“Thank you,” she said as he sat on a rock ledge and washed her hair.
He didn’t answer, but when he was finished, he helped her brush her teeth.
The fact that it was Cain who’d stood with her through the worst days of her life made her feelings toward him even more confusing, more complex. Finally, her conscience overcame her desire to pretend she’d never mentioned their time together in the camper.
“Cain?”
He gazed down at her, his expression lost in shadow.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I…I didn’t mean what I said to you earlier.” But that was as far as she could go. She couldn’t admit how much that night had meant to her. She was still embarrassed that, thanks to her naiveté, she’d fallen so hard. He’d laugh if he knew she’d pined for him until she was at least twenty-three.
“Forget it.” His words sounded matter-of-fact, not grudging, but something had changed. He was formal, polite, kind and above all efficient—but the friendship that’d begun in the hospital room the night he’d stayed with her had been destroyed. He’d raised his defenses. He seemed…wary.
“I was upset about Owen,” she tried to explain.
“I know. It doesn’t matter. It was twelve years ago.”
But it did matter. And it seemed like only yesterday.
Heal. That’s all you should worry about for now. Heal so you can find the man who hurt you and put him away.
When Cain took Sheridan into the water, he hadn’t thought about how he was going to get her dry. He hadn’t remembered a towel. And the medication overtook her before he could bring her back to the house. She was limp in his arms, soaking wet, the ends of her hair dragging in the water.
“Sheridan?” Her head rolled onto his arm when he tried to make her look at him. “Can you hear me?”
No response.
Once he reached the back porch and stood there dripping, he admitted he had no choice but to change her. He couldn’t put her to bed in a wet hospital gown. And he couldn’t leave her on the bathroom floor until she woke up.
Carrying her inside, he placed her on his leather couch. Then he changed into dry clothes, scavenged a clean pair of boxers and a T-shirt from his drawers for her and returned to get rid of that hospital gown.
He’d told himself he’d do this quickly and efficiently, like a doctor or a nurse. Dressing her was a practical matter—as long as he wasn’t ogling her in the process. But the sight of her lying naked in front of him hit him like a right hook to the jaw. He hesitated even though he had the T-shirt ready in his hands—and let his gaze move quickly over her.
The phone rang almost at the same moment, jolting him back to his scruples. With a deep breath, he dressed her in the T-shirt and boxers, careful not to touch her anywhere he didn’t absolutely have to.
By the time she was covered, whoever called had hung up, but Cain was grateful for the interruption. He didn’t use sex as a weapon against himself and others anymore, but three years of abstinence was beginning to wear on him.
With a sigh, he got up and returned the call that’d come in. Beth Schlater wanted him to look at her dog in the morning.
But the change in focus didn’t really help. Long after he’d hung up, he was plagued with the vision of Sheridan’s nude body so close to his.
When Sheridan woke up, it was morning, but she wasn’t sure of the day. She tried to do a mental calculation—had it been ten days since the beating?—but she’d been sleeping too much to be able to keep an accurate count.
She could hear Cain in the front yard, talking. The words “bacterial infection” came up and instructions to keep some dog on his medication.
Then everything that’d happened the previous day intruded, and Sheridan groaned. Learning about Owen in the camper. Getting sick and throwing up in front of Cain. Going to the pond and feeling weightless as she floated with only his hands to hold her up.
She tried to remember what’d happened after their swim and couldn’t—but she was no longer in her hospital gown.
“Feeling better?”
It was Cain. He’d come in just as she was kicking off the covers to see what she was wearing. Outside, a car pulled away.
“These are your underwear,” she said, stating the obvious.
He seemed reluctant to meet her eyes, which made her a little apprehensive. “I didn’t feel comfortable going through your luggage so I grabbed something of mine,” he explained as he stood on a chair to adjust the air-conditioning vent on the ceiling.
“It was too intrusive to go through my suitcase but you felt comfortable taking off my clothes?”
“You were unconscious. What else was I supposed to do?”
Sheridan didn’t have a good answer. But she still wanted some assurance that he hadn’t taken advantage of her. “Maybe you could walk me through it.”
He got down from the chair and opened the blinds. “Or maybe we could just forget about it.”
“I can’t forget about it. When I see these clothes, I want to know exactly how I got into them.”
“I put you in some dry clothes. That’s it.” He sat in the chair near the nightstand and locked his hands behind his head. “Would you rather I’d put you to bed wet?”
“No…I…it just feels weird that I can’t remember.”
“You didn’t miss anything.”
“Except that one part.”
“Which part?”
“The part where you took my clothes off.”
“You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”
“Just tell me this much.” She waited for him to meet her eyes. “Did you touch me?” She paused. “You know what I mean.”
He frowned as if she’d offended him. “I’m pretty sure that would be a crime.”
“So you didn’t.”
He blew out a sigh and extended his legs, crossing them at the ankles. “Of course not.”
“But you saw me.”
Ignoring the comment, he got up to straighten the bedding. “You hungry?”
“I’m starved, but first I want to hear your answer.”
Propping his hands on his hips, he faced her squarely. “Okay. Yes, I saw you. Of course I saw you. I had to see you.”
She wished she could read him better. “But you didn’t look at me.”
“I didn’t look at you,” he said. But a moment later, he rubbed a hand over his chin and, obviously chagrinned, reversed his answer. “Actually, I did look at you. But only for a second.”