Hilary exchanged a look with Dane. He took it more in stride than she would if it were her forehead. Del’s dry sense of humor didn’t seem very appropriate at the moment.
Sean returned from the bus with a first aid kit. He set it on a nearby table and popped the lid. “We’ll get you cleaned up,” he said.
“Really, it’s a scratch,” Dane said, chuckling. He gritted his teeth when Sean pressed an antiseptic wipe on the now present lump.
Hilary watched his expression for signs that the knock was more than a superficial scratch. Dane seemed more embarrassed than injured. He avoided looking at her, even blushing a little when Sean peeled the bandage from its wrapper and applied it to Dane’s head.
Del ambled away to continue the tour while Sean finished treating Dane. Sean gave him another antiseptic wipe for the blood on his fingers. Hilary tried to gauge how much pain Dane was in but his expression was stoic. With a square of gauze now in place, Dane pressed his finger to the spot.
“Good as new,” he said with a tentative smile.
“Maybe you should sit for a while to make sure you’re all right.” She almost caught his arm when he wobbled next to her until she realized he’d stepped in a low spot on the lawn.
“No worries. It’ll fade by tomorrow.” He grimaced as his boots sank into the soggy ground. Hilary sidestepped a shallow puddle.
She laughed, looking at him in disbelief. “I don’t think so. It’s a good-sized gash. Don’t be so cavalier.”
It was Dane’s turn to laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a mischievously boyish way. He seemed to like playing with her. “And don’t distract me with big words. I should know my own head anyway.”
Hilary didn’t want to fuss over him; she barely knew him. But he really took a hit, and those head injuries could be tricky, the effects not seen until hours later. “I’m trying to help. Sorry for…caring.”
His smile faded and he slowed. He must have realized she was serious. “No, I’m sorry. I’m making jokes, and you’re trying to be considerate.”
Sorry for caring.
It was an awkward thing to say. Her mouth ran away from her brain when her guard was down; it had always been a problem. But Dane went out of his way to make comfortable since the ride back to Hendricks yesterday and she fell for it. His attentiveness breached the wall she’d built around herself. He asked questions and then listened. It was a little unnerving, having his full attention. She needed to watch herself.
“No worries.” She gave him what she hoped was a neutral smile. “If you’re sure you’re okay, I’m going to catch up with the others. I’ve already missed enough.”
She hurried away, craning her neck to look for Lucy. She spotted Lucy’s alpaca vest near the front and skirted the group to catch up to her. She’d learned a lesson from Dane—talk less and listen more. And try to steer clear of overly friendly conference presenters with soulful eyes.
Chapter Six
That night Dane fumbled for the light switch in his room. The overhead light blinked on, temporarily blinding him. He studied his bare feet behind half-closed lids before he adjusted to the bright room. It was after midnight. The pain reliever Darcy offered him earlier had worn off. He never took painkillers so she’d had a hard time convincing him to take the darned things. But the bump on his head throbbed now, keeping him from falling back asleep.
He should have taken the bottle when she pressed it into his hand. “You’ll need more, trust me,” she said. He’d laughed. Meds were for wimps. But oh how he wished for them now. Dane could deal with pain. It was the sleep he couldn’t live without. He was used to his schedule back home. In bed by ten, up at five. A solid seven hours—uninterrupted since he slept like a rock—suited him. Anything less made him grumpy. Caffeine couldn’t even work its magic when he was too sleep-deprived.
The downside of staying in one of the private guest cabins on the property was the short but cold walk he’d have to make across the lawn to the inn. The bottle sat on the kitchen counter where he’d left it. He slipped into his boots, threw on his coat, and stepped onto the porch.
It was a clear, cold night. His breath huffed out in a cloud as he gazed at the three-quarter moon keeping company with the scattered stars. The inn was dark except for a couple lights left on in the rooms of the main floor. The patio light was on too.
Dane used the code to open the back door, careful not to make a sound. Inside, he left his boots on the mat and padded across the living room, weaving between the tables set up for the conference. In the foyer, he turned left and followed the hall down to the commercial-sized kitchen. A small light above the stove illuminated the countertops and he quickly found the bottle. Sweet relief.
He was looking through the cabinets for water glasses when he heard a floorboard creak. Old houses were full of noises. He should know; he lived in one. Change in the seasonal temperatures had a way of making old houses talk, even one this solid. He opened nearly half the cabinets in the kitchen when he found the glassware. He turned on the faucet, filling the glass, when a more distinct creak caught his attention again.
“I thought I was the only night owl around here.”
He almost dropped the glass.
It was Hilary, leaning against the doorframe in a rosy-hued robe, her hair tousled around her face like she’d been having as much trouble as he’d had falling asleep. Dane swallowed hard.
“I’m not really a night owl. This is keeping me up.” He pointed to the lump on his forehead.
She came toward him slowly, squinting to see it in the dim light. “Hurts, doesn’t it? And you were so insistent it was nothing.” In the near dark, her eyes were hooded, giving them a seductive light.
“Masculine pride has to count for something.”
“Yeah, something foolish.” Hilary laughed. “I’ve never understood it. What’s the point of pretending you’re not hurt, even as blood seeps through your fingers?”
