Thirty minutes later, Meredith emerged from the ER, her bandaged hand held to her waist. Spots of blood stood out in stark relief on her wrinkled white shirt. Pale and wobbly, she circled a man and woman at the receptionist’s desk, her gaze trailing slowly over the front seating area. Heath waved to catch her attention, then slid forward on the cushion, gently shifting the child in his arms to stand up.
As he watched Meredith approach, he was struck by an illuminating thought. Sometimes it took only a single incident to change one’s perception of another person.
Less than two hours ago, he’d seen Meredith Kenyon as a shy, unassertive female who needed the big, burly sheriff up the road to intervene with her landlord and fight her battles. Now he saw a slightly built woman with a load of problems resting on her shoulders, someone who had probably survived experiences he couldn’t imagine.
All his life Heath had been told that the mark of true bravery wasn’t lack of fear, but having the courage to deal with it. By that measuring stick, Meredith Kenyon might be one of the bravest individuals he’d ever met. It took guts for a woman to leave an abusive husband and strike out on her own. All too often, he saw it go the other way.
The wariness reflected in Meredith’s eyes as she approached him was impossible to ignore. Yet she kept coming, her gaze riveted on her sleeping daughter. That didn’t say a whole lot for her opinion of him, but it went a long way toward changing his of her. He remembered how she’d stood her ground with Goliath that first night. Timid? Yes. She was that, he supposed. But she had a lot of grit as well.
Her footsteps were unsteady. When she drew to a stop near the sofa, her eyes locked with his. She was clearly wondering how he had gotten so chummy with her child in so short a time. Heath clenched his teeth. The way he saw it, if anyone had some explaining to do, it was Meredith.
“How’s the hand?” he asked.
She frowned slightly, then said, “Fine. The cut is deep, but all the nerves are intact. I can’t use it and have to keep it dry for a week until the doctor takes the stitches out, then baby it for a while after that. But he says there’ll be no permanent damage.”
“That’s good.” He felt at a loss. Making small talk was beyond him right then.
She shifted her gaze back to Sammy, her expression conveying that she yearned to snatch her away from him. The thought made him feel oddly empty.
He fixed his gaze on a tiny white scar on Meredith’s chin that he’d never noticed—the kind of mark that could have been left by a man’s fist. He tightened his hold on Sammy to keep from touching it, his lips pressed tightly shut against questions he knew he had no right to ask.
Her eyes had a slightly unfocused look. He suspected the doctor had given her an injection for pain. “Are you all checked out?”
She blinked. “Oh…yes. I filled out the forms in the ER.” Even with the drug-induced slur in her speech, the lilting cadence of her voice flowed warmly over him. “They’ll have to send me the bill. I didn’t bring my purse.”
“I can take care of the bill for you, Meredith. You can pay me back later.”
Her chin came up a notch. “That isn’t necessary.”
Supporting Sammy in the circle of one arm, Heath grasped Meredith’s elbow. As he steered her through the waiting area, he couldn’t help but notice how the bones of her elbow thrust against his palm. When he tightened his grip to guide her past a toddler, he made a conscious effort not to squeeze too hard for fear of bruising her.
“Watch your feet,” he cautioned as he helped her down the steps outside. “You’re a little wobbly.”
“The doctor gave me a shot.” She glanced up, her gaze once again settling on her sleeping daughter. “I really didn’t want one. With a four-year-old to watch, I can’t afford”—she stifled a yawn—“to feel drowsy.”
Doped to the gills, Heath thought. Yet he could still feel tension thrumming through her. “I’ll hang around at your place until Sammy’s settled in for the night.”
She flashed him a startled look, all trace of sleepiness vanishing from her face. “That won’t be necessary. Really. I’ll manage fine.”
Like hell. Heath wasn’t about to leave her alone until the effects of that pain shot wore off. “Hey, it’s my fault you cut yourself. Necessary or not, I want to help.”
