Page 43 of Mistletoe

“Where do my legs go?”

“If you prefer a cold shower, be my guest,” she snapped. “It’s just not practical to have a tub that large.Thisis practical.”

He grumbled. She caught the wordstinyandimpossible.

“Hot water,” she said, pointing to the stove. “I trust you to figure it out.”

She left, failing to avert her gaze, and caught a glimpse of a green behind climbing into the tub.

Emma did a quick rummage through Felix’s clothes for anything that might fit Hal. When she returned, she found him sitting awkwardly in the tub, his knees folded up to his chest. Suds spilled onto the floor as he struggled to work a comb through his hair.

Emma snatched the comb from his hand.

“What are you doing?” he asked, water sloshing as he twisted in the tub.

“You’re missing the back of your head. Just lean back and let me take care of it.” Gently, she rested her hands on his shoulders and guided him into position.

She started at the ends, working the comb through the tangles. His hair was varying in length. She found a recently shaved patch and a fresh scar. Carefully, she parted the hair, not wanting to pull or tug too hard.

“I think I forgot to mention that when you’re in the house, please don’t move anything. Pa’s blind, which you probably noticed by now. He gets himself around without a problem, but only if we don’t move the furniture.”

“Understood.” Hal scrubbed his arms and legs. Water rippled and sloshed over the sides onto the stone floor. “What about the kitchen? We moved the table.”

“Pa’s not allowed in the kitchen. Too many hot and sharp things.”

“That’s very practical.”

She kept her eyes focused on the comb and the dark hair in her hand, not on the scars on his arms, or the way the tub just couldn’t quite contain all of him. She definitely did not peer over his shoulder to look down at his… well,him. What she saw was even more scandalous.

The hollow above his too-sharp collarbone made her gasp. The man was gaunt.

“What?”

She snapped her eyes back to the comb working through his tangled hair.

“Nothing,” she said quickly. Too quickly.

“It’s the scars. I’ve scared you.”

Emma nearly dropped the comb. “You think my sensibilities are so delicate that I’ll get the vapors from looking at your scars?”

“They’re not nice.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“You don’t have to lie,” he said.

“What lie? Sweetwater is a military post. It’s filled with soldiers, injured soldiers, and injured ex-soldiers,” she replied. “Wounds get infected and limbs have to be amputated. When we first moved here, I was sheltered. I had never been out of Founding. We got off the train and the first person I saw, the very first person on that train platform, was a gentleman who took a blast to the face and lost his lower jaw.”

She recalled that way the steam from the train curled across the platform. Her eyes were gritty and heavy with exhaustion. Her parents hadn’t explained their sudden flight out of the city. Their nervousness tainted the entire journey, winding Emma up tighter and tighter with more anxiety than a child should know.

On that platform, exhausted beyond the point of sleeping, the steam parted, and she saw a nightmare made flesh, missing half his face.

She screamed. It wasn’t her proudest moment. The man flinched and wrapped a scarf around his face as if he were used to that reaction. She wished she could encounter him again and apologize.

“So no, a few old healed scars are not going to frighten me,” she said.

The comb encountered a particularly thick snag. Hal’s head snapped back. She apologized and pulled gently, working the tangle free.

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