Page 46 of Never Been Gargoyled
“It's not fine. You're bleeding on my walkway.” She tugged me toward the house. “Kitchen. Now.”
I followed her inside, oddly thrilled by her bossy tone. She cared enough to fuss over me.
In the kitchen, she pointed to one of the chairs. “Sit.”
I did as directed.
She bustled around, gathering supplies from various cabinets. First aid kit, clean cloth, antiseptic. I found myself mesmerized by the sight of the care she was taking with such a small cut.
“Hold still,” she said, gently cleaning the wound with a wet cloth. She dabbed antiseptic on the cut, frowning in concentration when I winced.
“Sorry.” Her face pinched. “Almost done.”
“Take your time.” I could sit here forever if it meant having her attention focused solely on me.
She applied antibiotic ointment next, then carefully wrapped my hand in gauze. Her fingers lingered on my wrist as she secured the bandage, and I wondered if she could feel my pulse racing.
“There,” she said finally, stepping back to examine her work. “Try not to use that hand too much for the next few days, and maybe wear gloves to keep it covered.”
“Thank you.” The words came out rough. “You didn't have to?—”
“Of course I did.” She looked genuinely puzzled by my comment. “You hurt yourself working on my house. The least I can do is patch you up.”
Her house. She'd called it her house without any hesitation, despite Rebecca's threats. The confidence in her voice made something fierce and protective surge in my throat.
“It's not just your house,” I said before I could stop myself.
She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” I struggled to find the right words. How could I explain that this place felt like a home to me now because she was in it? That I'd defend it with everything I had because it was hers? “I mean you're not alone in this. Whatever happens with Rebecca, you have help.”
Her smile came out soft and warm. “I know. And I'm grateful for that.”
Grateful. Not exactly the word I'd hoped for, but it was something.
“How did the rest of the research go?” she asked, moving to put the first aid supplies away.
“Rebecca's documents appear legitimate. The lawyers I contacted think she has a solid case.”
Dazy's face fell. “Oh.”
“But that doesn't mean we give up,” I said quickly. “There are still options. Counterarguments we can make.”
“Like what?”
“We can argue that Helga's will reflects her true intentions. That she was of sound mind when she wrote it, which she was, and that she chose to leave the estate to you for specific reasons.”
“Do we know what those reasons were?”
I hesitated. The truth was, I had no idea why Helga had chosen Dazy over her own biological daughter. But I couldn't tell Dazy that.
“Helga valued people who would love this place the way she did,” I said instead. “I bet she wanted someone who would restore it, care for it, not just profit from it.”
“And you think that matters legally?”
“It might. Especially if we can prove Rebecca's primary interest is financial.”
Dazy nodded slowly. “So we keep digging.”
