Susan Mallery: Holly And Mistletoe

Holly saw a library and beyond that the foot of a bed in what had once probably been the study.

“How is he?”

Louise snorted. “If his foul temper is anything to go by, he’s improving every hour.”

They entered the large kitchen. A tray sat on the table in the center of the room. Louise motioned to it. “Says he won’t eat it. Can you imagine? I’ve been cooking all my life, but Mr. High-and-Mighty doesn’t like it.”

Holly glanced at the plate filled with meat loaf, mashed potatoes and vegetables. It smelled wonderful. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t had anything since breakfast, and suddenly she was starving.

Louise smiled. “Help yourself.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.”

“Louise!” Jordan called again. He sounded furious.

Holly looked at the tray, then in the direction of the makeshift bedroom. She owed Jordan Haynes a big debt. He’d saved her cat. Mistletoe had been her mother’s gift to her the Christmas before she died. A single dinner wouldn’t do much to repay what she owed him, but it could be a start. She didn’t know much about men, but she was intimately familiar with a sick room.

“Maybe I could help,” she said cautiously.

Louise planted her hands on her hips. “Honey, you’re welcome to try.” She glanced at the clock over the stove. “My evening college class starts in forty minutes. I don’t have the time to fix Jordan something else. Why don’t you go introduce yourself and if he takes to you, then be my guest.”

“Thank you,” Holly said, then headed back the way she’d come. She knew several dishes specially designed to tempt an invalid’s appetite. She’d taken care of her mother for years.

“Oh, and Holly?”

She paused, then glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“Tell the boy to put some clothes on.”

Tell Jordan to put some clothes on? Holly blinked several times. “You mean he’s—” She couldn’t even say the word, but she could sure think it loudly. Naked?

Louise winked. “You’ll just have to go see for yourself, won’t you? Don’t worry. He hasn’t got anything you haven’t seen a dozen times before.”

Holly gave a weak smile, then headed for the study. Actually Louise was wrong. Jordan did have something she had never seen before. At least he did if he was naked.

As she walked through the library, one part of her mind noted the hand-fitted floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and the large crystal light fixtures hanging in each corner. In front of her she could see the bottom of a bed. Her steps slowed. Naked? No, Louise wouldn’t do that to her.

She stopped on the library side of the doorway and cleared her throat. Maybe she should warn him that she was about to enter his room. So if he was, well, naked, he could cover up.

Still, she hesitated before speaking. She didn’t know what to say. Just thinking about the handsome fire fighter made her nervous. At the hospital she’d been so concerned about his condition, she’d barely had time to notice his looks at all. But once he woke up and they spoke, she hadn’t been able to think about anything else. Her stomach had gotten all sort of quivery, and she’d barely been able to form whole sentences. Thank goodness his family had shown up and she’d been able to escape before she made a complete fool of herself.

Now here she was, about to enter his bedroom. Well, not really his bedroom. He had been put downstairs because it was more convenient and would make it easier for him to get around without having to worry about stairs. She remembered when they’d first moved her mother to the downstairs family room. Holly sighed at the memory. She might not know a single thing about men, but she knew how to take care of someone. That’s why she was here. Because Jordan Haynes was injured. If she remembered that and forgot how he looked, then everything would be fine.

“Captain Haynes?” she said softly as she stared at the scarred hardwood floors. “Hi, I’m Holly Garrett. We met in the hospital. May I come in?”

“Sure.”

She paused, waiting to hear the rustle of bed sheets as he covered himself. There was only silence. She reminded herself that sick and injured people had a lot of similarities. They got frustrated, bored, tired of the pain and isolation. And if she was worried about him being naked, she wouldn’t look at anything below his neck.

She drew in a deep breath, smiled broadly and stepped into the converted study.

Thick drapes had been pulled over two sets of windows. In the daylight the room would get morning sun. A hospital bed had been set up in the center of the room. She was familiar with the model. The electric motor allowed the occupant to raise and lower both the head and the foot to find the most comfortable position. A low table had been pushed to one side, and there was a straight-back chair nearby.

Holly ignored the patient for as long as she could, then gave a quick prayer for courage and turned her attention to him.

He wasn’t naked. Not completely. Still, her breath caught in her throat, her heart started pounding and she had the uncomfortable feeling that she was turning bright red.

Jordan had raised the back of the bed so he was in a nearly sitting position. Dark hair tumbled onto his forehead. Equally dark eyes studied her in return. She wasn’t sure if it was the shape of his masculine features, the set of his jaw or just a perception problem on her part, but she knew he was the best-looking man she’d ever seen. The muscles in her legs felt funny. It took her a moment to figure out they were shaking.

Her gaze dipped to his bare chest and the sheet bunched around his waist. She swallowed, resisting the urge to run for cover. Sculpted muscles defined his shoulders, arms and the hard, flat region of his belly. He looked as if he were posing for a provocative calendar.

“Searching for visible proof of my injuries?” he asked.

Holly realized she’d been staring at him for several seconds. This time she didn’t have to guess about blushing. The heat climbed quickly from the edge of her collar to her cheeks. She ducked her head.

“I…” What was she supposed to say?

“Have a seat.”

She sank into the straight-back chair and folded her hands on her lap.

“You’re the lady with the cat,” he said.

She risked a glance. He didn’t look annoyed. “Yes. You saved her. I stopped by to see how you were doing. I don’t mean to intrude.”

He studied her as intently as she had studied him. His attention made her uncomfortable, but she didn’t feel she had the right to protest. Fair was fair.

She smoothed a hand over her skirt and wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Blond hair and blue eyes, which sounded more exciting than they were. Curves, she thought grimly, knowing her five-year battle against an extra fifteen pounds had ended in an uneasy truce. The pounds didn’t multiply, and she stopped trying to make them go away. So her breasts and hips were a little larger than fashion dictated. She would survive.

“Did you bring the cat to finish me off?” he asked at last.

It took her a moment to realize he was teasing. She smiled. “Mistletoe is very sweet. I’m sure she didn’t mean to hurt you. She was just scared.”

“Yeah, right. I saw the look in her eyes. She was glad I went over the side.” His gaze brushed across her face. “What happened to your hair?”

“My hair?” She reached behind her head and touched her braid. “Nothing. I’m wearing it back.”

“Let me see.”

She half turned in her seat and tilted her head so he could see the French braid. She’d pinned the end up by the nape of her neck to form a loop.

“I like it loose,” he said. “You’ve got beautiful hair.”