“Bad day?”
My body jolts, but it’s that low rumble I’ve come to recognize. I twist, and under the glow of the street light is the big guy with his hands tucked in his coat pockets.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think there might be a teensy bit of amusement underlying that two-word question.
I glare, even though he can’t see it. “Careful. I’m in a shit mood.”
“Really? I couldn’t tell by the assault on the trash can.”
It comes out dry, but. . .is there a joke in there?
I huff and place my hands on my hips, needing to get a grip as he strolls over. I shiver. My T-shirt and leggings are no longer enough for a late-night outdoor meltdown.
“Where’s your coat?”
I bend, swiping one of the full plastic bags. “Oh, for the ever-loving—” I drop it, yanking my hand away. “Shit!” I grip my hand, holding it close to my body.
Slade sets the bin right side up. “You all right? Let me see.” He moves in front of me, holding out his hand.
I tuck my hand close to my chest, squeezing with the other, feeling the warm stickiness coat my fingers. “I caught a piece of glass.” I glance at the busted trash bag.Dammit.
“Let me see,” Slade barks the order.
I release my fist over his large hand and uncurl my fingers. Blood oozes from a slash across my palm.
“Put pressure on it and hold it up.” He carefully cleans up the mess and places it in the bin. Then he ushers me toward the house. “Let’s get it washed off and see if I need to call Krissy.”
I try to match his long stride, gripping my hand tight as the pain settles in. “Call Krissy for what?”
“To see if you need stitches and stay with the kids while I take you to the hospital.”
“I’m not going to the hospital.”
He peers down at me as he opens the back door. “We’ll see. Let’s get it clean and have a good look at it.”
He waits for me to enter, completely unfazed by my direct opposition to going to the hospital.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re severely bossy?”
“Every damn day,” he says, oh so matter-of-factly. “Now, hurry up before you drip blood on my boots.” He nods toward the inside.
I peek down and see blood runningdown my arm.
I step into the kitchen and I’m hit with the scent of baked cookies, so I'm sure the timer is about to go off. Grover hops to his feet and barks at the sight of Slade.
“Shhh! No barking. If you wake them, I will strip you of all your Poodle, and you will be an outdoor dog.”
His head cocks to the side as his nose works to inspect Slade.
I hurry to the sink and turn on the water, uncurling my hand under the stream. The burn tears through my flesh, and I wince.
I hear Slade unzip and drop his coat on a chair behind me, and then his large shadow appears over my shoulder. “How does it look?”
Every time I pull my hand from the water, blood pools in the center.
“I don’t know. It burns like hell.”
He pumps two squirts of soap into his palm and starts scrubbing. I pull my hand from the water to let him rinse his and return it as he grabs a towel.
