot. Are you happy now?” She nailed him with a look before she spun on her heels and headed back inside.

Strangely enough, he wasn't happy at all.

T
he shelter was eerily silent at o'dark hundred. Riley lined up the drywall sheet in the hallway.

He and Paige had worked all day to clean up the mess—his mess. It had taken half the day to Shop-Vac the water and sort through the things that had been sitting on the floor. The bottom of the drywall in the hallway had been ruined, as had the carpet in Paige's office. Beau and Zac had helped, removing the wet drywall and replacing the carpet. The upholstered chair in her office was ruined, along with stacks of files.

They'd opened every window and brought in all the fans and dehumidifiers they could borrow. They'd worked through the day in strained silence. He'd had to force her to stop for lunch, and the weariness in her slumped shoulders when they'd locked up for the night made him want to kick the nearest wall. He'd decided right then that as soon as she was asleep he was coming back to hang the new drywall.

As it was, the supplies they'd purchased were almost five hundred dollars, not including the carpet, and they'd lost at least that
in dog food and supplies. Paige said her insurance would cover it, but Riley felt personally responsible.

He heard a low whine and stopped his efforts to listen. He should check on the animals. His body needed a break anyway. He maneuvered himself off the floor. Man, his stump ached like a big dog, and his back and other leg were sore too. He'd already taken his pain meds.

Fatigue pressed on his shoulders as he hobbled stiffly toward the kennels on his crutches, feeling every ache and pain. He hadn't been so worn out since the Crucible at boot camp. Nice to know one day of normal physical activity now left him as exhausted as fifty-four hours of field training had before.

He opened the door and moved into the dimly lit room. It was quiet except for the boxer's whimper and a crude snoring sound coming from another one of the kennels.

Riley leaned down and released the latch on Bishop's kennel, encouraging the dog to come out.

“What's wrong, bud? Can't sleep?” The dog stared up at him, his eyes like coal in the dimness. Riley scratched behind the dog's ears until his legs grew tired.

“All right. Come on, boy.” The dog followed him down the hall, his claws clicking on the tile. If he was going to be here all night, he might as well have some company.

Paige slipped from her car and headed toward the shelter. She'd slept fitfully, worrying over the shelter and then over Riley.

She'd left him at home in bed, going so far as to slip into his room and turn off his alarm. She'd stopped at Wicked Good
Brew for her caffeine fix, not wanting to wake him with the coffee grinder. He'd worked far too long and hard yesterday, refusing to leave until she did.

She'd asked him many times to go home and rest or, at the very least, take a break. But he was so stubborn. She knew he was angry with himself for leaving the faucet on. Shoot, she'd been angry with him too.

But her ire morphed quickly into concern when he refused to stop. She hoped he hadn't done anything to set back his recovery. He was supposed to get fitted for his temporary prosthesis in two weeks, and she knew he was looking forward to that. But if he had swelling or got an infection it would have to be postponed. It was important for him to get upright and independent again. The sooner he was able to walk, the better for his mental health.

She slipped the key into the lock and twisted. The door opened with its familiar creak. She hated to work on a Sunday, but she needed to get a couple hours in before church. Having closed the shelter yesterday, she was behind. There were at least a dozen messages on her voicemail, and a couple bills were going to be late if she didn't get them into tomorrow's mail. To say nothing of the work she had yet to do to repair the water damage.

The dogs, hearing her entry, began moving restlessly, barking and yapping, eager for food and attention.

A strange chalky smell drew her attention, and she frowned as she made her way through the lobby, fearing another disaster.

Oh please, God, not something else.

It took her a moment to realize the smell was coming from the hallway. The new drywall was hung and seamed, the mud still in the process of drying.

Who in the world had done that? And when? Unless there was a home improvement fairy no one had told her about—

The bell jangled as the front door opened, and Paige whirled around. Riley hobbled through the door. He'd walked the three blocks on crutches?

She entered the lobby, taking in his bloodshot eyes. His short hair was smooshed on one side, and a pillow crease marred his left check.

His eyes homed in on her, and he frowned. “Did you turn off my alarm?”

“Maybe.” A niggling suspicion was blooming in her mind, and she crossed her arms. “Did you come back here last night?”

He lifted a brow. “Maybe.”

It was him? He'd not only worked all day yesterday, but half the night too?

Her pulse sped as heat flushed through her body.
“Riley . . .”

“Paige.”

She nailed him with a look as she thought of how much time it must've taken to hang the drywall. And heaven knew what else he'd done during his midnight madness. She didn't even know how he'd managed on one leg.

