CHAPTER 7
Not sure exactly when his life had spun so completely out of his control, Gage let Lisa wheel him into the kitchen and arrange him in front of the sink. He really ought to be working up some sort of a protest. He didn’t need another example thrown in his face to remind him how helpless he was that he couldn’t even wash his own hair, for Pete’s sake.
So why did he stay silent even as she draped a towel around his shoulders and handed him another for his eyes in case water dripped into them?
It couldn’t be because he secretly wanted her hands on him. Absolutely not. No, more likely he went along with her only because he was too worn-out to argue with the immovable force that was Lisa Connors.
Besides, he had to admit, his head was beginning to itch. Why suffer one more misery on top of everything else if he didn’t have to?
Behind him he could hear water run in the sink while she tested the temperature. A few moments later the tone of the flow changed as she turned on the spray attachment.
“Can you lean back a little?”
Resigned to his fate, Gage complied, wondering as he did why her voice seemed to have slipped an octave. “Is that far enough?”
“It should be.”
A moment later a spray of warm water hit his head. He forced himself to relax as she soaked his hair. He even managed to close his eyes instead of watching her with the wariness of a chained wolf.
Really, this wasn’t so bad after all. She was right, it felt kind of nice. Restful, even.
After a moment it became better than nice. He had never realized what a sensual experience having someone else wash his hair could be. As she worked lather through each strand of his wet hair, he was suddenly uncomfortably aware of this woman who had managed to barge her way into his life.
How could he be anything but aware of her? As her fingers worked through his hair, she leaned over him to reach better, enveloping him in her clean, fresh spring-like scent until he didn’t seem able to breathe in anything else.
If he turned his head just so, his cheek would brush against both of her high, firm breasts. He could nuzzle against her, could inhale the scent of her, could press his mouth to the warm skin of that enticing little hollow above her collarbone….
She cleared her throat. “I’m going to rinse now.”
Her voice jerked him back to sanity. What in the hell was the matter with him? His body was stirring like some randy teenager’s while he sat here fantasizing about a busybody nurse with a choppy haircut and secrets in her eyes.
Maybe she ought to just turn that spray to cold and stick his whole head under.
He drew in a deep breath, willing his body to settle down. In the loose cotton shorts he had to wear because nothing else fit over the casts, she would be sure to notice his arousal if he didn’t do something about it.
With effort, he forced himself to recite Miranda until his body started to settle down. The fiercely secured distance seemed to work. By the time she washed and rinsed his hair a second time, he just about had everything under control.
“All done,” she said briskly, her voice just a little too pert, and for one crazy moment he wondered if she might be as attracted to him as he was to her. No. Impossible.
“I brought in a comb and hand mirror,” she went on. “I’ll let you do those honors.”
Feeling more clean than he had since the accident, he took them from her and combed his hair, aware of her observing him out of those big blue eyes. There was an oddly seductive intimacy in having her watch him perform such a personal act. It seeped around him like smoke swirls, threatening to erode all his hard-won self-mastery.
“Are you ready to go back to your room?” she asked when he finished combing his hair.
Even though he knew it was dangerous to spend any more time with her, he was coming to despise the four walls of that room. “I like the change of scenery. If it’s okay with you, I’ll just sit here for a moment.”
“It’s your house, Mr. McKinnon. You can sit wherever you would like.” She picked up one of the towels and began to wipe down the counters on either side of the sink where water had splashed during his shampoo.
“Gage,” he reminded her.
She made a face. “Gage.”
With the counters dry, she knelt on the floor where more water puddled, probably completely heedless of the way her denim shorts outlined her very shapely rear end.
When she stood up, her shirt rode up a little and for the first time he noticed the small black electronic unit clipped to her waistband.
“Are you expecting an important page?”
Her gaze met his, confusion turning the columbine a murky blue. “A what?”
“A page. Why else would you wear a beeper clipped to your belt?”
The confusion in her eyes cleared for a moment and she looked down at the unit with a small laugh. “It’s not a beeper. It’s an insulin pump.”
