Page 24 of Unpacking Secrets

There was something soft in the green and gold depths of his eyes, though I couldn’t quite define it. Compassion? Pity? Forgiveness? Even when he snorted at my statement, that softness remained.

“That was very diplomatically worded, but I realize I haven’t given you much reason to like me just yet, so don’t worry about it.”

Henry pulled out his phone and slid his thumbs quickly across the screen before pocketing it again.

I’d have to find out what cell service he used.

His hands were large and capable, his strong forearms dusted with dark hair. There was nothing about him to indicate a life spent crunching numbers behind a desk—the woods seemed more like his natural environment.

It was strange I'd noticed so little about him before now, but aside from my initial impression of his romance novel attractiveness that first morning in his office, my focus had quickly shifted to his attitude.

“What brought you out to Cooper’s Point?” he asked.

The question dragged my attention back to his face, which was drawn in concentration as he wiped a spot of blood from my jaw. His touch was gentle, almost tender. The man was a study in contrasts. Whether it was the artist in me or just my semi-dormant libido, the stirrings of interest grew into a distant rumble.

“I went up there to draw. I’ve been planning to get sketches of all the locations Nan used for the paintings at the inn.” I frowned, the movement sending a streak of pain across my eyebrow. “My sketchbook is still up there, and my backpack. I have to go back to get them.”

Henry gave a startled laugh. “Not right now, you don’t. I’ll take care of it, after we get you sorted out. Did you lose consciousness at all after the fall? Any nausea?” he asked, studying me closely as he covered each of my eyes with his hand to check my pupils.

“No, I was just dizzy from rolling when I got to the bottom.” I looked at him quizzically. “Were you a Boy Scout or something?”

He grinned, that same devastating expression he’d flashed all too briefly at the inn. I wanted to blame my tumble down the hill for how my belly dipped, but I knew the fall wasn’t responsible.

It was all Henry.

“Or something,” he replied. “I was a bit of a daredevil as a kid, so I’ve had my share of concussion checks.”

An image of him as a child, climbing trees and swinging from monkey bars, popped unbidden into my head and I realized I wanted to learn more about him. When I opened my mouth to ask him to tell me, though, the words caught in my throat. I didn’t know what made me feel so awkward around him—if I had to guess, at that precise moment, it was probably his proximity.

I wondered idly what kind of cologne he wore that smelled so damn good, like salty sea air and ocean waves, but asking him now was definitely not going to reduce the tension between us.

Ultimately, I decided to keep my mouth shut.

Henry rummaged through his pouch for another gauze pad and squeezed some ointment onto it, then smeared it across my temple.

“There,” he said, finally satisfied. “That should hold you until we get into town. Where else are you hurt?”

He set his palms lightly on my shoulders and began squeezing in gentle pulses down my arms. I blinked at him, trying to ignore the shiver his hands activated along my spine.

“Um,” I said, then silently cursed myself for sounding like a moron. “My left wrist hurts but I don’t think it’s broken, and I banged my knee pretty hard on the way down. Everything else is just scratches and bruises, I think.”

If he noticed the tremor, he graciously pretended not to. After gently checking my injured wrist, one of his hands moved to my knee and the other to my ankle, bending and straightening the leg like I was a doll. The heat of his palm against my bare skin drew a gasp from my lips, which he must have mistaken for pain.

“Sorry, sorry. That’s one hell of a bruise, but I don’t think anything’s busted,” he said, flashing a quick, encouraging smile. “Do you think you can keep walking? We’re about a mile from my truck.”

“A mile? I’ve been walking forever. I thought the trail to the Point was only a mile, start to finish.”

“Oh, it is.” He leaned back on his heels as he studied me, then offered another disarming grin. “However, you followed the creek—which was smart, by the way, or you could’ve ended up anywhere in these woods—and the water meanders back and forth. You veered a good distance away from the trail. Fortunately for you, I know a shortcut.”

Thank god.I puffed out my cheeks on a long exhalation.

“Fantastic,” I muttered, attempting to rise gracefully to my feet as he did the same. My maneuver was a failure, though, so I had to catch my balance by grabbing his biceps even as I squeaked out, “Sorry.”

Was it possible to humiliate myself any more today than I already had?

His response was another slow curve of his lips, and when I snatched my hand back, he slid his arm around my waist to support the weight off of my injured knee.

From town jerk to knight in shining armor. The shift gave me whiplash.

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