She stalked toward him. “You are going to set yourself back, you foolish man. Is that what you want? I was going to handle all this today, as you darn well know.”

His jaw ticked. “It was
my
mistake.”

She threw her hands up. “You're impossible, you know that?”

“A simple thank you will do.”

A simple—
“Gah!” She spun on her heels. She needed to get away from the stubborn man before she said something she'd regret.

F
itful nights were starting to become a habit. Paige turned over and tossed the sheets off, noting the time: just past one.

There was a new uneasiness between her and Riley that was as unsettling as it was frustrating. She probably owed him an apology for calling him an idiot after the flooding, though he'd practically begged her to do so. Why had she let him get to her?

She'd worked Sunday afternoon and had gotten caught up. Riley had finally gone home at three o'clock, when it was apparent there was nothing more he could do. She hoped he'd taken a nice, long nap.

He had supper on the table when she got home. The meal was an awkward affair filled with stilted comments and punctuated silences. She couldn't help but notice the way he winced when he moved, but she knew better than to say anything.

She rolled to her back and was just considering some chamomile tea when she heard a scream.

Paige jumped from her bed and dashed toward the stairs. Riley must be having a nightmare. She took the stairs quickly and
headed toward his room. A low groan greeted her as she hit the threshold.

She slid to a halt, remembering the way she'd startled him awake the night of his arrival.

“Riley,” she said into the darkened room. “Wake up.”

Another low moan carried across the room.

“Riley!”

“I'm—awake,” he gritted out. His breathing was loud and irregular.

She flipped on a lamp, illuminating the room.

His hands clenched the sheet, and a sheen of sweat coated his forehead. “Cramp,” he groaned.

She rushed to his side. “What do I do?”

“Heating pad.” His eyes squeezed shut. “Dresser.”

She found the heating pad and fumbled with the cord until she had it plugged in behind the nightstand. She flipped it to High and stood helplessly, waiting for it to heat.

Riley clutched his stump, his back arching as he breathed through a spasm. His face looked carved from marble. He sucked in a shallow breath and held it.

She'd never felt so stinking helpless. Tears burned the backs of her eyes. “What can I do? Tell me what to do.”

Seemingly lost in pain, he grabbed his stump and pressed his fingers into the flesh.

Massage. Hadn't she read something about this?

She brushed his hands away and pulled back the sheet. “I'll do it.”

He pushed at her hands, but she fought back. “Let me!”

He gave up, grabbing fistfuls of sheet as she began massaging the flesh. His stump was bare, the compression bandage lying on
the nightstand. The muscles spasmed under her hands, knotting and jumping. She wondered how long he'd suffered before she'd heard him.

Riley squirmed. Paige pressed harder into his quivering flesh, praying she wasn't doing more harm than good. How long would it take the heating pad to warm?

He'd had some cramping since his return, but nothing like this. It was all those hours of work at the shelter. She'd known he was overdoing it. She was angry at herself for not insisting he quit, and she'd be angry at him, too, if she didn't feel so darn bad for him.

A groan tore from his lips before he clamped them shut.

Her eyes stung with tears. “Oh, Riley.” She redoubled her efforts at massage. “Is this helping? Do you want me to quit?”

He jerked his head.

She continued to massage, the minutes crawling by until her hands began to ache with the effort. Still she kept on.

Was it better? His eyes weren't squeezed quite as tight. His knuckles were still white against the blue sheets, but the muscles of his thigh didn't feel as hard and knotty.

“Heating pad,” he whispered a few minutes later.

She grabbed the pad, relieved to find it nice and warm, and placed it over his stump, pressing down as if she could force the heat into his spasming muscles. The end of his stump was bare, and for the first time she saw the pink scarring on the tender flesh.

It seemed unfathomable that weeks ago a doctor had sliced away his leg. It felt so violent and cruel. And she was suddenly filled with the intense desire to kiss that wounded, vulnerable part of him.

Riley batted her hands away. He grabbed the sheet and jerked
it up over his stump. His breaths were regular and quick now, his eyes open and avoiding hers.

“Better?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Do you need some meds? A glass of water?”

“No. I'm fine now.” But the troubled, angry look in his eyes did nothing to reassure her. “Thanks. You can go back to bed.”

What if it happened again? What if she didn't hear him next time? Maybe she could get one of those baby monitors for his room. Yeah, he'd love that.

“Are you sure you're okay? What if you get another one?”

He looked at her for the first time since she'd entered his room, his eyes glittering darkly in the low light. “I'm
fine.
”

He didn't sound fine. But pushing him, she'd found lately, was the surest way to upset him. And after seeing him in such awful pain, that was the last thing she wanted to do.