“Ouch?”
He barks out a laugh while running his hands over me. “Nothing broken.”
Thank God for small favors. “What happened?”
He grimaces. “A rattlesnake. But I got it.” He pats his hip, where, for the first time, I notice a pistol.
It looks like Texas is even more dangerous than Grandmother anticipated.
The next thing I know, everything goes gray and then dark.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“I swear, I’m okay!”
Paxton gives me the same look he’s been giving me since yesterday afternoon and the whole situation with the snake and me fainting like an idiot. The look of concern.
Ever since then, he’s been treating me like something fragile. Like I might break at any moment. I’ve been pretty much confined to the house, where I woke up from my fainting spell, stretched out across a big, soft bed.
Granted, there’s a lot to do in the house, so it’s not like I’m being punished or anything.
Yesterday, we watched movies in the theater and ate popcorn and then enjoyed the dinner prepared for us. That was nice and much appreciated since, while I didn’t want to worry him, I was hurting all over. Head to toe and everything in between. It isn’t every day I’m tossed off a horse’s back.
So much for impressing him with my skills and bravery.
“I don’t want to leave you alone now. What if you need help and I’m not here?”
I can only give him a patient smile. “You do remember that you have a staff, right? I’ve counted at least five people since yesterday. Two cooks, two housekeepers, and a gardener. I think the odds of one of them hearing if I call for help are pretty good. Besides, I doubt I’ll need them. I’m just a little sore.”
Yes, and the Empire State Building is a little tall. But I’m not going to ruin the time we have together by complaining.
“I won’t be long,” he promises, pressing a kiss to my forehead and then one against the tip of my nose. “Try to stay out of trouble.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Oh, I almost forgot.” He looks back at me over his shoulder before leaving the bedroom. I can’t lie; the sight of him in his jeans and cowboy boots makes my heart go pitter-patter. He’s so rugged, so masculine. “I sent out for a handful of dresses to be delivered from a boutique in Dallas. They should arrive sometime today.” He says it so casually, like it’s the sort of thing people naturally do.
“You sent out for dresses?”
“For the birthday party. You seemed worried about that. I wanted you to feel better. I thought maybe this would be easier, having the dresses come to you since you’re feeling poorly. You can try them on here and see which one you like best.” He gives me one of his sheepish smiles while I gape at him in surprise. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took your size off the tag of a dress you brought with you.”
I don’t know whether to thank him or roll my eyes with a frustrated sigh. Sure, that was thoughtful, but there are things men don’t understand about women’s clothes.
Mainly the fact that it doesn’t matter what size a woman is. I could choose four dresses by four different designers, all in the same size, and they would all fit differently. Is it fair? No, it’s ridiculous. But it’s what we deal with.
“That’s incredibly sweet. You think of everything.”
Yes, that was the right response because, now, he’s glowing with pride.
“I just want you to be comfortable and happy while you’re here.” He leaves the room, calling out, “Stay out of trouble!” on his way down the stairs.
A rather perverse part of me wants to ask exactly what trouble I could get myself into, but it’s better to let it go.
Now that I’m alone, I can show how much discomfort, bordering on pain, I’m really in. Getting up from the bed is killer, my stiff muscles crying out in protest at having to move. Demanding to know just who I think I am and whether or not I already forgot what I put them through yesterday.
The deep soaking tub in Paxton’s bathroom is the perfect remedy. I fill it with water hot enough to be considered scalding before sliding in and settling back. The water soothes and loosens my bruised, aching body.
So much for the sexathon I was hoping this week would turn into. Maggie will be so disappointed. I certainly wasn’t in the mood last night, and unless things improve greatly today, I can’t imagine feeling up to it tonight either. That still gives us two more nights before I fly home on Friday.
And then?
That question hangs over me in the otherwise silent bathroom. What happens after this week? Would I seem hopelessly clingy if I asked that question? Would it turn him off, away from me, if I asked what comes next?
And what about Thursday? It’s not a coincidence, the fact that I had a nightmare about being lost in a huge party full of sneering, cold, nasty people. Nobody would talk to me; everybody kept turning their backs on me. I couldn’t find Paxton. I couldn’t even find the door to get out.
Gee, I wonder what that dream could have possibly meant. What a mystery.
My skin is pruning by the time I get out of the tub. The soft, fluffy bathrobe comforts me, as does the gently heated bathroom floor. What would it be like to live in luxury like this all the time? What would it be like to take it completely for granted, the way Paxton seems to?
Not that I think he’s jaded. Far from it. He seems to appreciate what he has, but still, when all a person has ever known is a certain sort of lifestyle, they’re bound to lose sight of the big picture. And just how many people don’t live this way. This is exactly why my mother wanted me to grow up in Brooklyn.
Not that I have anything to complain about, and I know it.
Darn it. All it took was the briefest thought of my spacious and comfortable apartment, and now, I’m thinking about Matt. Phoebe was waiting for him in his apartment when he got home on Sunday night along with a note, promising she’d been fed and walked at dinnertime. By the time I was up and ready for my flight on Monday morning, I could hear him working away behind his closed door.
I wonder what he’s thinking right now. How he’s feeling. This time spent apart is a good thing, the timing perfect really. He needs space.
And so do I.
While I won’t be getting on horseback again anytime soon, I can at least walk around outside with Peppermint trotting along beside me. It’s an absolutely beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky.
The pool is sparkling and inviting and the hot tub along with it. Now, there’s an idea. Maybe we can go for a soak tonight, just the two of us, for the sake of loosening my sore muscles. After that, whatever happens, happens …
“I told you, I don’t care about that. How many times do I have to say it?” Paxton’s voice carries from the barn, a few hundred yards away from the pool.
I can’t help but turn in that direction, curious who he’s shouting at.
“Shh, it’s okay,” I whisper to the dog, whose ears went back at the sound of it.
It doesn’t take long before I figure out who Paxton’s arguing with.
“And how many times do I have to tell you? I don’t care whether or not you care. That’s just the way it has to be. The sooner you get it through your head, the better.”