Page 74 of You, As You Are

Iain released the breath he’d been holding for dear life, and the fear that Maisie’s cold was actually some kind of infection or fever he needed to get her help for.

“Sorry. Been a long time since I’ve had any women in my life.” It wasn’t an excuse, but he was out of practice on the menstruation caregiving front. “What can I do?”

“Leave.”

A smile cracked on his lips as he took off his suit jacket. “Bit harsh.”

Maisie raised her arm and covered her forehead. “I—ugh—I’m sorry. I just … I want to lie down, and I want to cry, and I want to curl in a ball until it’s winter again.”

Iain couldn’t help but chuckle at the melodrama that he was sure was a very real feeling. “That’s okay. You’re entitled to that.” He glossed right over her repeated, unnecessary apology. “I’ll … get you something warm. Have you had painkillers?”

“Strong ones.” Maisie opened one eye and – as Iain expected for the near future – glared at him, though for an entirely different reason than his intrusion before. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, and the question knocked him off balance for a moment.

Whywouldn’the be doing this? What man claiming to love womenwouldn’tfind some way to be of use in this moment?

He chuffed. “My bollocks would never be safe around Vera again if she knew I left you alone in this state, Daffy.”

Maisie narrowed her eyes like the non-existent sun was in her face. “So you’re helping me because you’re scared of my grandmother with a broken wrist?”

“Yes.”

She laughed. And though it was strained, it was a laugh nonetheless, planting a kernel of something tender in Iain’s chest. He’d play the fool again if it’d help her feel better.

He wiped the couple of loose curls like peels of flames away from her clammy face. “You’re not having a very good day are you, Daffy?”

“No,” she said, sounding all sorry for herself as she blew her nose in a tissue that appeared from under her. Her watery eyes landed on him. “Why are you wearing a suit?”

Iain looked down at himself where he crouched, specifically the royal-blue slacks tight around his thighs and the brogues far cleaner than his hiking boots. “I came from work.”

Maisie turned her head on her cushion, and he followed her sight to where Ted stood, one paw lifted, tail arrow straight as he stared down some decorative, ceramic rabbit that was by the old fireplace.

“Ted works with you too?” she asked.

“He’s allowed to come sometimes. He likes curling up and watching people in the car park.” Iain snapped his fingers and beckoned his gun dog out of his trance. “Didn’t know I was going to come here until I was. I wouldn’t have brought him if?—”

“It’s alright.” Maisie reached out her fingers and Ted wandered over, giving her palm a lick. “I like seeing him.”

“More than you like seeing me?”

“Obviously.” The glint in her tired eyes caught Iain’s breath. “But since I can’t see him without you, I guess I could get used to you, too.”

* Thank you very much, Iain

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

MAISIE

Maisie couldn’t besure that her cold was just a cold and not in fact a fever, because Iain Howell moved around her flat like a hallucination, wearing bright-pink washing-up gloves and picking up tissues that she hadn’t had the energy to throw out.

He was here and he was … wearing a suit?

It must be a fever dream. Her mountain man didn’t ownsuits. He wore muddy boots and brown jumpers and waxy coats that could out-survive a hailstorm.

Her eyes traced the well-fitted material as he tidied her living room, his jacket and tie folded on the back of her desk chair. The unbuttoned collar of the white dress shirt exposed the thick column of his neck. Maisie was delirious enough in all her states of aches and pains to be mesmerised by the meatiness and the inch-wide tease of dark, shaven hair on his chest.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” she said through a stuffed nose which muddled all of her sounds into the wrong ones. “I haven’t had the energy to tidy anything up.”

“My place is worse.” Iain groaned as he raised himself to his feet, a bin-liner in his hand steadily filling with balls of tissues. By the way he was cleaning up her mess, Maisie didn’t think his house could possibly be worse than hers.

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