Page 54 of Asher

“But nothing. We had to get you out of there. We did the best we could.”

The fire in her eyes simmered down even as her upper lip curled into a sneer. “He told you to punch me.” Emphasis onme.

Asher shook his head. “He was reactive, that’s all. The clock was ticking, and we had a ride we couldn’t miss. We had to get you and the women you saved out of there.”

Her nose twitched like she wanted to fight. At last, she muttered, “Oh, yeah. We did. Have to save them, the women, I mean. But he did tell you to knock me out, didn’t he?” Her right hand curled into a fist.

Asher had to agree to keep this from elevating. “But I didn’t, did I?”

“No,” Marlowe answered, her eyes glistening. “You’ve only ever h-helped me.”

Man, this woman could change moods in a heartbeat. He reached for her hand, needing her to understand. There was a time just days ago when she would’ve slapped him for touching her. But this time, she reached for him and interlocked their fingers. Ducking down, Asher kissed her knuckles. “Damned straight, woman. It’s my job to help you every step of the way. You okay with that?”

Blushing, Marlowe nodded. He kissed her knuckles again, just to watch the reaction. Was his firebrand suddenly shy? Was she thinking about what he said about taking her to bed? A man could dream.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Marlowe wanted Asher more than she’d ever wanted anything or anyone in her whole life. He was everything she wasn’t, polite, calm, and reasonable. He wasn’t reactive, like that Beau jerk. She still wanted to smack him for what he’d told Asher to do. What kind of man even thinks of punching an already traumatized, beaten, tortured, and bloodied woman? An asshole, that was who. Beau had a smackdown coming. Her hands fisted thinking about the day she came face to face with him again. She should’ve kneed him instead of Asher.

While Doc Fitz attended to Asher, she asked Marlowe to return to her previous hospital room and rest. Good thing that room was next door. Piping hot coffee, bacon, eggs, and cinnamon toast were waiting on her nightstand when she opened the door. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until those tantalizing aromas tickled her nose. She made short work of breakfast, then decided to shower.

Marlowe was standing under the steaming hot spray when she realized what she was doing. Standing. Without a walker. A silly smile broke over her face. She was healed!

The last time she worried about her injuries was—what? Two days ago? When Libby changed the bandages. That felt right. Gingerly, Marlowe leaned into the tiled wall and peeled the tape off her feet. Ouch. Still tender and prickly with stitches, but so much better. She did the same with her lower back. Lots more stitches, yikes. But also less pain than before. With every piece of tape and soiled gauze she tossed in the wastebasket, her spirit lifted.

Like a silly duck, as soon as she exited the shower stall, she looked at her reflection in the mirror over the sink. Well, darn. Her face was a disappointment, but that was nothing new. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. She’d never be gorgeous, how often had she heard that? But it was kind of Asher to say she was.

Peeling the butterfly tapes off the cuts above her orbital bone, she was pleased with how quickly her body was healing. Generally speaking. Doc Fritz hadn’t seemed worried about those tiny bandages, so neither was Marlowe. Tossing them away, she studied her reflection again. Tiny bloody speckles dotted the white at the inside corner of her left eye, but her vision was clear. Rotating her shoulder was easy, well, easier. Sometimes dislocated joints remained weak and unpredictable. She’d have to work on that.

Slapping both hands on the edge of the sink, she told that scrawny, bald woman in the mirror, “They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Well, girlfriend, if that’s true, you are gonna rule the world.”

Grabbing the towel, she dried herself, then put the same clothes back on. No more hospital gowns for her. When she exited the steamy bathroom, Doc Fitz was sitting on the foot of the bed. She patted the spot beside her. “Come sit with me. We need to talk.”

So Marlowe sat and prepared to act interested.

“I know you’ve got a couple dogs now and that’s good,” Doc Fitz said. “You and Asher can both use a little fur-baby in your lives, but he’s going to be here longer than you. He’s got a long road ahead of him. If you’re up to it, and I believe you are, I was wondering if you’d help me keep him here until he heals?”

That was easy. “Okay, sure. What else?”

Doc Fitz was too serious. Something else was going on. “Honestly? I’m going to go against my rules and let you keep those dogs in your room. Your room, Marlowe. Not Asher’s. They can visit him, and he can help you train them, but they can’t get up on his bed, stay in his room, and he may not sleep with them.”

“Walter. His dog’s name is Walter.”

“And yours?”

“Darling. It was Herman, but I changed it.”

That got a smile from Doc Fitz. “I see Harley’s boys are still in charge of naming the puppies. Little A is a thinker, but Georgie is a stinker. He’s the rambunctious twin and he always does the opposite of Little A, who chooses gender-appropriate names.”

“I like Harley,” Marlowe said defensively, feeling the need to protect him since he wasn’t there.

“Everyone likes Harley. These guys…” Doc Fitz shook her head. “Each of them is a hero and they’re all as smart as whips.”

“Except the guy you married.”

“Beau can be brash, yes, but you’ll never find a greater defender of children and women.”

Marlowe doubted that claim to fame, but she wasn’t going to argue the point with his wife. “Why Little A?”

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