He searched for a rolling stool, drew it to the end of the bed, and sat to unwrap her feet, tilting his chin up so he was looking through his glasses. "Nurse give you any needles? Something for pain? Tetanus shot?"
"No."
"Well, you're about to be a pin-cushion. You'll need both and stitches besides."
Paige came up on her elbow. "Seriously?"
Sterling held out his hand. "I'm right here."
"This a date?" the doctor asked.
"No." Paige ignored Sterling's offered hand.
"That's good," Dr. Braidwood murmured in his dead-pan voice, as a nurse arrived behind him with a tray. "Because it would be a lousy one. This is going to sting."
Paige caught her breath and her cool fingers slid into a tight weave with Sterling's.
Chapter Eleven
"You're awfully quiet," Sterling said, making her aware they were turning onto her street. "Feet hurt?"
"No, just thinking." Had he been about to kiss her in the hospital? Why? Would she have let him? How could she even entertain the thought? How could he? They hated each other.
Didn't they?
"About the break in?"
"Pardon? Oh." Okay. She'd go with that. "I guess it was probably kids? Looking for booze and money?"
"Is there any reason it would be something more serious?"
"I don't know. It's weird that it happened the day we both started at the factory, isn't it?" Paige settled her hands in her lap, wishing she could reach over and hold his hand again. He had a warm, strong grip that made a girl feel safe-okay, rescued-and it was a moderately addictive sensation. "But I'd rather believe it was random," she decided. "Or I'll turn paranoid and won't trust anyone."
"You can trust me."
She suppressed a scoffing noise. He was the last guy she'd ever trust.
The house was completely lit when Sterling pulled in behind Lyle's truck, next to Britta's ancient VW Rabbit. Paige felt like an idiot, waiting for Sterling to round the hood of his truck, but wait she did.
He scooped her up like it was no big deal. Like their lips weren't less than a breath away.
He waited while she slammed the door on the SUV then strode across the lawn, the motion rocking her against him, the cradle of his arms tempting her to sink into the heat of his body. Saint Sterling. Bloody Superman, Prince Charming and Tall Guy In A White Hat. And she was as susceptible to the appeal as chickens were to avian flu.
The door wasn't locked. She pushed it open, and he muttered, "Again with carrying a woman up the stairs," but he attacked them with steady strides.
While she whispered a barely audible, "Oh, Clark."
"Don't make me laugh," he bit out, practically dumping her onto the sofa as he released a chuckled curse.
Their entrance gained the attention of the cleaning bee.
"Oh, sweetie," Britta said, dropping the vacuum hose and coming around from behind the dining room table. "Let me see your feet."
Paige turned up her soles for Britta's inspection. Lyle came over to check too.
"How'd you get here?" she asked him.
"Brit told me what happened, gave me a lift. Just your feet?"
They were bandaged, so Paige said, "Two stitches in this one, four in that."
"You didn't see or hear anyone?" Lyle asked.
She shook her head.
"Hmph." He glanced over to where Sterling stood talking to Rosie. "Where was Golden Boy?"
"Not here. He was over at his grandmother's so how about taking a rest on making lousy cracks?"
Lyle held up his arms in a hands-off gesture and went to help Cam finish taping the sheet of plastic over the door, passing where Rosie stood talking to Sterling.
"...he's released tomorrow and we're going straight to the airport," Rosie was saying to Sterling, sounding sober, which was refreshing, and holding his hand, which was annoying. "Gosh, look how deep your love line goes."
"Does it hurt?" Britta asked Paige.
More than it should, but she refused to become proprietary about Sterling and his warm, strong hands.
"No," Paige replied. "Was anything taken?"
"My tools weren't touched," Lyle said. "All the TVs and gaming stuff are still here."
Paige didn't bother asking after the booze since it never lasted long enough in this house to be stolen.
Sterling's phone rang. He withdrew his hand from Rosie's to reach into the back pocket of his jeans, glancing at the display before answering.