She pulled her T-shirt up a little more, leaving the distinct marks of wet fingerprints on the pale blue cotton. As she revealed a small strip of bare flesh at her abdomen he could see some kind of medical-looking tube inserted into the skin just above her waistline.
“You’re diabetic?”
Her shrug was casual. “Since I was ten.”
“That must have been rough when you were a kid.”
She folded the wet towel and set it aside, then leaned back against the counter, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah, it had its moments. The year we found out I had it was a hard year all around. I was diagnosed two months before my mother died of kidney failure. I can tell you, that’s a terrifying thing for a ten-year-old girl—losing your mother from the same disease you just found out you share with her.”
He could picture her as a ten-year-old, sick and scared and grieving for her mother. A wave of sympathy washed over him and he was astonished by how strongly he wanted to comfort that little girl.
“Must have been tough on your father, too,” he murmured.
Something hard and bitter flashed across her features. “Oh, I’m sure it gave him many sleepless nights in bed beside the new wife he married three months after my mother died. The sweet young thing who didn’t want the burden of dealing with a sickly kid who was in and out of the hospital that first year.”
A muscle worked in her slender jaw. “My maternal grandparents raised me after my dad remarried. I haven’t heard from him since he cheerfully gave up any visitation rights around the time his new wife delivered a pair of healthy, nondiabetic twin boys.”
He had seen plenty of cruelty to children during his years with the FBI but he never ceased to be amazed at how a parent could display such blatant inhumanity.
Gage studied her, anger for the pain she had suffered thick and fierce in his chest. Even with two broken legs, he wanted to find her father and kick the bastard’s selfish, thoughtless ass.
After a moment she blew out a breath. “I’m sorry. I must sound like a bitter old hag.”
“You don’t. You sound like someone who’s had a rough time, that’s all.” Besides, no one with a brain in his head or blood pulsing through his veins could possibly call her old or a hag.
“Ten is a pretty pivotal age for a girl. I fought and bucked against the restrictions of diabetes like a horse tied out in a hailstorm, sneaking junk food every chance I got and hiding out in the barn whenever it was time to check my BGs—blood glucose.”
For some reason, he found it heartening that she grew up on a farm somewhere, surrounded by animals and growing things. He hoped she had found some measure of solace living with her grandparents.
“I can’t blame him for it,” she went on, “but I’ve often thought that maybe if I had received a little more understanding and support from my father, I might have accepted my diagnosis more easily. I was a teenager before I was finally able to take control of my disease.”
“It’s still under control, I guess?”
“Not always but for the most part. It’s much easier now with the pump than when I was a kid and had to do the whole needle thing.”
“How does it work?” he asked.
She crossed the kitchen to the table and pulled out a chair beside him. Again she pulled her shirt up enough for him to see the insulin pump just above her waist and the line into her creamy skin. “It’s pretty cool, actually. I only have to stick myself once a day when I change the catheter site. It stays in place all the time and is programmed to deliver the correct dose of insulin at preset times. I can also deliver a bolus if I need it. I still have to keep on top of what I eat and how I’m feeling but it’s become just a part of life.”
“Keeping up with two active little girls must not be easy with a complication like diabetes.”
“I do fine with my daughters. Just fine.”
The abruptness of her tone took him by surprise, as did the chill suddenly creeping across her blue eyes like a quick frost covering a flower garden.
Why such a testy subject? he wondered. Had somebody in her past implied otherwise? The husband, maybe? No. She seemed to genuinely grieve for the man, whoever he might have been. Gage couldn’t imagine a woman as devoted to her children as Lisa Connors would have much patience with a husband who raised questions about her ability to care for them.
“I never said you didn’t,” he said mildly. He should have left it at that, but some streak of curiosity made him push the issue. “Still, I’m sure you must be worried about your daughters and their future if something should happen to you. Especially with their father gone.”
He immediately regretted the comment when the coolness in her eyes was replaced with fiery-hot fear.
“Of course I worry! Sometimes I can’t sleep for the worry eating me up inside. How could I not worry, when I saw my own mother die by inches in front of my eyes? I can’t bear the thought of putting my own girls through that.”