He released her arm as they drew up beside the Bronco. With an ease born of long practice from having had a prisoner in tow, he dug in his pocket for his keys and unlocked the door with one hand. Instead of putting Meredith in the back as he had before, he helped her into the passenger seat and put her daughter in her arms. Before shutting the door, he couldn’t resist passing his hand over Sammy’s hair one last time.
Meredith gave him another startled look that quickly turned to dismay. She obviously didn’t want him to develop a fondness for her child—or vice versa.
Grimly, Heath circled the vehicle. When he climbed in under the steering wheel, he was acutely aware of the way she hugged her door. Another clear message. Clenching his teeth, he started the Bronco and drove from the crowded ER parking lot.
After merging onto Modoc Way, which accommodated a constant flow of traffic to and from the Modoc Institute of Technology, he gave his passengers a measuring look. Falling back on his law enforcement training, he decided not to beat around the bush.
“Sammy wet her pants while you were in the ER.”
Cupping her uninjured hand over the seat of her child’s pink britches, Meredith smiled slightly. “I noticed she felt wet.”
“She waited so long to tell me, I didn’t get her to the restroom in time.”
Meredith bent to press her cheek to the top of Sammy’s head. After a long moment, she asked, “Did she give you any trouble?”
“Depends on how you define trouble, I guess. She panicked. Thought I was going to hit her and started screaming.” Pulling into the turning lane, Heath stared at the traffic light, waiting for her to comment. Nothing. He sneaked a glance. She still had a cheek pressed to Sammy’s hair, only now her eyes were tightly closed.
“Someone has mistreated that child,” he finally said. “Don’t bother denying it.”
She still said nothing.
At the question, Meredith turned even paler, her lashes fluttering up to reveal eyes so big and wary they reminded him of Sammy’s, except for their dark color.
“It’s not unusual for a little girl to get upset when she wets herself,” she informed him in a tremulous voice. “You misread the situation, that’s all.”
Heath huffed under his breath. “I don’t think so. She wasn’t just upset. We’re talking scared spitless.”
“You’re a stranger, and she tends to be shy and timid. Wetting one’s pants is no small thing to a four-year-old.”
Frustration welled within Heath. He sensed—no, dammit, he knew—that this woman and child were in desperate need of help. He would have bet his last dollar that Meredith was on the run. No matter how he circled it, that was the only explanation that made sense. If her husband was trying to find her, didn’t she realize he could protect her? He was the county sheriff, for Christ’s sake. Even if the courts had ruled in her husband’s favor and he was the custodial parent, Heath’s being a law enforcement officer gave him a certain amount of clout. He wouldn’t hesitate to use his connections to help her. What did she plan to do if the bastard showed up on her doorstep?
The thought made Heath’s palms go damp on the steering wheel.
“Meredith…”
He glanced over, took quick stock of her body language, and fell silent. Every rigid line of her body told him to back off. Talking hadn’t worked with Sammy, and it wasn’t going to work with her mother.
In a way, Heath guessed he could understand that. Talk was cheap. If he wanted Meredith Kenyon’s trust, he was going to have to earn it.
By the time Sheriff Masters pulled his Bronco into her driveway, Meredith was having difficulty keeping her eyes open. That lasted about two seconds. The minute Heath cut the
engine and spoke, she came wide awake.
“What did you say?” she asked, her senses on full alert.
He threw open his door and glanced over at her as he vaulted from the vehicle. “I said, with your hand messed up, you’ll need help around the house this next week.”
“Oh, no. I—”
He cut her short by slamming his door, then skirted the vehicle to open her side. “What did you plan to fix to go with those potatoes you were peeling? It’s already half past six. If Sammy wakes up, she’ll want dinner.”
“Hamburger patties. But I can manage.”
Taking Sammy from her, he said, “You can’t cook or wash dishes, for starters.”
“I can wear rubber gloves.”
“The doc said you aren’t to use the hand, correct?”
“With gloves, I can use it as little as possible and just be very careful.”
