Page 24 of The Formation of Us
He yielded to her touch and lay on his back, wanting to see how far she would take this “massage.” The table was several inches wider than his shoulders, but his heels hung off the end.
She clasped his wrist, but her fingers didn’t come close to encircling it. “Your muscles are so tight they’re restricting your movement.” She cupped her other hand beneath his elbow. “I’m going to lift your arm above your head and exert pressure. Tell me when you can’t bear it.”
She was going to kill him. He braced for the pain, knowing it was going to hurt like hell, but when she raised his arm, his breath exploded outward through his clenched teeth. “Sweet Jesus!” he hissed. It felt as if she’d driven a spike into his shoulder socket.
She lowered his arm an inch, which blessedly allowed the pain to ebb. “Your shoulder will get worse if you don’t move it,” she said. “You need to stretch your muscles or they’ll weaken and shrink around the joint. It’s already happening.”
That flew in the face of his doctor’s orders. “Doc Milton said to rest it.”
“With all due respect, I disagree with his advice.” She lowered his arm to the table. “If you won’t allow me to stretch the muscles, I can’t fix your shoulder. That means our agreement is off.”
“How will wrenching on my already sore shoulder help it improve?” After hearing Dahlia’s outlandish tale, and feeling the blinding pain Faith had caused him by raising his arm, he was more than suspect of her healing skills.
“I had a . . . friend who injured his shoulder and it ended up frozen like yours is getting. His doctor said the only fix was to stretch or tear the muscles to free up the arm, then keep the muscles stretched until they healed, otherwise the arm would remain useless. Your doctor should know that.”
Well, he obviously didn’t or he wouldn’t have told Duke to rest his shoulder. Doc Milton had doctored his family for as long as Duke could remember. Duke should listen to him, especially since he didn’t want his sore muscles stretched or torn. But he couldn’t. He had to yield to his gut, which insisted he needed to keep an eye on Faith and her aunts. He needed to be here, inside the greenhouse, participating in these massages they were offering. In all fairness, Faith did seem confident in her knowledge, and hardly the type of woman to swindle anyone, but her aunts with their bent for telling tales were another story. And his shoulder wasn’t improving on its own.
So he would stay, for whatever good it might do him. Without a doubt, Faith and her aunts would behave in his presence, but he would ask one of his friends, someone like Anna Levens who could be trusted to partake of Faith’s services and keep him informed. One negative word from Anna, and he would shut them down at the first sign of wrongdoing.
He lifted his wrist to Faith’s waiting hand. “All right, Mrs. Wilkins, work your magic.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “My friend said the doctor’s treatment was excruciatingly painful.”
“But it worked?”
She nodded. “It can take months, though.”
“Then we’d better get started.”
Faith had half-hoped the sheriff would take his questions and suspicions and his too-male body and leave her greenhouse. He’d been imposing with his shirt on, but when he’d exposed his broad, muscled torso, her stomach had done a crazy dip that left her breathless.
Her breathing was still so shallow she felt lightheaded. But now that she had an opportunity to win the sheriff’s support, she couldn’t back down. She had to show some of the same starch and wit her aunts displayed. Dahlia had been brilliant to say they were here to serve the ladies in town. That was a perfectly reputable way to earn an income. The ladies would receive great pleasure from spending their husbands’ money, and as long as Faith could bear touching the sheriff’s bare body, she would eventually get his muscles stretched and his shoulder healed. Then he would have to give them his public approval.
“Have you changed your mind about treating me?” he asked.
“I was giving you a chance to run.”
“And miss out on such excruciating . . . pleasure?”
Her puff of laughter surprised her as much as his humor had. “I’m amazed, Sheriff. You’re capable of making a joke.”
“And you’re capable of laughing.” His lips lifted in a half-smile. “You have a nice laugh, Mrs. Wilkins.”
“And you have a pleasing sense of humor,” she replied, but her bravado failed her and she lowered her lashes. Her aunts would have made the statement while looking him in the eye, but he was too handsome, and too overwhelming up close, and she was unskilled at flirting.
She slipped her fingers around his manly wrist and felt his hard pulse and warm skin beneath her fingertips. When he turned his palm up and clasped her hand, she flinched, then flushed because she was acting like a skittish, naive girl.
“We’ve started off on the wrong foot, Mrs. Wilkins. Maybe we can start over?”
“I don’t intend to make this more painful just because you judged me unfairly”
His laugh echoed in the stone room. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said, his eyes filled with warmth. “Just don’t forget I’m the one with the badge and the gun.”
Lo! The man had been handsome when scowling, but when he laughed, he was spectacular. Full, smiling lips set perfectly in his strong, sturdy face, and his warm, sparkling eyes looked at her in a way that made her stomach go light and fluttery
“I was joking.” He winked, and her heart kicked so hard she feared he could hear it thump against her chest. “How about starting over. Can we do that?”
She’d rather run for the hills before he broke her heart. No woman could look in this man’s eyes and not fall in love. To save herself, she swung her attention to his shoulder. “If you’ll put aside your suspicions and judge me by my actions.”
