Page 53 of For the Love of Animals

I slithered off the side, and Matt lowered me gently onto the stone wall that ran along the front of my property. He spoke quietly to Picky, and I felt slightly guilty as he took off the saddle and bridle by himself and stacked them by the cottage’s front door.

“Where’s your key?”

“In my pocket. Hang on.”

I handed it over, and Matt carried me inside. For the first time, I felt embarrassed by my home. Up until then, I’d mostly felt miserable, interspersed with the occasional burst of pride when I got something done, but never embarrassed. Now, the rickety table I’d picked up at a thrift store looked tatty, and the sunshine-yellow tea towels I’d chosen to brighten the place up only served to highlight the rusty hooks they hung on.

And Matt? In the light from the bare bulb, I got a better look at him, and I had to bite my lip to keep from sighing. The man had muscles on top of muscles, and when he bent to put Picky’s saddle on a chair, his trousers stretched tight across an ass made for squeezing.

“Need a hand to climb the stairs?”

“No!” Have him see the dirty laundry I’d undoubtedly forgotten to throw in the hamper? No way. “I mean, no thank you.”

He smiled, and even under all the brown-and-green paint on his face, I could see his chiselled jaw and high cheekbones. Kind eyes. He had kind eyes too.

“Do you need painkillers?” He crossed to the freezer and began rummaging. “You’ve got three kinds of ice cream but no peas?”

“The strawberry flavour has real fruit in it.”

Kind eyes, but he’d just rolled them.

“This sweet corn should do the trick.”

Before I could stop him, he’d crouched in front of me and pulled off my boot. Please, somebody put me out of my misery. Quite possibly the hottest guy I’d ever met, and my sock had dancing unicorns and a hole in one toe. Please, say my feet didn’t smell too bad.

Gentleman that he was, he didn’t say a thing or even wrinkle his nose as he took a bandage out of a pouch on his belt and strapped up my ankle, complete with the makeshift ice pack.

“Do you want me to make you something to eat?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine, honestly. I’ve got a stack of microwave meals in the fridge and plenty of ice cream.”

“Yeah. Ice cream.” His lips flickered into a smile for a second, and then it was gone. “Well, if you’re sure you’re okay… I should get back to the exercise. Prisoners to take and all that.”

“Of course. Thanks for everything.”

“See you.”

He disappeared, closing the door behind him, and I felt more depressed than ever. I bet Matt had women falling at his feet on a regular basis, only not quite so literally.

Forget it, Sarah.

It wasn’t as if I knew his number. I couldn’t even call him on the pretence of thanking him for his help again, all I can never repay you, but please accept this three-course candlelit dinner as a token of my appreciation.

Yes, I had candles, but soup followed by microwaved spaghetti bolognese and three kinds of ice cream didn’t exactly scream romantic, did it?

Romantic? Good grief. How hard did I bang my head when I fell off?

CHAPTER 3

WAS THAT A knock at the door or something else in the house breaking? The gutter had fallen off last week and bumped against the wall, and it sounded kind of similar. But today’s clonk was definitely more of a knock, even though I hadn’t had a single visitor since I moved to Devon.

Darn it, I really should check.

A day had passed since my accident, but I still couldn’t move very fast on my swollen foot, so it took me a minute to cross the kitchen. By then, a man was peering through the window, and his face looked remarkably familiar.

Was it…? No way. It couldn’t be.

I blinked a couple of times, but nothing changed. Matt had come back, minus his uniform and the war paint. Today, he looked heart-stoppingly handsome in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt that showed off his chest muscles.

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