“It might be normal,” he said, “but I could easily see her feeling like she has to abandon her husband of less than two weeks so she can move into my spare bedroom and make sure I don’t fall on my way to the bathroom in the middle of the night.”
It wasn’t completely impossible, judging from what Wynona had told her about their mother’s tendency to go into overdrive.
“You’re using me as a ploy to keep your mother at bay,” she said slowly. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been a mom-beard before.”
He made a face. “If she thinks you’re here fussing over me, she’s less likely to feel inclined to do it herself.”
In a weird, convoluted way, his logic made sense. She was even a little amused, despite the terrifying implications.
“You forgot one tiny little detail in your deviousness.”
“What’s that?”
“Eventually she’s going to figure out you misled her. What are you going to do when she figures out there’s nothing between us but the few hundred feet that separate our houses?”
He didn’t say anything for several breaths, only gazed at her with an odd expression that made her mind race with possibilities.
“By then, I’ll be well on the road to recovery and won’t need anybody’s help.”
He couldn’t wait to be free of all of them. She had a feeling she was only slightly less annoying than his mother.
The realization shouldn’t have the power to sting.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HE WAS BECOMING really tired of his own company.
By the next evening, he fully understood the definition of cabin fever. He wasn’t quite at the point where he was going to start writing Redrum on the walls of Wynona’s house like something out of a Stephen King novel, but the strain was beginning to weigh on him.
He was even beginning to have a little sympathy for the inmates at the county jail. He had never really understood how much he valued the ability to come and go as he pleased—to just hop in the car and go visit a friend or simply grab a beer if he wanted at the Mad Dog Brewery or one of the taverns in Shelter Springs.
He stood at the window watching a few fluffy flakes gleam in the porch light as they fluttered down. Nothing moved out there except the snowflakes and he was grimly aware that he hadn’t actually seen another human being all day, barring the two-dimensional kind on TV.
Cade had called that afternoon and promised to come over after his shift to play cards and shoot the breeze, but the Haven Point police chief—and his best friend and prospective brother-in-law—had called an hour ago to beg off, with the excuse that a long-haul truck driver trying to take a shortcut had jackknifed in the light snowfall on the outskirts of town, spilling his entire load of live turkeys.
Only in Haven Point.
This kind of snowfall could be misleading. The clouds had dropped only an inch or so of snow on the ground that was supposed to melt the next day. Some people didn’t bother shoveling until more covered the ground, but Marsh knew the light snow could be treacherous, hiding spots of black ice to tangle up unsuspecting drivers.
Christopher hadn’t been by to take care of it, but there was no reason Marsh couldn’t do it. Why not? The snow was light and fluffy. Even on crutches, he ought to be able to slide the shovel down the walk, just in case anybody happened to drop by.
Maybe that would help ease the restlessness that seemed to have been on a low boil inside him since the day before, ready to explode.
His gaze drifted toward the house down the street, where he had a clear view of her Christmas tree gleaming in the window, the merry twinkling lights around her porch and windows she must have hung herself.
Yeah. He had become a freaking Peeping Tom—except he couldn’t see anything except the occasional shadow moving past the windows.
He didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him. A week ago, she had been a virtual stranger to him—his sister’s friend, yes, but otherwise an abstract name on a crime report.
So how could he possibly be missing the noise and laughter and chaos of her and her children in his home?
It didn’t make sense and it certainly couldn’t be right.
The memory of that kiss hadn’t stopped bouncing around his head, try as he might to push it away. Those delicious moments spent kissing her had been the first time in a week he had truly forgotten all about his damn broken leg. With her in his arms, how could he think about anything else?
He had completely lost track of time. Now, reliving it, he couldn’t believe how consumed he had been by the sweetness of her mouth, the softness of her skin. He had wanted it to go on and on and on.
He didn’t know what had distracted him. A sound, perhaps, or a pain signal from his leg that managed to pierce the cloud of desire. Something had yanked him back to awareness of just whom he had been kissing. He had suddenly remembered that the delicious-tasting woman in his arms had endured a terrible ordeal with courage and strength.