“I agree,” Hope said, grazing her finger over the cut. She could feel a sharp object prickling her finger. Before resorting to her tweezers, Hope tried to extract it with her finger.
“Ouch. Take it easy, Florence Nightingale.”
Hope swung her eyes up, a sharp retort at the end of her tongue. One look at his face changed her mind. He was clearly in agony, no doubt due to her attempts to take out the piece of glass.
“I’m trying,” she said in a curt voice. “Doing my best.”
“Sorry,” he said, his expression sheepish. He sure was attractive.
Focus, Hope. The man needed his foot back minus the piece of glass.
Hope turned and reached for her tweezers. She held them between her fingers, ready to conquer the piece of glass.
“Hey!” he cried out sharply. “What is that? What are you doing?” He began to wiggle in his seat.
“Don’t move,” she said in an authoritative tone. “It’s a pair of tweezers to take out this foreign body from your cut. If you’d rather I didn’t I can point you toward the hospital.”
“No. No hospital. I want you to do it. Go ahead.” He squeezed his eyes shut and began to count to ten.
Hope manipulated the tweezers so that she was under the little flap of skin and tugging lightly at the piece of glass. She applied a little pressure and pulled. The little chunk of glass slid out. “Whew!” Hope said, holding it up so he could get a view of what she’d extracted from his foot. “It’s a considerable size too. Take a look.”
“Wow,” he said. “Thanks for helping me out.” He ran a hand through his chin-length dirty blonde hair. Yep. This guy was a bonafide hunk
Hope held up a hand. “Wait. You’re not done yet. I still have to put some bacitracin on it and cover it with a bandage.”
“Whatever you say,” he said with a pearly grin. Hope looked away from him and focused on patching him up so he could be on his merry way. She was wary of handsome men like this surfer who had the chiseled features of a male model and the laid-back attitude of one who didn’t have too many worries in life.
“There,” Hope said as she covered the cut with a bandage as the final touch. “You’re free to go back to your surfing, although the salt water might sting.” She wrinkled her nose. She had never quite understood the whole surfing thing. She much preferred swimming or boating.
As he stood up and hobbled toward the front door, Hope felt a twinge of curiosity about this mysterious stranger. They hadn’t introduced themselves, which was a little crazy considering he was in her house with her baby nearby. If he hadn’t been bloodied and limping, she never would have let him inside. And she wasn’t about to tell anyone she’d been this foolish.
“By the way I’m Hope. Hope Matthews.”
“Mighty obliged, Hope. I owe you a big favor for taking such good care of me.” He stuck out his hand. “My name is Grayson. Grayson Holloway.”
* * *
Grayson knew by Hope’s reaction that she was familiar with his name. Her mouth hardened and she knit her brows together. Her jovial attitude turned on a dime. She looked as if she wanted to push him out of her house. It was a shame considering the lady was beautiful. Dark hair. Exotic eyes. A warm smile.
“Grayson Holloway,” she said his name as if it were poison.
“Yes,” he said with a nod. “Hope. Hope. I knew it sounded familiar. You’re one of the ladies who owns Savannah House, aren’t you?”
She tilted her chin up. “Yes, I am.”
“Well then, that makes us neighbors. I’m renting out a cottage right across the way.”
Her eyes bulged. She began to sputter, opening her mouth, then closing it.
“I have to go. My baby needs me.”
Before he could thank her again, the door slammed in his face. Ouch. So much for the sweet Florence Nightingale who had patched him up. Not that he could blame her. It wasn’t everyday a person tried to make a claim for the resort you’d inherited. He let out a chuckle. The look on her face had been frosty. It intrigued him, although she was probably taken. She’d mentioned a baby before she’d slammed the door on him.
Hmm. Had she meant an actual baby or was she referring to someone as baby? Like a husband? He hadn’t spotted a ring on her fingers as she’d patched him up. But then again, not everyone sported a wedding band these days. He wasn’t sure he would if he ever walked down the aisle. Just the thought of it gave him the shivers. Grayson had seen enough of his parent’s bad marriage to last him a lifetime.
No thank you. He was happy being single and footloose and fancy free.
You can’t live your life that way forever.
His father’s voice buzzed in his ear, reminding him of everything he was fighting for. Identity. Transparency. A legacy. Hope Matthews could shut the door on him as many times as she pleased. He was sticking around Savannah long enough to lay claim to Savannah House and anything else he could get his hands on. Miss Hattie Alexander’s blood flowed in his veins. He was one of her only living heirs. That meant something! Or at least it should.
Grayson was going to make certain the folks in Savannah didn’t brush him under the rug the way Miss Hattie had done to his father.
Stay tuned for new series Seven Brides, Seven Brothers Pelican Bay (Donahue Cousins). Parker Donahue returns!
November 2016
Falling in Love (Secrets of Savannah Book 5) Page 16