His laugh made his face change entirely. It made him almost…human. “My supervisor, eh?”
“Yes, please.”
“Okay. Well, let me just do a wee check to see if she’s available. Nae, she’s not. Ye’ll just have to make do with me, I’m afraid.”
No doubt he’d used that disarming grin of his to charm the myriad of women (angelic or otherwise) that men like him always had flitting around him. But it wouldn’t work on her. “Your supervisor is female?”
“Ye might call her a supervisor. But she’s not at my beck and call, ye see.”
She lifted a pained look up at him through her lashes.
“What? Don’t believe me?”
“You don’t seem the type to take orders from any woman.”
“And ye say so, why?”
“You may be an angel, but you’re still a man.”
Threading his fingers together, he propped his hands atop his head, scanning the surrounding field. “Ye never had a problem with that before,” he muttered, mostly to himself.
“Before…what? Have we met somewhere before? Pray tell. What have I done to offend you?”
For a long beat, he stared at her. She could almost see an argument going on in his head about how much to say.
“Not you, exactly,” he admitted. “But you. Exactly. Andoffendis a mild word.”
He was making her head hurt. “Well, riddle me this, Farm Boy. How could I not know you and know you at the same time? Are you being intentionally obtuse? Because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He seemed to have expected as much. “I canna blame ye for that.” A muscle in his jaw worked. “I’m goin’ back. Comin’?”
He didn’t wait for her to answer, simply stalked back toward the hospital doors. As much as he confounded her, as much as she was starting to truly despise him, she couldn’t help but be affected by the figure he cut walking through the long grass: his linen shirt clinging to his strong arms and back. The way her breath caught watching the breeze ruffled his too long dark hair.
Stop it!
What in the world was happening to her?
For a long moment, Emma wondered what would happen if she tried to navigate this whole situation by herself. It would not go well, she suspected. She might even die by default. He was her only tether to possibility. But he was as much a mystery to her as this place was, as what had happened on that road last night. However, alone, she would be lost. Adrift in the unknown. Yet to do nothing…to stay locked in the hospital beside her helpless body and leave all the questions unanswered about her accident, about Aubrey’s future, about…well, everything seemed unthinkable. It just wasn’t in her DNA.
Had someone tried to drive her off the road intentionally? Was it road rage or accidental? Had she simply been distracted? Had she lost control? What was the debris that officer had talked about? She couldn’t remember anything about the accident at all. It was as if her memory had been wiped clean.
Even more urgently, something niggled at her. Something important she knew she’d forgotten. Something she’d needed to do. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember what.
Emma almost laughed at the irony of that phrase.For the life of her.What if that road had meant the end of that life for her? What if she never woke up? What if Connor was just biding his time, waiting until she…until she died to be rid of her? Were all angels as unpleasant as him? It wasn’t her imagination that he seemed to be keeping something from her. No, three times he’d said something he refused to explain. And who was Violet? Why did he seem to dislike her so? More importantly, what had Emma herself ever done to him?
Obviously, nothing. Except possibly ogle him a bit more than strictly necessary. Because, for heaven sakes, the man was—she had trouble forming the word in her mind—gorgeous. But aside from the fact that he wasn’t even mortal, he was not her type: arrogant, cranky, and full of himself.
So, technically, her type.
Not that any of that mattered at all. But the answers to all those questions felt out of reach.
One thing she knew: If she wanted his help, she would need to change tactics. She would need to get him on her side.
*
“My cat,” Emmaannounced, appearing at the doorway to her hospital room.
Connor, who’d been standing beside her bed, studying the temporary cast wrapped around her leg, squinted at her now from beneath lowered brows. His intention was to intimidate her, but she showed no sign of being cowed. “Your cat?” he repeated.
