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The woman on the sofa was awake and on her feet before he realized that the sound had come from him.
She had long, curly light brown hair and blue eyes that flashed as she came closer.
“What are you doing?” she demanded sharply, crossing to him.
He would have thought that would have been obvious. “Trying to get up.”
“Wait,” she cautioned, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him. She squatted down beside him. “Put your arm around my shoulders.”
Why did that sentence sound so familiar to him? As if he’d just heard it moments ago. But that was impossible. He had a feeling he’d been out at least several hours.
Shaking off any extraneous thoughts, he tried to do the same with the woman. “I can get up by myself,” he told her.
“No, you can’t.” She said it with such authority, he almost believed her. “If you strain yourself, you’ll wind up breaking open your stitches.” Her tone left no room for argument. “Now, lean on me and let me help.”
No matter what she sounded like, the woman looked like a delicate little thing. Just proved that looks could be deceiving. The strength he felt in her hands as she wrapped one around his waist surprised him.
Though he hated to admit it, even to himself, getting up was a lot easier with her help.
She got him up and onto the sofa. But he didn’t want to sit, he wanted to leave. Had to leave. Still, he was grateful for the momentary respite. Just getting to his feet had taken a lot out of him. He wasn’t used to playing the invalid.
Breathing hard, he mumbled, “Thanks.” After a beat, his breathing more regulated, he asked her, “How did I get here?”
She watched his face as she answered, looking for some telltale sign that this was a ruse. So far, he seemed genuinely confused. “I found you on my doorstep and dragged you inside.”
Zack frowned. “Why didn’t you call the police?” That would have been what most people would have done—if they would have done anything at all. If this had happened in one of the more metropolitan areas, the good citizens of that city would have probably walked right by him, pretending not to notice that he needed help.
She saw no reason to embellish on the truth. “You were bleeding and had a bullet wound. I didn’t know if calling the police would have gotten you into more trouble.”
“More?” he echoed.
“You were wounded,” she pointed out. “That seemed like enough trouble for one person for the time being.” She saw him glancing down at his side. Raising his bloodstained shirt, he exposed the large gauze bandage that wrapped around his rib cage. “I took the bullet out,” she explained matter-of-factly, second-guessing his next question.
He let the shirt drop back into place. “You a doctor?”
Kasey congratulated herself on not batting an eyelash. Instead, she nonchalantly shook her head. “No. I work in a secondhand bookstore.”
He raised a perplexed eyebrow at her answer. “I don’t follow.”
“I do a lot of reading in my spare time,” she elaborated, adding, “I particularly like reading medical books.”
He supposed that made sense, in an odd sort of way. He couldn’t argue with the fact that she’d taken out the bullet. He spotted it in the center of a coaster on the coffee table.
“Lucky for me you retained what you read,” he commented, amused.
She merely nodded. Getting up off the sofa, Kasey glanced toward the window. The sun was up. Time for her to get ready for work even though she’d had approximately an hour’s worth of sleep. The television set was still on, softly droning in the background. Someone was extolling the virtues of a newly developed body cream that did everything up to and including finding Prince Charming.
Turning off the set with her remote control, Kasey turned toward the man she’d helped.
Logically, she should be ushering him on his way. She’d taken out his bullet, sewed him up and let him sleep on her floor. It was time for him to go.
And yet, caring for him had awakened the person she’d once been. The person she liked. It prompted her to take another step into the world of kindness. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt, she silently argued. “Would you like something to eat?”
The moment she asked, Zack became aware of the gnawing pain in his belly. It wasn’t giving him discomfort because he’d been shot. He was hungry. He tried to remember the last time he’d eaten. Was it yesterday morning? The night before that? Zack couldn’t recall. His line of work didn’t encourage sticking to any sort of a reliable schedule.
He nodded in response to her question. “Yeah. If you don’t mind.”
She moved toward the kitchen. “If I’d minded,” she informed him, “then I wouldn’t have offered.”
The lady sounded tough as nails—or was that only the impression she wanted to give? His job had taught him to look beneath the surface and read between the lines. Something had struck him as off right from the moment he opened his eyes.
“Aren’t you going to ask me any questions?” he asked, rising to his feet. He was less steady than he would have liked and it hurt like hell to walk, but he figured each step would get easier.
