The bathroom door opened, and I inhaled sharply, crossing my arms over my chest. Spencer entered, freshly showered and in a college sweatshirt and joggers. He paused in the doorway, cocking an eyebrow. "Everything okay?"
"You could knock," I scowled, sitting up in the tepid water.
"Oh, true, you could have been naked," he said deadpan as he reached for a towel. He slid a mischievous glance my way. "Or did I interrupt something else you were in the middle of?"
"Oh, for Christ's sake," I growled. I reached down and pulled the plug, holding out an impatient hand for the towel. "I can take it from here. Give me the towel."
Spencer walked slowly across the floor, his mouth twitching. He held the towel just out of reach. "You feeling shy, Bee?"
I was, but I sure as hell wasn't going to admit that to him. Not with the water rapidly draining to my hips. Curled up, and covering myself, I gestured for the towel. "Quit playing."
Spencer looked away, considering. "It's just that Iloveplaying."
My frustration won over my oddly timed modestly. With a snarl of irritation, I stood, swiped the towel from his hands, and plastered it to my body. "Get out, Spencer."
Smiling faintly, he watched me, probably on the off chance that I might wobble. When I did, he bracketed my shoulders, steadying me and holding my gaze with warm mirth. "I've seen all there is to see, Bee. And as lovely as you are, I'm just here to make sure you get better."
Somehow that made it worse. Color stung my cheeks and crept down my neck as I wrapped the towel around me and tucked it in. "I know that."I know you don't find me attractive. I know you're here out of pity. Saying it out loud doesn't make that any better.
"Oh, do you?" he asked with some surprise. He helped me out of the tub, and when I bent over to hack half my lung into the inside of my elbow, he rubbed soothing circles between my shoulder blades. "Because you're kind of acting like I'm here to steal the horses." He paused, and I heard the shimmering laugh in his voice as he added, "Partner."
My eyes rolled up to him as I straightened. "The cowgirl jokes are getting old."
"Yeah, well, so am I, but neither one of us is going anywhere. Mosey on into the bedroom, there, Sheriff—" His joke cut off abruptly as I elbowed him in the stomach and shuffled with dripping hair out to the bedroom. He had the wood stove going, but an icy wind moaned over the outdated windows and under the loose siding, and the room held the kind of chill that onlya blustery night could bring. I shivered, bowing my shoulders inward and heading for the comfort of my quilts.
"Hold up." Spencer stopped me in the middle of the room and held out a luxurious, fluffy robe three times too big for me that I'd never seen before. "Put this on and we're going to the living room so you can eat and get some fluids."
"You are a tyrant."
He chuckled as he helped slide the robe over my damp arms, and then when the towel was whisked away, he patiently folded the robe over my front and tied the sash. I watched him, taking in the way his lashes had clumped together after his shower and how his jaw flexed as he held back whatever words he clearly wanted to utter. When he glanced at me again, he grabbed the lapels of the robe and tugged me close to his tall frame. "Let's make a deal."
That sounded ominous. "What kind?" I asked, my voice scratchy and my eyes already heavy again.
"You stay on that couch until the crackle in your lungs goes away, and I'll stop squatting in your ranch house. We can go to the notary together and get the ranch in your name and squared away."
I squinted. "What do you get out of this?"
Spencer had a puckish air about him—a secret shimmered across the surface of his calm smile. "Nothing. Just knowing my wife is well is good enough for me."
I cringed. "Stop saying that."
He led me to the living room by the front of the robe, towing me like a lost puppy. "Wife."
"Spencer," I bit out.
"Yes, Wife?" He brought me to the worn-out, plaid couch, pushed me onto it, and then cocooned me in one too many quilts.
I sighed, giving up. "I'm tired." My shoulders sagged, my chest felt strangely heavy, and my limbs had gone from finely tuned tools of the trade to flimsy pool noodles. Keeping up with Spencer took way more energy than I had at the moment.
Spencer paused while tucking me in, cocking his head and resting his hands on either side of my hips. The warmth from his body caging mine in caused a prickle of sweat to dot the back of my neck. His expression took on a hard edge. He didn't need to say the words out loud because they shouted from the lines that bracketed his mouth and the deep crease between his brows.That's why I'm here.
I closed my eyes and let my head fall back under the pretense of being tired. I was actually hoping the couch would finally fall apart and bury me in mangled stuffing and old springs.
I had been wrong. He didn't pity me. He was exasperated by my sheer incompetence. I hadn't felt this way since my first week as an intern when the supervising vet had pointed out that I'd shaved the wrong part of a dog's ass before surgery. I pulled the quilts over my face while Spencer walked back to the kitchen.
"I made chicken and rice. I'm not sure what your preferences are, but my repertoire of edible recipes is shockingly limited."
I couldn't cook, either. "S'fine," I said, my voice muffled.
