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A hundred and one parents had come up with the same sorry words as she’d stitched and bandaged up their bored kids, who’d sought out their own unsupervised fun.
Night was falling quickly and, with only the old-fashioned streetlights to aid their ascent, Leah’s temper steadily grew with each trudging step. The only people they saw on this wet and windy night were a man cycling past them on his way farther up the point and a woman running in the opposite direction.
With the increasing ferocity of both wind and rain, Leah would normally be running herself as she made her way home.
“This is our house.” Daisy pulled her hand from Leah’s and hurried up the gravel driveway toward the log cabin. “Come on.”
The cabin was about halfway up Clover Point, which meant it was one of the most affluent properties in the Cove. Which also meant Daddy Dearest wasn’t short of a penny or two. Her irritation rising, Leah hurried after Daisy, who stood waiting on the front step.
Lamps flickered through the living room window; the curtains were open, showcasing the beamed ceiling and what looked to be lots of brown leather furniture. Overflowing bookshelves were visible in the background, some sort of wooden elephant ornament stood on the windowsill, and beige drapes curled at the window’s edges.
At least Daisy’s father seemed to be home, even if his taste in decor held the colorless appeal of the Dickensian.
To the right of the front door, the kitchen/dining room stretched all the way to the back of the house. Even in the semidarkness, Leah could see straight through to some French doors at the rear, the only illumination coming from the overhead light of the stove as it glinted on steel toward the center of the room.
Snapping her gaze to Daisy, Leah found her opinions on personal tastes flying to the wayside. The little girl’s eyes were wide as she chewed her bottom lip. Leah frowned. “Are you all right, sweetheart? Do you want me to knock?”
Daisy nodded and raised her arms toward Leah as though asking to be picked up. “Yes, please. Daddy might be mad.”
“Oh, Daddy won’t be mad.” Leah bent and picked her up, hitching her onto her hip as Daisy’s arms wound around her shoulders. “If Daddy’s mad, I’ll show him how to calm himself down real quick. Don’t you worry about that.” She lifted the brass knocker and let it fall a little harder than necessary.
No answer.
Narrowing her eyes, she knocked again.
She was readying to knock a third time when the door swung open.
“I told you to get the hell out of here and not come back.” The man’s dark hair sprouted from every angle, his raging eyes bulged and his right hand was swathed in a blue-and-white—and bloodied—dish towel. His gaze held Leah’s for a split second before he snapped his attention to Daisy.
“My God, Daisy. What are you...?” He cupped her under her armpits, wincing slightly as he pulled her from Leah’s arms to hold her close. He pressed a lingering kiss to her temple.
Leah stared, completely stunned by this flannel-shirted, blue-jeaned, incredibly good-looking man...despite the bulging eyes. She coughed in a bid to find her voice. “Mr. James?” She planted her hands on her hips. “You’re Daisy’s father, I presume?”
Apparently, when his eyes had softened and were filled with regret rather than rage, they looked good. Really good. Leah stepped back.
Oh, good Lord. She’d be damned if those weren’t the eyes of Templeton’s reclusive novelist, Ethan James.
* * *
ETHAN INHALED AGAINST the slam dunk of shame versus relief that had hit him in the chest when he’d seen Daisy in a stranger’s arms. Albeit a beautiful stranger. “Yes. Yes, I am. Ethan James. It’s nice to meet you.” He stuck out his left hand, balancing Daisy on his right hip and forearm. “Thank you so much for bringing her back. Where was she?”
The stranger ignored his offered hand, her hazel eyes flashing dangerously even as rain dripped from her blond bangs and slipped behind her glasses. “Why would you not know where your child is at all times?”
“I thought...” He stepped back into the hallway. “Look, why don’t you come in? I’ll put some coffee on. You’re soaked.”
She snatched a look behind him. “Thank you, but no. I just want to know why your little girl was wandering alone on the beach—”
“The beach?” He turned to his daughter. “Why were you on the beach? Why would you leave the house?”
Daisy sniffed and burrowed her face into his neck. Ethan’s heart hitched at the depth of his neglect. Nausea rose bitter in his throat and he looked to the woman who’d brought his precious baby home. “I was caught up with something. I really can’t thank you—”
“Caught up with something?” Her eyes narrowed. “As in work?”
Whether rightly or wrongly, he suddenly felt defensive. “Hey, I’m trying my best, okay?”
“No, not okay.”
Her glare was mean, yet justified. He slumped his shoulders and shifted Daisy onto his other hip, his right hand throbbing as warm blood trickled over his wrist. The woman’s gaze snapped to his injured hand and he held it behind his back. “Look, I need to... Why don’t you come in? I really appreciate you bringing Daisy home. The least I can do is offer you coffee and a towel.”