Kasey stood before the pantry. “Do you want eggs or cereal?”
“Eggs.” That wasn’t the question he had in mind. “No, I mean about why I got shot.”
She spared him a quick glance just before she opened the refrigerator. She might have questions, but she wasn’t about to ask them.
“No,” she told him, taking out the egg carton. “The less I know, the less anyone else can ask me.”
Chapter 3
Gingerly, bracing his hands on the small kitchen table, Zack lowered himself into the chair closest to him.
Maybe it was his police background, but he sensed she’d had experience with interrogation. She certainly piqued his curiosity, even if he did feel as if he’d been run over several times by a semi. Who was she? And was it chance, or fate, that had brought him literally to her doorstep?
“A woman with no curiosity,” he marveled in awe. “I didn’t think such a thing existed.”
She set the carton of eggs on the counter. “I’m glad I could contribute to furthering your education.”
No curiosity and a flippant response. An interesting combination. So was her long, curly light hair and her golden complexion. He watched the woman move gracefully around the small kitchen. No unnecessary movements. Everything seemed within reach. In moments, she had everything out and ready to prepare the breakfast she’d mentioned.
As he drew in the welcoming scent of coffee, she turned suddenly toward him. “How do you like your eggs?”
“Cooked.”
His mouth quirked in a quick grin. It transformed a scruffy-looking possible criminal into an adolescent boy who knew his way around charming the opposite sex.
Wasted on me, hotshot, she thought. I don’t charm anymore. But if she did, she added silently, that grin would have been an excellent start.
She waited for him to be more specific about his choice. When he wasn’t, she pressed, “Any other requirements?”
Zack shook his head. “Nope, I’m easy. I’ll have them whatever way you’re having them. Fried, poached, scrambled…” His voice trailed off, leaving the rest up to her to fill in.
“Scrambled it is,” she answered, turning back toward the counter and stove. Breaking four eggs, she dropped them directly into the frying pan rather than into a bowl. To her, it was just an unnecessary step, generating more dishes to wash. She took the spatula and broke apart the pattern the eggs began to form. The yolks and whites flowed into each other until they began to solidify in fluffy tufts. “Toast?”
Something he quite possibly would have been had she not been his Good Samaritan, Zack thought. He started to nod in response to her question, then realized that she wasn’t looking at him. “If you don’t mind.”
This time she did spare him a glance over her shoulder. Her expression seemed to repeat her previous statement that if she’d minded, she wouldn’t have asked him.
As she dropped two slices into the toaster, the silver appliance only held two slices. She was single, he decided. And had taken quite a chance with him.
“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly.
Instead of answering, she looked over her shoulder at him again and asked, “Why?”
She might be short on curiosity, but she was long on suspicion, he thought. Was that inherent or something she’d learned? And if it was the latter, what had made her this way?
None of his thoughts were evident in his voice or on his face as he said glibly, “So that when I tell people the story of how an angel came to my rescue, I’ll be able to refer to you by name.”
Uh-huh, she thought. Right. She turned back to her cooking. “Rumplestiltskin.”
Zack laughed. “Not hardly. You don’t look like any ugly little fairy-tale creature that I ever saw in my sisters’ storybooks.”
So, he had sisters. Or was that just what he wanted her to think? God, but she missed the days when a duck was just a duck and not a camouflaged cheetah.
“That’s just to give you a false sense of security,” she told him.
Done, Kasey divided the eggs that were in the pan between two plates. Just as she finished, the toast popped. After setting the frying pan down on a dormant burner, she took the toast and applied a light layer of margarine to both slices. She cut them in half at an angle and placed both onto the stranger’s plate, framing the eggs. If she’d had bacon, she could have made a smiley face, like her mother used to a million years ago when both she and the world were innocent.
Kasey slid the plate in front of the dark-haired stranger. “There.” She placed her own plate opposite his on the kitchen table. But instead of sitting down, she asked, “Coffee?”
He thought she’d never offer. His eyes darted toward the coffeemaker. “Just bring the pot.”
She went to the cupboard and took out one cup, one mug. It was all she had. “Oh, you’re one of those.”
