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She stared at them as if he’d handed her a French maid outfit to wear, complete with fishnet stockings and a feather duster.
Her jaw tightened. “You want me to wear your pajamas?”
He pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. “They’re practically new. I’ve only worn the bottoms a couple times. Flannel is warm. You might be hypothermic.”
Her suspicious gaze targeted him once more. It was a good thing she wasn’t armed, or he would be a goner.
“You’re really a firefighter and mountain rescuer?”
“Check the pictures on the mantel.” He pointed to framed articles and photographs. “And the walls.”
Looking around, Grace held the pajamas in front of her like a shield.
Okay, he got it. Got her.
No wedding ring, and a kid had made her cautious. That was smart. She didn’t know him. Didn’t know her having a child meant he considered her off-limits, a look-don’t-touch, modern-day leper.
“My job is to help people in trouble. I do that when I’m on the mountain, too,” he said. “That’s all I’m trying to do here.”
“It’s just...” Grace glanced at Liam, who was playing with Peanut. She touched the boy’s head. “I’ve never been stranded—with a stranger.”
“No worries. I understand. But you’re safe here. If it makes you feel any better, the bedroom doors lock.”
Her eyes darkened. “From the inside or outside?”
That would be funny if she didn’t sound so serious. “I have an idea. I’ll call the sheriff’s office. Let them know about your truck, so they can get it towed. Then you can talk to the sheriff or a deputy. They’ll appease your concerns about staying here tonight.”
“The sheriff and his deputies will vouch for you?” Only a deaf person would miss her please-someone-tell-me-he’s-not-psychotic plea.
“I’ve lived in Hood Hamlet my whole life. I know everybody.”
Grace’s gaze took in the articles and photographs hanging on the wall again. The tension in her face, especially around her mouth, lessened. “Okay. Let’s call the sheriff. I doubt there’s more than one black pickup stuck in a snowbank around here, but in case there is, mine has Georgia plates.”
“Long way from home.”
She shrugged.
Must be a story there. Not his business.
Even if he was curious...
CHAPTER TWO
FIVE MINUTES LATER, Bill took the phone from Grace, who held on to his pajamas with her other hand. The lines creasing her forehead had disappeared, but the wariness in her eyes remained. He hoped that look wasn’t due to something the sheriff had said. “All good now?”
“The sheriff said Liam and I would be safe with you.” Her voice sounded stronger, but her words had a nervous edge. She rubbed her fingertips against the pajamas. “He’s going to take care of my truck.”
“Truck,” Liam repeated. “I like trucks. Big ones.”
“Me, too.” The kid was cute. So was the mom. If she would quit acting as if Bill was a murderer. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. At least her toes weren’t frostbitten. “Something’s still bothering you.”
Her hands stopped fidgeting with the pajamas. “You’re perceptive.”
“Sometimes.” Bill wasn’t about to play games with Grace after what she’d been through. “Tell me what’s going on.”
She looked at Liam, looked at his EMT and wilderness first aid books on the shelf, a snowboard, an old fire helmet, looked at everything in the living room except Bill.
He took a step closer. “Something’s got you wigged out.”
Grace rubbed her lips together. “The sheriff thinks you should, um, check me. See if we...I...need to go to the hospital.”
That would do it. “Good idea.”
“No. I don’t. Need to go, that is.” Her gaze still avoided his. “I’m a little sore. Nothing else.”
Liam played with Peanut, seemingly oblivious to everything else.
“Most people are sore after an accident.” Bill didn’t know if she was afraid of going to the hospital or of him. He’d guess the latter, but wished she’d look at him so he could try to see if something else was going on with her. “The rush of adrenaline can mask injuries. You should be examined.”
Grace nodded, but looked as if she’d rather face a dentist and gynecologist at the same time than be checked by him. She ran her teeth over her lower lip.
“I promise I don’t bite,” he teased.
She blushed. Her bright red cheeks made her look like a teenager.
He motioned to a chair. “Do you want to sit?”
“I’d rather stand.”
Figures. When Bill was on a call or out in the field on a rescue mission, he tried to keep the patient at ease. Joking around with Grace wasn’t working. He’d try talking to her. “Where do you live in Georgia?”
“Columbus.”
“You don’t sound Southern.”
“I grew up in the Midwest. Iowa.”
“Cornfields and the Iowa Hawkeyes.”
Her amber eyes twinkled. “And country fairs.”
“Let me guess. You were the Corn Queen.”
Her grin brightened her face. Not only pretty, unexpectedly beautiful.
Air stuck in his throat. He struggled to breathe.
She struck a royal pose, lifting her chin and shifting her shoulders back. “Corn Princess.”
