Page 4 of The Reward of You

She nods, the grin finally breaking through. “He’s outside a lot when you get home from work and he always looks.”

My heart sinks. “Some people are just motion sensitive, sweetie. He was in the military, so he’s probably used to checking whenever there’s movement.”

“At your ass?” Miranda retorts while dropping the clothing on the corner of the bed.

I sink back against the pillows in shock to mull that over.

3

I decide that Miranda must be seeing things through dramatic teenager eyes when Sam returns. Dragging one of the sturdy kitchen chairs into the bathroom, he’s all business as he swaddles me in the old bathrobe. He leaves my injured arm free, which means I’m one deep breath away from a wardrobe disaster. But maybe that doesn’t matter because he’s not even looking at anything but the injury on my lower arm. He lets me walk to the bathroom under my own steam and simply points to the chair angled so that the counter can serve as a surgery table. I watch in fascination as he threads a needle with thick, wiry thread.

“I strongly suggest you not watch this part, Noelle,” he mutters with an apologetic grimace.

I think I agree. I turn my head away, but that means I’m staring right at that damn calendar. I wince in embarrassment.

“I haven’t started yet,” Sam comments dryly.

“Can you maybe put that thing away?” I point at the wall with my free hand. “I’m already embarrassed beyond belief.”

Sam glances over his shoulder and chuckles. “Nope. He likes looking at you, too.”

I close my eyes in silent mortification. But Sam works fast, I’ll give him that. I hold myself still while he stitches the wound closed, but I truly want to moan and whine and complain like I’m Bea’s age. Instead, I heave a shuddery breath when he announces, “All done. Sit here for a moment while I get your bed ready.”

I blink, confused by his words. He returns to the bathroom with my summer pajamas. The ones with the butterfly sleeves that I never wear because I’m always cold, even in August. He slips the top over my head before loosening the bathrobe and then helps me step into the pants. Modest as could be — he’s absolutely not milking any opportunity to see any part of me naked. He must have simply been teasing me earlier, probably to get me to relax from the shock.

He walks behind me as I pad out of the bathroom. Then he tucks me into the freshly made bed, placing a thick pillow under my arm to keep it elevated. I close my eyes in relief at the day being done. I can hear Sam cleaning up in the bathroom, carrying the chair back downstairs. When the bed sinks down on the other side, I sit up in surprise.

“What are you doing?”

Sam sighs heavily. He’s turned off the light already, so there’s only the reflection of streetlights giving him a shadowy outline next to me.

“Noelle, remember I said the condition of me patching you up was staying here?”

“Yes, but…”

“I need to know if you start a fever. Waiting for you to realize it and call me in from another room is not a good idea.”

I frown into the darkness and then blush when his arm wraps around my waist. “Relax, baby. We’ll air all the confusion and untangle the crossed wires after you see the doctor in the morning. The girls have school tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yes, but…”

“If you keep thinking so loud, I’m going to have to kiss you,” he warns.

I flush. “Why would that make you?—?”

He nuzzles against my neck, then drops a small kiss at the corner of my mouth. I turn my head instinctively for closer contact, but he’s already pulled back. “Nothing quite as sexy as a woman’s brain working, Noelle. Now go to sleep.”

I don’t want to. I have so many questions. But when he carefully pulls me tight against his chest, sadly now clad in a soft t-shirt, my exhaustion wins over everything else and I’m out.

When I hear the first signs of the girls stirring, I get up slowly. Pulling myself away from a warm, sleepy Noelle is nearly impossible. She’s the very embodiment of my dreams, and I’m hesitant to do anything to pop that bubble. Only the knowledge that one of the girls is likely to stick her head in the open doorway of the bedroom gets me to move my butt. Me in bed with their mom is a conversation for another day.

In the adjacent bath, the scene of all of last night’s drama, I brush my teeth quickly with my finger and then head downstairs. Noelle hasn’t developed a fever at this point and is sleeping soundly, so I let her be.

Bea frowns at me from her perch at the kitchen counter. “Where’s Mom?”

“Sleeping. She’s fine, kid. You can stop worrying. What do you guys normally do for breakfast?”

Bea’s eyes narrow. “Pancakes and bacon with extra syrup and whipped cream.”

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