Page 39 of If All Else Sails
“What wasthat?” he asks, an amused expression on his face.
“I was just trying to scare her off before you called the cops on her for trespassing,” I tell him, and his eyes narrow. “Since you seem to be in the habit of doing that to women who come near you.”
I start to scan Wyatt’s discharge papers, and he tries to snatch them from me. “Hey! Let me do my job.”
“It’s not your job.”
“It is since I agreed to let Jacob hire me as your...” I search for the right word.Nursesounds somehow like an innuendo.Babysitterwould just be rude, though not so far off. “As your wrangler. Officially.”
Wyatt manages—even with crutches—to corner me between the hospital bed and the wall. His fever may be down, but I feel the heat of his body pressing against me like a brand. I yank the papers behind my back as he reaches for them.
“Josie,” he growls. “You know you’re breaking privacy laws right now. Give me my papers.”
I try to sidestep and he sticks one crutch out, blocking me, swaying a little as he readjusts his weight.
“Your agent has authorized me to help with your recovery,” I tell him, shifting the other way. But he steps even closer, until I’m arching backward over the hospital bed as he leans forward.
All this movement is reminding me of my current condition. My feet throb, and it hurts to hold my arm behind my back. Bending with my skin so tight and my body so filled with fluid is not ideal. Even my hand aches from clutching the paper.
But I am not about to give in.
“Josie,” Wyatt says again, a note of warning in his voice. His gray eyes narrow, the pupils darkening as he leans closer. “Give me the papers.”
“No.” It takes all my effort not to say,Make me.
But I’m not twelve, playing keep-away.
I’m an adult woman. Trying to help a very stubborn adult man.
We both just happen to be acting like children.
Dropping one crutch, Wyatt leans on the other and reaches around me with his other arm. We’re so close it’s almost like we’re embracing in an uncomfortable contortionist’s hug. Wyatt’s hand brushes mine, and he pries the paper from my sausage fingers.
“Oh,” a voice calls from the doorway. From around Wyatt’s shoulder I see Dr. Charlie, papers in hand, gaze sweeping over us, eyes narrowed in disapproval.
His presence in the room sends a shockwave of embarrassment through me because what are we doing? Wyatt and I never behave like this. With all the touching and the...wait—are weflirting?
Wyatt takes advantage of my momentary paralysis and grabs his papers. Then he takes mine from Dr. Charlie. I’ll say this— when he’s not feverish, Wyatt sure knows how to get around on his crutches.
Dr. Charlie hesitates in the doorway. “Would you mind if I check on the swelling one last time?”
Before I can politely decline, Wyatt maneuvers in front of me again and uses his crutch and his stormy glare as a blockade. “Yes,” he says. “We do mind.”
Chapter10
Grocery Store Girls
Josie
With the shared stress of the day, my lingering exhaustion from overheating, and the various drugs we’ve taken, Wyatt and I retire to our separate bedrooms when we get back to the cottage. We stopped for our prescriptions and fast food on the way, riding and eating in almost total silence as the sun set. I can’t believe I’ve been here an entire day already. The whole thing feels like a hazy dream.
I’m out almost immediately after climbing in bed, after only a few seconds of anxious thoughts about the fact that I amsharing a house with Wyatt.
I wake up with the sun the next morning, starving and sleep sated. From my bed, I can hear Wyatt’s steady breathing, which is heavy but not quite snoring. The weird intimacy of it sends a burst of restlessness through me. With my swelling almost completely resolved, getting out of the house and moving soundsgreat. It also will put some needed physical distance between me and Wyatt.
The temperature is just warming up and so are the cicadas, who drone on and off sleepily rather than maintaining the consistent buzz that comes in late summer afternoons. I walk to the end of the driveway and, upon seeing zero zombie pigs lying in wait, head to the stop sign and back. I steerveryclear of the sides of the road and any plants.
When I get back, feeling endorphin happy and summer sweaty, I bypass the cottage and wander down to the dock, where I sit on a wooden bench built right near the end. Even with the heat increasing exponentially by the second, it’s peaceful. Something about the light on the waves and the gentle slap of water against the boat calms the skittering nerves that have plagued me almost since I got here.