“Lisa…”
She went on as if she didn’t hear him. “I work hard to keep my diabetes under control, mostly for them. For Gaby and Anna. I exercise, I eat what I’m supposed to, I check my blood sugar obsessively. I won’t let it win, damn it. I’m a good mother. The incidental fact that I have diabetes has nothing to do with that. Nothing!”
Man, somebody sure did a number on her. Was her passionate response a result of her own father’s cruelty, he wondered, or something else? She had scars, deep ones.
With no motive other than comforting her, he instinctively reached for her hand. “You’re right. I didn’t mean to imply you’re not a good mother. I’m sorry I brought it up,” he murmured.
Her hand fluttered in his and her cheeks colored. She made an embarrassed sound. “It’s not your fault,” she said after a pause. “You just happened to push one of my buttons. The big red one that launches me on a full-fledged tirade. I’m sorry I went off like that.”
He recognized the emotion in her eyes for what it was—fear that she couldn’t protect the ones she loved. Since he knew all too well the raw guilt that came from failing in that department, he had nothing but sympathy for her.
“If it makes any difference, I’ve seen a lot of rotten parents in my years with the FBI and you definitely don’t qualify. From what little I’ve seen of them, your girls are smart and happy and well-adjusted. You must be doing something right.”
She gazed at him for a moment, her high color fading a little, then she gifted him with a radiant smile. “I think beneath that cranky exterior lives a very kind man, Mr. McKinnon.”
“Don’t kid yourself.”
She laughed and squeezed his fingers. Her hand was a small, warm weight in his. Subtly, slowly, the mood between them slid into something else. Something glittery and bright and charged with tension.
Despite his best attempts at willpower, his gaze landed on her mouth, those sensual lips that gave him far too many ideas he knew he had no business entertaining. As he watched, her lips parted slightly and she sucked in a small breath, awareness blooming to life in her eyes.
He wasn’t conscious of leaning forward to kiss her until he was inches away from her mouth.
He couldn’t think about all the million reasons why kissing her was a lousy idea. Her girls, the secrets he sensed in her eyes, the fact that he didn’t need a complication like Lisa Connors in his life right now. None of that mattered. All he could focus on was stealing a taste of that soft, inviting mouth.
She watched him with wide-eyed shock but made no move to back away. Instead, her lips parted slightly and she breathed in a little sigh that sent heat sizzling through him.
His heart pounding, he crossed the last few inches between them, but before he could kiss her, the sharp, watchful part of his psyche that could never seem to go off alert heard footsteps on the wooden slats of the front porch. An instant later the melodious chime of the doorbell rang through the small house.
* * *
Allie swallowed hard as she watched firm control slip back over Gage’s features. He quickly eased back into his chair and she swallowed again, not sure if that thick lump in her throat was shock or regret.
He had almost kissed her!
Somehow she managed to force a quick breath into lungs that suddenly seemed oxygen starved.
Still, when she spoke, her voice sounded thin, ragged, like she’d just hiked to the top of Soldier Summit. “That’s probably Anna and Gaby back from the park. A…a neighbor girl took them. I told them to come here when they returned. I hope that’s all right with you. I can send them over to my house with Jessica, though. She’s the neighbor girl. She’s sixteen and a really great baby-sitter. The girls already love her.”
She snapped her jaws shut before she could spew out more inane chatter. How was she supposed to react, though? She had a perfect right to act a little disconcerted.
The man acted like a wounded grizzly bear most of the time who couldn’t stand having her around. But in the last half hour he’d shown her more kindness and compassion than she had received in a long time and then had complicated everything by nearly kissing her.
And she regretted fiercely that he hadn’t had the chance, she realized with chagrin.
“You don’t need to send them home. I’m going back to my room.” He didn’t look at her as he started to wheel away from the table.
What must he think of her? Did he know that her body had craved his kiss, that it was still humming in reaction to something that hadn’t even happened?
