Blake made that door creak open, and she mentally put both hands on it and shoved it shut again. She had a brother to raise and enough baggage to fill the back of her pickup truck, pulling the added trailer full of garbage that went with it.
“Is Dee around? She said she’d wash my hair.”
Blake glanced over, dismayed to see the sadness in her eyes before everything in her face went blank again. “She’s on the phone with my mother, plotting a surprise for this one.” He flipped Justin over again, not missing the way Gillian’s eyes locked onto his arms as his muscles bunched to pull Justin up and flip him over. “Enough, buddy. Go upstairs and get dressed. Put on your shoes, and we’ll go down to the stable to see my babies.”
“What babies?”
“The horses.” He took the towel from his shoulder and used it to swat at Justin’s behind. Justin laughed and dodged the snap of the towel. “Go. Hurry up. The day’s wastin’ away.”
Justin grabbed Gillian’s leg and gave her a squeeze before heading upstairs.
She called after him, “I put your clothes out on your bed.”
Blake walked toward her, trying to gauge how close she’d let him get this time before she backed away. He stopped three feet from her. She didn’t move, but kept her wary gaze on him. Progress. “Ready to wash your hair?”
Undecided, Gillian eyed him and the sink and checked the other room over her shoulder. “Is Dee coming back?”
“She and my mother will probably be on the phone a while. There aren’t a lot of women who work on the ranches, so once those two connect, it’ll be a while for them to get their gossip all told. I’ll wash your hair.” He made the suggestion matter-of-fact, hoping she didn’t run away. He was doing his best not to scare her off, when all he wanted to do was hug her and ease some of the pain and hurt she couldn’t hide.
“You don’t have to do that. I can wait. I can do it one-handed in the shower.”
She bit her lip, still unsure about him. If she felt the pull half as much as he did, then her system had gone haywire along with his. Hard to tell if she kept her distance solely because of what she’d been through, or because of the attraction snapping between them like electricity across two live wires.
“I’m sure washing your hair that way is fine in a pinch, but I can do the job better. You’ll feel better with your hair clean. I’ll need you to show me where the stitches are so I don’t hit them.”
He gave her a minute to get used to the idea, then went to the cupboard and pulled down a large juice pitcher. He set it on the counter. She walked over and stood next to him at the big farmhouse sink. He didn’t speak, just turned on the tap and waited for the water to warm up. He took the bottle of shampoo from her and set it on the counter beside him. She held her hair up. He helped her drape the towel around her back and shoulders.
“There’re three lines of stitches. They should be pretty healed, so it won’t matter if you touch them.”
Blake shut off the tap. “Show me.” He kept his tone casual. He didn’t want her thinking they repulsed him. They wouldn’t. He just wanted her to be comfortable with him. He wanted to rub his hand over her back and reassure her. He didn’t understand his natural tendency and need to care for and tend her, but like every other strange feeling he’d had since he met her, he went with it.
She drew her hair away from her neck and the back of her head to show him the cut that disappeared into her hair. He helped her brush away some of the strands to see how far up her head it went. His finger brushed her hand, and she immediately jumped back and put both hands up to ward him off.
“Easy, now. I was just trying to see how long the cut is.” He leaned back against the counter and crossed his legs at the ankle. He wanted her to see that he had all the time in the world. “Listen to me. Hear me on this. I will never, ever hurt you.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just . . .”
“No sorry needed. There’s nothing to explain. It’s no big deal, Gillian. Really.”
He waited for her to come back to him. It took her a few seconds, testing him to see if he’d lose his patience. Not going to happen. Used to working with scared and wild horses, he’d learned to wait, because the payoff mattered. She came back to stand beside him and pulled her hair back again. This time, when his hands brushed her hair away, she jumped and caught her breath, but didn’t back away.
He worked quickly and carefully to wash her amazing mass of hair. She didn’t move or say anything, but her whole body trembled. He hoped from the effort it took her to bend over in her condition and not because he frightened her. He had to pile the long, thick strands on her head to wash it all without soaking her. The smell of flowers and citrus filled the kitchen and his senses.