“Rubber gloves need to be snug. And water always slops inside the cuffs. That’s not to mention they’ll hurt so bad, you’ll rip them off in five minutes.”
“I’m sure it’s all right for me to do some things.”
He grinned. “I’ll call and check with the doctor.”
Meredith was tempted to kick him. She knew what the doctor would say. He’d even wanted her to wear a sling. She’d refused when she found out it would cost forty-five dollars. If the hand began to swell, she’d pin dishtowels together to make her own. “It’s not necessary to bother the doctor.”
Chuckling, he cradled Sammy in one arm then grasped Meredith’s elbow. “Take it easy getting out. It’s quite a step down. Whatever the doctor gave you, it must have been strong stuff. I get lightheaded just looking at you.”
She did feel odd. As her feet touched the ground, she grabbed the door for balance. He slipped his free arm around her shoulders. “You okay?”
She dragged in a deep breath. “Yes, fine. I just need to get my legs under me.”
He muttered something unintelligible as he drew her along beside him. She caught herself leaning against him for support. A warning jangled in her mind.
“I’m sorry. I’m feeling a bit spacey.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
And wasn’t that the whole problem? He had her, all right. She felt as if her shoulders were wedged in a vise.
He steered left. “We’ll have to use the back door. The front porch, remember.”
As he led her around the house, the patchy lawn seemed to undulate like a blanket caught in an updraft. She lurched once and stumbled, which might have ended with her falling if not for his arm around her. When they reached the cross fence, he released her just long enough to pull back the panel of loosened wire.
“Easy, honey,” he said as they climbed the steps. “I’ll do the driving, all right?”
Honey. Just like her dad, he made free with endearments, this man. And somehow he managed to sound sincere. Broad shoulders, a solid body, an arm around her that felt like padded steel. The mix was almost irresistible. Might have been if she hadn’t learned the hard way that a man’s strength could be turned against her.
As he guided her into the house, Meredith’s shoe caught on the abrupt edge of particle board. Once again, he caught her from falling. He bent his dark head to look closely at her, and she returned his regard. His face fascinated her. She traced the clean, sharp cut of his features and the burnished cast of his skin, the tone contrasting sharply with Sammy’s golden head lolling on his shoulder. There were crinkly laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, which seemed to change color even as she gazed into them. Right now, they were the sooty gray-blue of storm clouds.
“You’re mighty pale,” he finally said.
“I’ll live.”
“God, I hope so,” he said with a low laugh. “I will feel guilty if you don’t.”
He led her to the kitchen, lowered her onto a chair, and then disappeared with Sammy into the bedroom. Meredith propped her elbow on the table and rested her head on her hand. She didn’t feel all that bad, just sort of disconnected from her brain.
From Sammy’s bedroom, she heard drawers opening. Then Sammy murmured sleepily, and the deep tenor of Heath’s voice drifted from the room. Seconds later, the sound of his boots on the linoleum warned her of his return to the kitchen. She straightened to regard him with what she hoped was a clear-headed expression.
“I put some dry britches on her.” He drew to a stop to roll his sleeves higher. “I think maybe I got them on backward. No fly.”
Meredith struggled to make sense of that. “Fly?”
“You know, a fly.” He gestured at his jeans. “Her trousers don’t have one. I couldn’t tell front from rear. There wasn’t a tag inside them.”
“Oh.” Meredith realized she was staring at the front of his pants and jerked her gaze away. “I, um…sew.”
“You what?”
“Sew. I made her pants. That’s why there isn’t a tag.”
“You did a great job.”
“It’s one of those things you learn when you’re a farmer’s daughter. My mom taught me. Thank you for getting her dry. With her asleep, I can manage the rest.”
His firm mouth tipped in a slow grin. “Why do I get this feeling you don’t like me very well and would like to get rid of me? The faster, the better.”
“Don’t be silly. It isn’t that.”