Paige waited to hear him say, ‘Hi Mom,' but heard ‘Hey, Sugar,' instead, and tuned out the rest. Wow. Why hadn't it occurred to her he had someone in South Carolina?
"You brought Lyle?" she asked Britta.
"I thought he should know. About the break in," she hurried to clarify.
"I thought Cam was calling someone on duty?"
Hearing his name, Cam straightened. "He was here, canvassed the neighbors. No one heard or saw anything. It probably happened midday, while everyone was at work."
"Did you check the bedrooms?" she asked Britta.
"To see if the television was still in your Dad's room. If anyone was in there, they weren't obvious about it, but there's no mattress for money to be hidden under," she said pointedly.
"Fildew's only delivers on Thursdays." Her edgy tone had more to do with the break in than Fildew's union truckers. At least, that's what she told herself. She didn't care if someone called ‘sugar' was phoning Sterling freaking Roy. She didn't want to know what he talked about to her, or why it seemed to have stiffened his shoulders and put a hard look on his face.
Cam and Lyle finished up with the door and came to hover over her.
"So nothing was taken?" Paige bunched a pillow behind her back, trying to get comfortable as she looked up at Cam. "That's weird, isn't it?"
"Better yet, did they find what they're after or will they come back?" Sterling asked, folding his arms.
Paige stilled. "That hadn't even occurred to me."
"Come stay with us," Britta said.
"What about Rosie? We wouldn't all fit at your place. She'd be alone," Paige said.
"She wouldn't be alone." Lyle turned the end of the rolled tape he'd used on the door. "I'm here, in the basement."
"No, you're at the bar," Britta said.
"I'm here when I need to be, fixing the fucking door in case you didn't notice."
"Hey," Cam and Sterling said together.
"But where were you when your sister was standing in glass?" Britta challenged.
"Giving her privacy. She left with Golden Boy. Where was he?"
"Fucking stow it," Sterling ordered. "I wasn't here. I was at my grandmother's."
Everyone looked at him.
"You're in a temper. Who was on the phone?" Lyle asked him and Paige wondered, Yeah, who?
"Why were you at your grandmother's?" Rosie asked.
"To see if it was livable," Sterling said, still curt.
"It's not." Rosie wrinkled her nose. "It has mice. That's why I moved in with Grady."
"I'll set traps when I move in."
"You're going to move in." Lyle thumbed toward the backyard. "To that house over there."
"Given what went on here tonight, it'd probably be a good idea to have another pair of eyes in the neighborhood, don't you think?"
"Oh, yeah, sure. Keep us all safe G.B." Lyle chuckled as he went to the stairs. "You kill me. You really do." He shook his head as he descended.
Sterling narrowed his eyes as he watched Lyle disappear.
"Why would you move in there?" Paige asked, blushing for no intelligent reason. "You're only going to be here a couple of weeks."
Sterling paused briefly before saying, "Mom and Dad might have to sell it, once you decide on a price for your Dad's buyout. I could start whatever repairs it might need. And Dad and I need our own space away from each other."
"Having another man close by would be good for you," Rosie said. "Especially since your dad and I will be gone."
No, it wouldn't. Oh, Paige's inner damsel loved the idea, but she couldn't let herself start becoming dependent on all that handholding nonsense. Besides, it looked, well, convenient. But what could she say? Everyone was likely to interpret reluctance on her part as some kind of cover-up of her real feelings. On the other hand, if she didn't protest, she'd look like she wanted him here and Good grief, she was agonizing like a pre-teen with her first zit.
"Do whatever you want," she muttered.
"Thanks," he said in an equally tight voice. "I will."
~ * ~
Paige didn't show up for work the next morning and Sterling wanted to see his grandmother's house in daylight so he drove over at lunch to check out both, parking in Granny's pot-holed driveway.
The sky had cleared like the weatherman had promised. The scent of freshly mown grass drifted on the breeze along with some homebound teenager's music.