I sent my gaze up his back and noticed for the first time that he had a ponytail. His hair wasn’t that long, but it seemed at least to hit his shoulders. I hadn’t allowed myself to look at him enough to notice. His eyes and strong jawline had taken all my attention before.
We reached his bedroom door, and he stood back and waved me inside. “I have no idea where Nan keeps her first-aid supplies, but I’ve got some in my duffel. I’m doctoring a fall from a horse I’m breaking, so I came prepared.”
Nan? Who was Nan? “Do you not live here?” I asked.
He pulled out a small blue pouch from his camouflage duffel bag and turned to look back at me. A grin lifted the corners of his mouth, and his eyes danced with amusement. “Hell, no.” He chuckled. “Have you met Nannette? No one willingly lives with her. But since our father owns this house, I can stay here whenever I choose. I just choose to do so when Nan is gone.”
“Oh. I’ve never seen anyone here until you,” I said.
“That explains a lot,” he mumbled, then chuckled as if he knew a joke I didn’t. He held out his hand. “Here, give me your hand. I will be as gentle as I can, but this is gonna sting.”
I didn’t let men touch me. But something about the concerned way he was studying my palm made me trust him. He was a nice guy, or he seemed to be a nice guy. He wasn’t looking at me in ways that made me nervous.
I placed my hand palm up in his, and he glanced up at me apologetically, as if it was his fault. I watched as he slowly slid the glass out of my palm and then began dotting it with a cotton ball he’d coated in peroxide. Yes, it stung, but I’d been through much worse.
He bent his head and started gently blowing on my wound as he cleaned it. The cool feel of his breath on my skin eased the sting, and I became fascinated with the way his lips looked puckered up. Was he for real? Had I hit my head when I fell? Was this some strange dream?
He held the cotton ball tightly against the wound, pressing it down with his thumb while he reached for a new cotton ball and medical tape. “I wish I had some salve for it, but I rarely use it, so I didn’t bring any. I’ve got some Tylenol you can take to ease the pain until we can get you to the hospital.”
I just nodded. I didn’t know what else to do. No one had ever cared that I had an injury. And I’d had many.
“My name is Mase, by the way,” he said, as he glanced up at me while wrapping my hand.
“I like that name. I’ve never heard it before.” He chuckled. “Thanks. Do you have a name?” Oh. He was asking what my name was. No one I had worked for had asked me my name except for one client. But she was different from the clients at the other places I worked. “Yes, I do. It’s Reese.”
Mase
She smelled like a fucking cinnamon bun. That sweet cream icing and cinnamon smell that made your mouth water. Not taking deep whiffs as her scent wafted over me was hard. But I managed not to act like a psycho and pull her up against me so I could bury my face in her neck and just breathe. I’d never known a woman to smell like a cinnamon bun, but damn, it was a turn-on.
I got her hand wrapped up and then led her down the stairs. She seemed confused about something, but she didn’t say much. I asked her if she had a purse, and she nodded and went to get it from the table beside the door. It wasn’t what most women would call a purse; it was a faded blue backpack. She slung it over her shoulder and looked back at the house with a worried expression.
“I’m not done cleaning,” she said, then looked back at me.
“You can’t clean with your hand torn open,” I pointed out, unable to suppress a grin.
Her brow puckered into a frown. “It isn’t that bad. I can work like this,” she said, holding up her bandaged hand.
I shook my head and opened the door. “No, you can’t.”
We stepped outside and saw that my truck had arrived. I had been waiting for someone to drop it off. Good, I could drive it instead of her car.
“Where’s your car?” I asked her.
“I don’t have one.”
“Did someone bring you?” I asked, already knowing her answer would be that her boyfriend had brought her. Fuck.
“I have a neighbor who works at the Kerrington Country Club. I ride with him, and then I walk here from there.”
A neighbor. “He doesn’t bring you here?”
She shook her head and looked at me like I was crazy. “No. It’s like a mile away. I enjoy the walk.”
“Who’s your neighbor?” I ask.
“His name is Jimmy.”
I was going to have a talk with Jimmy. It wasn’t safe for someone who looked like her to be walking around by herself. Rosemary Beach was a safe place, but there were people who drove through going from one town to the next. “Does Jimmy take you home?”
She glanced at me with uncertainty. Like she wasn’t sure she should answer me. “Sometimes—yes, most of the time.”
Why didn’t she have a car? She had to be twenty-one or twenty-two. She wasn’t a kid. She had a job and an apartment, I would assume. “How do you get home when Jimmy doesn’t give you a ride?” I asked, holding the truck door open for her. I held out my hand for her to take with her good one and helped her into the truck cab.
“I walk,” she replied, not looking at me.
Fucking hell.
Glancing down at her cheap flip-flops, I noticed that she had perfect little pink-tipped toes. Even her feet had to be sexy? Damn.
She tucked her feet back, and I knew she had seen me looking at them. I closed the truck door and took my time walking around to the driver’s side. This girl needed help, but I couldn’t save her. I was here for a week, maybe two, before I headed back to Texas. Getting worked up over this girl’s problems wasn’t smart.
My cell phone started ringing in my pocket before I could start the engine, and I knew it was Harlow. She was expecting me at around two. Glancing at the clock, I saw it was almost two now.
“Hey,” I said into the phone, as I cranked up the truck and headed toward the main road.
“Did you get some sleep?” she asked. I could hear Lila Kate, her baby girl, fussing in the background.
“Uh, yeah,” I replied. I couldn’t tell her how little sleep I’d gotten, since the reason was sitting beside me.
“You still coming at two? Grant said he’d give us an hour and then he’ll be here by three.”
I glanced over at Reese’s injured hand. That was going to take a while. An ER waiting room was never fast. “There was an accident this morning. The girl who cleans Nan’s house fell and sliced her hand open. I’m taking her to get stitches. Could be a while before I get there.”