He rested his hands on the back of a chair across from her. His stance was blatantly masculine, broad shoulders slightly hunched, one hip cocked forward. His gaze was as sharp as a razor, missing nothing. “Then there shouldn’t be a problem if I hang around to help you out.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“Helping two pretty ladies is never an imposition.”
Meredith sighed and gestured toward the sink. “Fine. Help. It really isn’t necessary, though. I’ve got canned stuff I can fix. Soup, ravioli, spaghetti.”
“And a bunch of potatoes that are already turning brown and will ruin if they aren’t boiled. That’s not to mention that operating a can opener might be impossible.”
He had a point. She didn’t own an electric opener, and her manually operated one required two hands. Sammy probably didn’t have the strength to make it work.
He strode to the sink. The rushing sound of water streaming from the faucet soon filled the kitchen. “You were gonna mash these, right?”
He turned to look at her, one large fist curled around the handle of a dented pot she’d picked up for a half dollar at the thrift store. He looked blurry around the edges, like a watercolor smeared by raindrops. “Um…yes. Mashed will be fine.”
“You use a mixer or a hand masher?”
She gazed blankly at him. After a moment, he offered her another slow, off-center grin. “Never mind, I’ll just follow the end of my nose.”
Meredith had difficulty even finding the end of hers. She let her eyelids fall closed, wishing the doctor hadn’t insisted on giving her an injection. A loud, rattling sound jerked her back to awareness.
Hands on his hips, Heath stood gazing at the ceiling fan above the stove. “Sorry,” he said. “I was hoping to get the air moving. This kitchen is stuffy as hell.” He shook his head. “Jesus H. Christ! What a racket. Sounds like rocks in a tin can.” He circled to get a better look. “Your squirrel cage is shot.”
“Squirrel cage?”
“Layman’s nomenclature. You need a whole new fan assembly.”
What she needed was a way to get rid of him.
“When you get a chance, make me out a list.”
“Of what?”
He arched a dark eyebrow, his eyes twinkling. “Things that don’t work.” He leaned over the stove to turn off the fan. “I’ll get everything fixed for you.”
Everything? “That could take weeks.”
“No problem.”
“As much as I appreciate the offer, that really isn’t necessary, Sheriff Masters.”
“Heath, remember? You’ll be seeing a lot of me. Might as well relax.”<
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Meredith doubted she could accomplish that feat even if she tried, which she had no intention of doing. If she let down her guard, eventually she would slip and reveal something to him that she shouldn’t.
How had things gone so impossibly awry? When she’d learned the man next door was the sheriff, she’d been determined to avoid him. Now here he was, inside her house? A handsome man like him should have a wife, or at least a steady girlfriend. She had enough problems without tossing one very large male into the mix.
He seemed to know his way around a kitchen, she’d give him that. Suzy Homemaker, personified. He looked incongruous standing at her sink, the muscles across his back rippling under the blue shirt as he wielded her paring knife.
“I take it you’re a longtime bachelor?”
“Mmm.” He glanced over his shoulder at her, a slice of raw potato caught between his teeth. Pocketing the vegetable in his cheek, he shrugged as he chewed, his jaw tendon bunching. “Never met the right lady. How about you? Divorced?”
Meredith hadn’t intended to open up a dialogue about her marital status. “I have cans of green beans in that bottom cupboard.”
He quartered the potato with two deft strokes. “One can of green beans, coming right up.” A moment’s silence, then, “You didn’t answer my question.”
“What question?”
“About your husband. Are you divorced?”
Meredith’s heart kicked against her ribs. “I, um…I’d rather not talk about that, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Silence descended again, broken only by the sound of the knife blade grating through pulp and the ticking of the clock. She was relieved he’d dropped the subject.
After getting both the meat and the potatoes on the stove, he came to sit across from her. Meredith fidgeted, unnerved by his intent regard. He leaned back in the chair, propping one booted foot on his knee. For reasons beyond her, he seemed bigger and broader through the shoulders than he ever had before.
“I don’t bite, you know.”
She threw him a startled look.
“At least not hard enough to hurt,” he amended.
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