He probably figured she was some kind of desperate creature who made a habit of kissing anybody who showed her kindness.
She forced herself to swallow her embarrassment. “Did you want to lie down? After I answer the door, I can help you transfer from the wheelchair to the bed.”
“No. I can handle it on my own.”
His tone was so abrupt that she blinked at him. She didn’t know what to say to him and was almost grateful when the doorbell rang through the house again.
“I’d better get that,” she mumbled. Allie took her time heading for the door, desperate for a moment alone to absorb what had just happened.
Mr. Sexy FBI Man had nearly kissed her. Her insides shivered as she relived that stunning moment when he had lowered his mouth to within a heartbeat of hers.
Those long dark lashes had slid nearly closed, hiding the intensity of his gray eyes, and she could smell the leathery scent of his aftershave.
She paused in front of the door, one hand splayed across her still-racing heart.
What was worse? That Gage McKinnon had nearly kissed her? Or that she had wanted him to, with a hunger that terrified her?
She didn’t want to be so attracted to him. Working here was complicated enough without her entertaining silly fantasies about what it would have been like if he’d followed through on his intent.
Now wasn’t the time to think about this, though. Not with the girls back. Putting thoughts of that almost-kiss behind her, she pasted on a smile for her daughters’ sake and swung open the door.
To her shock, it wasn’t the girls after all. It was one of the men who had brought Gage home from the hospital. Agent Davis, she thought she remembered, and he was giving her a stunning smile that would have completely flustered her if her nerves weren’t already churning like a hive full of wet bumblebees.
“Hello,” he said cheerfully.
“I…come in. Gage didn’t say anything about expecting you.”
“That’s because he didn’t know I was coming. I had another errand to run up this way. Since he asked me to drop by some paperwork when I had the chance, I figured this was the perfect opportunity to check up on him.”
“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to have a visitor,” she said, not sure of any such thing. “He was just heading to his room.”
Wet hair, sexy mouth and all.
“He’s getting around okay, then?”
“Relatively. It’s not easy for him to squeeze through doorways and around furniture, but he’s beginning to manage.”
She led him back to the bedroom and knocked on the closed door. “Gage? You have company.”
Silence met her statement, then she thought she heard him sigh. “Yeah? Who is it.”
Agent Davis grinned at her. “Doesn’t sound like two weeks off work has softened his disposition any.”
She smiled back at him, then felt a trifle disloyal, for some strange reason. “He’s still in a lot of pain.”
“Oh, is that it?”
She didn’t answer him, just opened the door. “Your friend Agent Davis is here. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
Before she walked down the hall, she heard Davis greet him. “I brought those files you asked for. Personally I think you’re crazy. Why not take the six-week vacation the Bureau gave you instead of spending your sick leave working cold cases?”
“I can’t stand just staring at the walls all day,” Gage answered. “With a phone and Internet access I can at least pretend to stay busy.”
They closed the door after that and Allie couldn’t hear more. It was enough, though. What she had heard left her cold.
Internet access. She’d never even thought about that. She wasn’t sure just how the FBI worked, but she thought they probably disseminated information across the Net. What if her case file was already out there somewhere? Her picture, pictures of the girls?
Gage could probably access it right now if he wanted to.
She blew out a shaky breath. She should leave. Just grab the girls from the park and drive out of town.
Oh, she didn’t want to. She had two weeks’ wages coming to her in just a few days that she would forfeit if she disappeared, and she hadn’t yet paid off the balance on the car repair Ruth’s son had performed for her.
Besides that, she hated the idea of fleeing again. Not yet. She just wasn’t ready, mentally or physically, to uproot the girls and herself and head for a strange town where she knew no one.
Could she take the chance that even if the FBI had posted her picture somewhere on-line, Gage wouldn’t have any reason to go looking for it? Even if he stumbled upon it, she had created an effective disguise. There was no reason why he should connect blond nurse Alicia DeBarillas with gawky, glasses-wearing Lisa Connors.
Surely she was safe for a few more weeks, just long enough to pay Ruth’s son and to make plans for the future.
That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?