She frowned. “What have you done to your hand?”
Damn it. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” She raised her eyebrows. “That dishcloth is doing a pretty bad job of soaking up nothing.” Sighing, she waved him back and stepped into the hallway. “Let’s go into the kitchen and I’ll take a look.”
“You really don’t have to do—”
“No, I know I don’t.” She brushed a hand over Daisy’s head. “Same as I didn’t have to bring your sweetheart home, either, but I did.” She nodded toward the kitchen. “This way, right?”
Ethan held Daisy closer as his gaze followed the denim-clad ass of the blonde bombshell that had just detonated her way into his house. Fine, she’d brought his daughter home. Fine, he was an asshole for not realizing Daisy wasn’t still upstairs watching her iPad, her ever-present earphones stuffed into her ears. Fine, he was the one who let his daughter watch her iPad while he worked hour after hour...
He shut the front door before he looked at Daisy. “Why did you leave the house? You know you should never go anywhere without telling me.”
“I went to the beach.” She lowered her gaze to the buttons on his shirt and twisted them one at a time. “Are you mad at me?”
He opened his mouth to respond, but the blonde woman called from the kitchen. “It will be a shame if you’ve dripped blood all over your fancy wood flooring, you know.”
Ethan shot a glare to the kitchen doorway before pressing a quick kiss to Daisy’s head. “We’ll talk about this later, when the lady’s gone, okay?”
“Her name’s Leah.”
Ethan walked toward the kitchen. “Leah, huh?”
“Yep.”
As he entered the kitchen, she stood with her back to him, wetting another of his dish towels under the running tap. “Take a seat and remove the dishcloth. I’ll use this one to see what we’re dealing with. What happened?”
He needed to get her out of his house. He needed to stop her questions. Lowering Daisy onto one of the six chairs around his dining table, Ethan sucked in a breath through clenched teeth as the wound on his hand screamed in indignation. “I cut it with a kitchen knife. Damn stupid.”
“Where’s the knife?”
“What?” Ethan straightened and met her gaze as she strolled toward him, brandishing the dishcloth, her cheeks ever so slightly flushed with clear anger.
“I don’t see any knife. Where is it?” She defiantly held his gaze despite him standing over her by nearly a foot. “Well?”
“I threw it into the back garden.” He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I’ve got a bit of a temper.”
Her big hazel eyes narrowed and he struggled not to squirm. Shaking her head, she nodded toward the table. “Sit.”
He sat, uneasy that he was mildly turned on by her assertiveness. He snapped his gaze to Daisy and closed his eyes in shame.
“Do you feel sick?” Leah’s voice cut through his inappropriately fogged brain. “Dizzy?”
He opened his eyes. “No. I’m good.”
“Well, for the record, you don’t look good. Here.” She gestured toward his wrapped hand. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”
Blowing out a breath, he reluctantly held it out.
With a gentle care he hadn’t expected, she unwrapped his hand, flinching slightly as she looked at his slashed palm. Ethan stared at her bowed head. Her hair was blond, but had every shade from almost cream to shots of shimmering gold. It looked silky soft, falling forward as she gently probed around his wound, her glasses edging down her perfect nose.
She abruptly looked up and he snapped his gaze to hers. “What’s the verdict?”
“The verdict...” She glanced at Daisy before facing him. “...is that this is far too deep to have been done by the accidental slip of a kitchen knife.”
Ethan scrambled for a response. Her intelligent, knowing gaze held his as seconds passed. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but she got there first.
“So, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to bandage this up the best I can and then we’re going to the hospital. I don’t have my car and you can’t drive, but we should be able to get there by cab easily enough.” She looked to Daisy. “Why don’t you go get some warm clothes and shoes on, honeybunch?”
Panic pushed Ethan’s pulse into overdrive. “We can’t do that.”
Leah faced him, suspicion and maybe even a hint of triumph darkening her gaze. “Why not?”
“Because...” He clenched his jaw. Shit, shit, shit. “Because it’s late. Daisy should be in bed.”
“I don’t mind, Daddy.” Daisy clambered down from her seat and walked to the door. “I’ll be really fast.”
Irritation replaced his anxiety as Daisy sped from the room, her feet stomping quickly up the stairs. He faced Leah as she wrapped the dishcloth expertly—and tightly—around his wound. He lowered his voice. “We can’t go to the hospital.”
Slowly, she raised her head. “Why not? Keep that hand up in the air. Put your elbow on the table.”
He glared. “You know why.”
“Tell me.”
Goddamn it. “Because there was no kitchen knife. There was a knife, but it didn’t come from my kitchen.”
