When It's Right(16)

Annoyed, she pulled off her glasses, revealing one eye nearly swollen shut and as darkly bruised as her cheek and jaw. His only thought was that she’d been right. The man had needed killing.

The jacket had hidden her hair, but now it hung halfway down her back. More blonde than brown, though the dancing flames highlighted the red and gold and brown throughout. It had been pulled back tight around her head, but now that it was loose, it seemed to take on a life of its own. It literally bounced up and filled out with soft waves.

They waited for him to explain his behavior, but words failed him. She literally took his breath away. Justin watched him with guarded eyes, standing half hidden behind his sister.

“There you go, little one,” he said to Justin, then looked at Gillian. “I don’t like seeing children cry or women hurt.” He grabbed his jacket from the back of the sofa, walked toward her, and held it out at arm’s length, saying, “Until I get you a new one.” He stood as far away from her as he could while still giving her the chance to take the jacket.

“I can’t take your coat.”

“Sure you can. You don’t want to be cooped up in the house. Besides, if you decide to run—­not that anyone here will give you a reason to do so—­you’ll need the coat.”

Gillian’s eyes narrowed. She wasn’t stupid. She’d need a coat here. Still, she didn’t want to outright admit he was right about her plans if this didn’t work out. She snatched the coat from his hand and took another step away.

He hated she felt the need and wished he had a quick solution to put her at ease.

She held the jacket to her chest, tilted her head, and smelled it.

So, not so indifferent and afraid of him. He hid a smile. It was a start, but it was still a long way from what he wanted.

Embarrassed she’d been caught, her eyes went soft and her steady gaze fell away for a second.

Trying to keep things casual, he said, “Let’s eat, I’m starving.”

He grabbed their bags and moved past a stunned and bewildered Gillian to set them by the stairs. He looked up the long staircase. “How are you going to get up those on your own? You barely made it up the porch steps.”

“I’ll manage.”

He turned back to her and stared. “Is that your real hair color?”

“Is that yours?” she countered.

“I was born with brown, and the sun took care of the rest.”

“My mother used to say that all my indecision is in my hair.”

His gaze swept over her, taking in the cast on one arm that went up to her elbow, the bandage wrapped around her wrist on the other, the line of stitches that started at her hairline behind her ear and went down her neck and under the collar of her shirt. Blake thought about that picture of her lying on top of the car after going through a window and wondered just how bad the glass had sliced her up.

“How much damage is hiding under your shirt?” He imagined there was a lot she was still hiding.

“Enough,” she said to his softly asked question.

“She looks like a sewn-­up rag doll.” Justin went around the back of her and pulled up her shirt. “See.” His mouth turned down into a sad frown. “You’re bleeding again.”

Gillian grabbed the edge of her shirt and pulled it down. Not fast enough though. Blake got a glimpse of the bruising on her side that went up to her ribs.

“Bruises like that. Hurts to breathe, right? Let me have a look at the cuts.”

“No.”

“But you’re bleeding.” He tried to take a step toward her, and she took two back. He stopped. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Let’s go eat. Justin needs to take his medicine and get some rest. It’s been a long few days.” Her words came out with a deliberate calm that did not match the wariness in her eyes.

“And what about what you need?” he asked.

“I need to be left alone.”

Frustrated she wouldn’t let him help her, he held his hand out wide and indicated the kitchen. “After you.” She shook her head no. Stubborn, mistrustful woman. He let her have her way and walked ahead of her. He’d get a look at her back if he had to sneak up on her to do it.

He’d need more patience than he had at the moment to earn her trust. The reckless boy inside him wanted to push, but he’d done that in the past without thinking of the consequences, and others had paid the price. Never again. He rustled up some calm. If he pushed too hard and upset her, or, God help him, she decided to leave, Bud would have his head. And quite possibly kick him off his land.





Chapter 7



Gillian walked into the kitchen with Justin securely wrapped around her leg. Another spectacular, too-­pretty-­to-­touch room. Windows dominated two sides, while the third was engulfed in cabinets and the cooking area, which contained a large stainless steel refrigerator and cooktop, a breakfast bar with a white marble countertop, and wrought-­iron stools with tan suede seat cushions. Beautiful. Clean. Nothing like she was used to.