Bill had no idea why he’d reacted to her. Must be tired. “Sash and tiara?”
“Corn-on-the-cob scepter, too.”
“Real Iowan corn?”
“Only the finest.” She gave Liam a royal wave. “I was the envy of the corn court until an unfortunate incident with one of the 4-H goats.”
“Poor goat.”
“Poor corn.” She made an exaggerated sad face. “After the goat encounter, I was a princess without a scepter.”
Okay, this was more like it. Smiling and joking and raising Bill’s temperature ten degrees. “So what brings her highness out of the land of sweet tea and juicy peaches across the Mississippi River and over the Rockies to the verdant Pacific Northwest?”
She stared at Liam. Her eyes softened. “Astoria.”
“Ah. Nice little coastal town, if you don’t mind being at sea level.” Bill preferred living in the mountains. “Do you have family there?”
“No, but I thought why not try something different.”
Her voice sounded shaky. Nerves?
Or something more? “That’s a big move.”
She shrugged, but tight lines formed around her mouth. “I’ve moved a lot.”
“I’ve moved twice, not counting my stint at the fire academy. Once from my parents’ house to an apartment, then into this house.” Bill stood next to Grace. The top of her head came to the tip of his nose. “Show me where you’re sore.”
She pointed to her left shoulder, where the seat belt would have hit.
He touched the spot. “Does this hurt?”
“Slightly tender.” She glanced at his hand on her, then looked away. “I can’t remember all the moves we’ve made. My husband was in the army.”
Was. Past tense. She hadn’t said ex-husband, but she wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Bill knew some folks didn’t wear rings. Others lost them. Or pawned them. “Is your husband waiting for you in Astoria?”
She bent down and stroked Liam’s hair. “He’s...dead.”
Her words cut Bill at the knees. He opened his mouth to apologize, to say something, anything, but nothing came out. She was so young with a kid.
Just like Hannah, Nick’s wife.
A million memories rushed back, memories Bill had hoped to forget. The smell of death when his rescue team had found the bodies of Nick and Iain, still roped together. The sound of grief when he’d spent days at Nick’s house, trying to comfort the Bishop family. The taste of regret when Bill had realized nothing he did or said would make things better for Hannah and her two young kids.
He had felt so useless back then. He forced himself to breathe now. At least he could do something for Grace. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” The words came automatically, as if programmed in and spoken without thinking.
Her gaze, full of affection, remained on Liam, who kept himself entertained with the toy elephant.
Bill thought he could reach out and touch the love she was sending her son. A small knot formed in his chest. Ached behind his ribs. He didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t like how he wanted to hold Grace until she looked at him the same way.
Not that she would. He had a habit of failing the women in his life. Just like his dad.
“Columbus, Georgia.” Bill forced the words from his dry throat. “Is that where your husband was stationed?”
“Yes. Fort Benning. Damon was a Ranger. He was killed in action in Afghanistan two and a half years ago.”
Damn. That sucked. “A real hero.”
“Yes. Highly decorated. He loved what he did.”
Grace’s affection for her late husband filled her voice. Love never played into Bill’s relationships. He much preferred the other L word. Lust. Love was too messy, too complicated. It was capable of causing pain and grief, like Grace must have endured with her husband’s death. “Our service members have paid a high price in the Middle East, but your husband leaves behind a legacy of memories, and Liam.”
Her gaze went from her son to Bill. “Is there, um, anything else you need to check?”
He looked at his hand on her shoulder. Damn. Still touching her. He lowered his arm. “Any headache or sore neck now?”
“No.”
If her headrest wasn’t set properly she could have whiplash. He rubbed his hands together so they wouldn’t be cold against her skin, and stepped behind her. “I’m going to move your hair to check your neck.”
“That’s fine.” Her tight tone made him think otherwise.
Bill pushed her long wet hair over to one side. His fingertips brushed her neck.
She inhaled sharply. Tensed.
“Sorry.” He liked the feel of her soft skin. If only she wasn’t so cold. But he knew ways to warm her up. Lots of ways.
Stop. Right there.
Bill might have the reputation of being a player, but he didn’t play with patients. He touched her neck again. “Does this area hurt?”
Her back stiffened. “Not really.”
He wasn’t buying it. “You feel something.”
“Nothing major.” She sounded nonchalant, as if she had a splinter in her finger, nothing more. “A dull ache.”
He moved his hand lower. “What about here?”
“Very dull. Almost nothing.”
He moved in front of her. “Show me where the seat belt hit you.”
Grace pointed to her left shoulder, then diagonally across her chest and over her hips.
“Does your abdomen or lower back hurt?”