“I know, because this is a defensive wound. This is the wound of someone who has wrapped their hand around a blade to stop someone from attacking them with it.” She glanced toward the open kitchen door before looking into his eyes with such concern that he was in danger of weakening, of telling her just what had been going on in his kitchen minutes before she’d appeared at his door holding Daisy.
She sighed and tied the bandage, cupping his hand gently in both of hers. “I’m a nurse, Mr. James. I can help you, but you need to tell me what happened here.”
He shook his head and stood, fighting every instinct in his body that this woman, this stranger, could be trusted. “Look, I can’t thank you enough for bringing Daisy home, but you need to leave and pretend you didn’t see me this way. Can you do that?”
“Yes, I can do that. I shouldn’t, but I can.”
“That’s all I ask.”
Her gaze lingered on his before she gave a curt shake of her head. “Sorry, no can do.”
Her defiance lost its previous sexiness and all he felt now was annoyance. “Look—”
“That cut needs stitches. I can’t leave you this way. Clearly, neither you nor I are happy about the situation, but there it is. Now...” She stood. “Where’s your first aid supplies and sewing kit?”
He stilled. “Sewing kit? Do you mean you’re going to—”
“Yes, Mr. Hotshot Novelist, I’m going to fix you up myself.”
“You know who I am?”
A faint blush stained her cheeks and she cleared her throat. “Of course. I might have even read some of your books.”
He smiled in shameful satisfaction. “Is that so?”
She glared. “Anyway... I’m going to get your darling daughter sitting in front of the TV with some milk and cookies. Then I’m going to come back in here and stitch your hand the best I can. After that, you’re going to put Daisy to bed and then tell me what happened. Agreed?”
He cursed and squeezed his eyes shut, wishing her out of his kitchen, out of his home. Slowly, he opened his eyes and dropped his shoulders in defeat. “The first aid kit’s over there, second cupboard on the right. As for the sewing kit, that will be still in its cellophane in the cupboard to the left of the couch in the living room.”
Her lips twitched as though she fought a smile. “Great. I’ll be right back. Keep that hand elevated.”
Once again, his focus slid straight to her butt as she headed out the door. Holy Mother of God, his messed-up life had just gotten ten times worse.
CHAPTER TWO (#u24408938-2b6d-5f7a-9680-c1a28c973f2d)
LEAH TOOK A deep breath as she smoothed her hand over Daisy’s curls, before leaving her in front of the TV looking as cute as heaven in her panda pajamas and bunny slippers. As she left the living room, Ethan James’s sewing kit in her hand, Leah hesitated. How had she managed to walk into a circumstance so incomprehensible she would undoubtedly read it in one of his novels next year?
It didn’t matter how much her logic told her to sprint for the front door. No part of her could leave the man hurt and bleeding.
She might want to right the wrongs of the world, be the best possible nurse she could, but considering the amount of violence and abuse she’d seen in her job, trusting a situation—a human being—at face value was a huge boulder she wasn’t likely to overcome anytime soon.
Handsome novelist or no handsome novelist.
For better or worse, she was knee-deep in a situation that her stubborn ass would see through to the end. Her work would always come first, and sooner rather than later, Ethan James would realize she owed him no favors, only her duty.
If he didn’t like that? Too bad.
He wouldn’t be the first man she’d annoyed through her commitment to the job. It was all that mattered to her. She strode purposefully into the kitchen. “Okay, then. Let’s get started.”
The weight of his gaze rested on her back as she walked to the kettle on the counter. Running water broke the silence as she filled the kettle before setting it to boil. Her mind raced. What would she say to him once he was stitched up and physically comfortable? She needed to know what had happened. She refused to leave Daisy in a potentially dangerous situation. He seemed far too calm to have disturbed an attempted burglary, far too calm to have undergone an assault by a complete stranger. Which meant he must have known his attacker.
There could be no other explanation. He didn’t want to go to the hospital. Either because his presence there would cause police attention to be directed on him or the person he could be protecting. Then again, he was a recluse. A famous novelist. Maybe he didn’t welcome unwanted attention of any sort...including Leah’s.
She turned and approached him. His gaze didn’t leave hers even as she sat beside him and pulled the chair close. Leah quickly pulled the first aid box and sewing kit toward her. He was a truly handsome man, but how could she trust he was an innocent party in whatever had caused the cut to his hand? She wouldn’t. At least, not yet.
“Okay.” She opened the boxes and scanned their contents. “There’s enough here for me to be able to stitch and bandage the wound. Before I do that, though, I’ll clean it and then numb the area. I’m going to need to wrap some ice in a cloth.”
He stood. “I’ll get it.”
She straightened and tipped her head back. The guy was tall. Nicely tall. “Sit. You’re not going to be able to wrap ice in a towel, not that I don’t appreciate you offering to help.”
