Page 57 of Rainshadow Road

The bathroom had been decorated in a clean and uncluttered style, with ivory tile and mahogany cabinetry, and a big framed mirror over a pedestal sink. After lowering Lucy to the plastic stool in the shower stall, Sam showed her how to turn the shower control handles. “Once I clear out of here,” he said, giving her the handheld sprayer, “just toss the robe and gown out of the stall and turn on the water. Take as long as you want. I’ll be waiting on the other side of the door. If you have any problem, you need anything, just give a shout.”

“Thanks.”

The accumulated soreness from the accident caused Lucy to grimace and groan as she maneuvered on the stool and tossed the robe to the floor beyond the shower. She turned on the water, adjusted the heat, and directed the spray over her body. “Ow,” she said, as her cuts and scrapes started to sting. “Ow,ow…”

“How’s it going?” she heard Sam ask from the other side of the door.

“It hurts and feels good at the same time.”

“Need help?”

“No, thanks.”

It required a great deal of maneuvering to soap and rinse herself. Eventually Lucy discovered that the project of washing her hair was too much to contend with. “Sam,” she said in frustration.

“Yeah?”

“I do need help.”

“With what?”

“My hair. I can’t wash it by myself. Would you mind coming in here?”

There was a long hesitation. “You can’t do it by yourself?”

“No. I can’t reach the shampoo bottle, and my right arm is aching, and it’s hard to wash all this hair with only one hand.” As she spoke, Lucy turned off the water and dropped the sprayer to the floor. Painfully she pulled the towel around herself.

“Okay,” she heard him say. “I’m coming in.”

As Sam entered the bathroom, he looked like a man who had just been called for jury duty. Stepping into the open shower stall, he picked up the sprayer. He fumbled with it, adjusting the pressure and temperature. Lucy couldn’t help noticing that his breathing had changed again, and she said, “With the echo in here, you sound like Darth Vader.”

“I can’t help it,” he said edgily. “With you sitting there all pink and steamy—”

“I’m sorry.” She looked up at him contritely. “I hope that being in default mode doesn’t hurt.”

“Not at the moment.” Sam’s hand slipped around the back of her head, cradling the shape of her skull. As she looked up into his blue-green eyes, he said, “It only hurts when I can’t do anything about it.”

The way he was holding her head, the rough-soft sound of his voice, caused a curl of responsive pleasure deep in her stomach. “You’re flirting with me,” she said.

“I take it back,” he said instantly.

“Too late.” She smiled as she closed her eyes and let him wash her hair.

It was heaven, sitting there while Sam worked the shampoo through her hair, his strong fingers rubbing her scalp. He took his time, careful not to let water or suds get into her eyes. The rosemary-mint scent of the shampoo filled the steamy air… that was what she’d smelled on him earlier, she realized. She breathed deeply and tilted her head back, relaxing.

Eventually Sam turned off the water and hung the sprayer in the wall holder. Lucy squeezed out the excess water from her hair with her hand. Her gaze traveled over Sam’s clothes, damp and water-blotched, his jeans sodden at the hems. “I got you wet,” she said apologetically.

Sam stared down at her, his gaze lingering at the place where the damp towel drooped low over her breasts. “I’ll live.”

“I have nothing to wear now.”

He continued to stare at her. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Do you have anything I could borrow?” At his lack of response, Lucy waved her hand between them. “Sam. Come away from the dark side.”

Sam blinked, the glazed blankness leaving his eyes. “I could dig up a clean T-shirt.”

With Sam’s help, Lucy wrapped her hair in a turban. He kept her steady, lightly gripping her hips as she balanced on one foot and brushed her teeth at the sink. When she was finished, he carried her to the bed, handed her a T-shirt, and turned his back tactfully as she put it on. The turban became dislodged, its weight tugging at her hair. Lucy pulled it away and finger-combed the damp tangled locks.

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