Page 34 of All My Broken Dreams

“We don’t have to think about that right now. Nothing to be done about it until morning.”

She didn’t say anything after that until they reached the front door and Deacon set her down to get his key out of his pocket.

“Can you stand?”

“Yes.”

Her nose had stopped bleeding. A streak of dried, crusted blood clung to her upper lip.

He unlocked the door and helped her inside.

“How is your shoulder?”

“It hurts like hell. I suppose you’re going to tell me I shouldn’t have followed you, that I got what I deserved. I didn’t know the situation. I should have listened to you.”

“I’m not going to tell you that. You did what you had to do.” They were outside Harry’s room. “Do you have a key to get in?”

“It isn’t locked. Mrs. Cameron is bringing me a key today or tomorrow. Today is Sunday, isn’t it? She won’t come on a Sunday, will she?”

“Not likely.” He hesitated. “Are you going to be okay on your own tonight?”

Robbie shook her head, her eyes downcast. “I was hoping I could stay with you until morning.”

A feeling flooded his being–a cocktail of relief, joy, anticipation and arousal. He tamped this last one down but it refused to stay under wraps.

“Come on, then,” he said gruffly. “I’ll help you get upstairs. Get your face cleaned up. You look like you’ve been in a bar fight and lost.”

Chapter Eighteen

Once inside and out of her coat, Robbie sank into an armchair and let Deacon tuck a woolen tartan blanket over her. She was shivering. He lit the gas fire and moved to the kitchen to make cocoa.

Robbie watched him as he lifted the tin from the cupboard with strong brown hands. His hair was damp with melting snow. His cheeks were red with cold. But his eyes when they landed on her were bright, clear, and warm brown, stirring a feeling in her.

Tugging at her to want more from him than a place to crash and a cup of cocoa.

“Here, get that in you,” he said, handing her the mug.

She handled it gingerly. “Harry left his mug behind. I gave it to him when he left for Scotland. He didn’t bring it with him to Dugald Croft. I found it sitting on the counter.”

“Is that why you followed me?”

“Partly. I thought you were helping him at first. When I saw the mug, I took it as a message he had left for me. It’s a thing we had as kids, leaving each other clues to follow. I thought he was in danger. He’s not in danger; he’s home. I’m the one who is in the way.”

He sat down on the sofa, cradling the mug of cocoa in his hands.

“You’re not in the way. You’re his family as much as Bannerman or The Black. More so because you’ve known him the longest.”

“What are their real names?” The glance he gave her confirmed what she already knew before she asked. Deacon wasn’t going to give away their secrets. “Never mind. Mrs. Cameron said you’re one of them too so I shouldn’t expect you to be on my side.”

“What?”

“You’re a descendent of a noble family, cheated out of your inheritance by your uncle. It sounds like something out of a Dickens’ novel.”

“She shouldn’t have told you that. It isn’t true for one thing. For another, it’s not her place.”

“She asked me not to repeat it. Don’t get her into trouble with The Black or whoever. She was trying to warn me off confiding in you because you’re not as low-born as I might think. High status, low status–it doesn’t mean anything to me. I just wish you had told me yourself.”

“I might have if I’d had time to get around to it. It isn’t important who my family was; we are not that now.” He swallowed the cocoa and stared into his empty cup. “Do you want me to make up the bed?”

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