Watching her stretch to reach the top shelf made him momentarily forget about all the little devils beating on his body with pointy silver hammers. She had one hell of a graceful body, he couldn’t help thinking.
“Those?” he queried when she turned around again.
Taking a little for herself—she only liked a small taste to get her going—she poured the rest into the large mug she ordinarily used when she sipped soup. “People who claim they can’t wake up until they’ve had their morning coffee.”
There were days when he felt as if he ran on coffee. “Guilty as charged.”
Leaving her cup on the counter, she brought his mug over to him. “Milk, sugar?”
Zack shook his head, taking the mug from her and holding it with both hands, like someone receiving long-awaited sustenance.
“Only gets in the way,” he told her. Zack took a deep drink and she could have sworn he sighed with contentment. Glancing up at her again, he said, “Good coffee.”
“Grew the beans myself,” she deadpanned, taking her seat. She saw his eyebrows knit themselves together in a bemused line. “The coffee comes from a can,” she told him, erasing any misconceptions.
Obviously the man thought she had no sense of humor. Ordinarily, he would have been right. She had no idea what had possessed her to make the quip. Things like humor and kidding around had long since ceased being part of her daily life. She couldn’t even begin to remember the last time she’d laughed. Running left no time for laughter, left nothing to even smile about.
With coffee in his veins and his belly, he felt almost human again. And ready to pick up where he’d left off. Trying to find out who she was. “You’re really not going to tell me your name?”
She didn’t look up from her plate. “Kasey,” she answered. “Kasey Madigan.”
“Well, Kasey, Kasey Madigan, it’s an honor and a privilege to make your acquaintance.” He put out his hand as if to shake hers.
Kasey kept her hand where it was. She nodded at his plate. “Just finish your breakfast. I have to leave soon and I can’t have you here when I’m gone.”
He could see her point. Nodding, Zack applied his fork to the fare before him.
He ate like a man who had only faint memories of his last meal. Quick and with gusto. Was he homeless? she wondered, going back to her initial impression of him. He was scruffy, but not that scruffy. The stubble on his face couldn’t have been more than a couple of days old. If he was homeless, it couldn’t have been for that long. But then, she supposed that even homeless people had a first week of homelessness in their past.
“Where do you work?”
He asked pleasantly enough, but she didn’t like dealing with questions. Any kind of questions. “In a bookstore.” She’d already told him that.
Zack nodded. “I know, but where is the bookstore located?”
“Why, are you looking to expand your library?” she asked.
She was reluctant to give out any information, he thought. And yet, she’d taken him in and seen to his wound, something a lot of other people wouldn’t have done. Especially if they lived alone.
The woman seemed like a walking contradiction.
“You never know,” he answered, going with her last comment. “I like reading.”
She merely nodded, as if she expected everyone to feel that way about books. Zack let the topic drop. He noticed her plate was empty. The next second, she was getting up, taking it to the sink. He quickly polished off the last of his eggs and toast. He could have eaten more.
“This was good,” he told her.
“It was simple,” she replied, ignoring the compliment he had given her.
Leaning his palms against the table top, Zack slowly pushed himself up to his feet. Damn, he still felt wobbly. He had no patience with infirmity when he was the one who was infirm. This was going to be a problem, he thought.
Approaching her, he asked suddenly, “Do you have a car?”
She turned around from the sink and looked at him for a second, trying to read his expression before she answered. Did he want to take her car? If so, he was in no shape to drive.
“Yes.” She let the single word hang in the air for a minute before asking, “Why?”
He didn’t like asking for favors, especially from people he didn’t know, but he needed to get back and Aurora’s public transportation left a great deal to be desired.
“Look, you’ve already gone more than out of your way for me—”
She saw no reason to dispute that. “Yes.”
He couldn’t tell if she was agreeing with him, or tossing out the word just to make him get to the point faster. “I need a ride,” he told her bluntly. “Someone slashed the tires on my car.”
She wondered if it was actually his car, or if he’d stolen it. “Before or after they shot you?”
“Probably before.” He stopped himself, his words replaying themselves in his head. “This sounds like some kind of melodrama, doesn’t it?”
Her mouth curved slightly. “One that went straight to video,” she agreed.
