Page 83 of The Rescuer

“Hear that?” Reece barked into the phone.

“Yeah. So it shouldn’t be a problem if I call her,” Shane deadpanned.

“Yes, it is. She doesn’t know what’s good for her.” Reece hung up and slid Neve a side-eye, taking in her knotted eyebrows—which she rubbed smooth with her fingers.

“How’s the chin?” With a flesh-colored bandage covering the wound, it was barely noticeable.

“Hurts like hell. And I have a wicked headache.” She stretched her arms over her head, giving him an excellent view of what the thin fabric couldn’t hide. This time he didn’t look away. She didn’t seem to care, and he needed this … treat. God, did he ever. Which made him a total perv, but somehow he was okay with that. She was his wife after all—not for long, maybe, but didn’t that give himsomeprivileges?

Her frown returned. “What time do we leave for the parade?”

“We’re not going to the parade. You’re in no condition, and I’m your charge nurse, so I’m staying with you to be sure you behave.”

“God, you’re a killjoy.”

He grinned. “Ain’t I, though? Good thing too.”

“Who won the game?”

“No idea. Does it matter?”

“Yes,” she pouted. “I want my foot massage.”

“We’ll work out something.” He covered the distance between them and lifted her eyelids with his thumb pad.

“I want to see the ice sculptures.”

“They’ll be there for a while. If you’re a good girl and do everything I tell you, I’ll take you to see them in a day or two.”

“Everythingyou tell me?”

He didn’t answer because too many dirty ideas bombarded his brain. Just kept looking in her eyes, dragging it out way longer than he reallyneeded to, while the floral scent of her shampoo or her skin or whatever the hell it was floated pleasantly up his nose.

“What do you think,Doc?” she prodded. Her warm breath caressed his cheek; he was that close.

“I’d say you’ve got a grade-three concussion,Doc, and that you need to climb back into bed.”

“It’s a grade-one at the very worst, and not until you and I have a little talk.”

Uh-oh.Stepping back, he wrapped a hand around his nape. “About what?”

“Chelsea Selkirk.” She crossed her arms over her chest. He was both disappointed and grateful at the same time.

With a nod, he motioned for her to sit at the kitchen table. “How about I make us some tea? Are you cold?” Before she could answer, he grabbed a coat from a peg beside the back door and threw it over her shoulders.

She yanked it into place. “I guess I must be. Thanks, Nurse Nightingale.”

“Don’t mention it.” He put the kettle on to boil. “I’ll tell you about Chelsea as long as you tell me what that was all about back at the rink—and why she came to see you.”

“That’s not fair. You want to trade one piece of information for two.”

“Okay. Since we’re keeping score, think of something else you want to ask me.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping Charlie put up lights at the depot?”

“Really? That’s your other ‘thing’? That’s kinda like Aladdin wasting a wish asking what the weather’s like.”

“Haha. That wasn’t the question. I’m still trying to come up with one. Give me time. I’m a little slow right now.”

---