Page 18 of The Fine Art of Faking It
“They sure did.” There was a high-pitched whinny on Sammy’s end. “Shit. I gotta go vaccinate this Adonis of horseflesh before he kicks me in the chest. I’ll call you later okay?”
“Yeah, later,” Eden said flatly. She disconnected the call and studied Davis. She had to keep him awake for two more hours. And hopefully by then another Blue Moon Samaritan would open up their home to the guy who’d broken her heart and turned her into a small time criminal.
* * *
It tookevery trick in the book, but Eden got Davis back onto his feet and into her office. It was the promise of a sticky bun that did it. When he winced at the sunlight streaming through from the window overlooking the front porch, Eden adjusted the blinds. He sat in the upholstered chair in front of her desk with his long legs stretched out, his socked feet touching her desk. The sticky bun disappeared in slow, measured bites.
“Why can’t I sleep?” he asked again mournfully.
“Because you might die, and then no one will ever want to stay here again with you haunting them,” Eden said, scanning the search results for concussion symptoms and treatments. “Does your head hurt?”
“Do goats hate Jax Pierce?” Davis grumbled.
At least he was stringing more words together and no longer booping her.
“This says you can have acetaminophen for the pain,” Eden said, skimming the article. She pushed her intercom button. “Hey, Sunny, can you grab some Tylenol and water from the kitchen and bring it to my office?”
“Totally,” Sunny answered from the front desk.
“Totally,” Davis parroted.
“She’s a third-generation hippie, Gates. What do you expect?” Eden snapped.
“Don’t yell at me, please,” he begged, rubbing his hand over his temples. The gauze she’d hastily slapped on his forehead was soggy and drooping over his eyebrow.
Why was she suddenly charged with supervising Davis Gates? Why was the universe torturing her? She was a good person, damn it. She donated to charity. She never was anything but kind and helpful to the very few rude visitors to her B&B. She rescued dogs. She supported her community in weird and wonderful ways. She tried her hardest to make sure that every guest left feeling like they had a magical experience in Blue Moon. So, why was she stuck with the one man on the entire planet that she despised with the fire of a thousand pottery kilns?
Eden dug through her desk drawer for her emergency back-up first aid kit, used primarily to treat paper cuts. She yanked out a bandage and shoved the kit back in the desk drawer with a slam.
She came around the desk tearing the wrapper open. “Hold still,” she commanded, ripping the soggy gauze from his forehead.
“Ow! Why are you so mean?” Davis hissed.
“Stop being a baby,” Eden said, though she gentled her touch. She pressed the fresh bandage to his cut.
“Hey, boss,” Sunny sang out her greeting as she swept through the door smelling like a scented candle store.
Eden coughed. “Jeez, Sun. Go a little heavy on the perfume today?”
“Have you smelled it outside?” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “It’s like an outhouse convention exploded. It reeks. Hey, Davis.” The lanky blonde turned her attention to Eden’s unwanted guest.
“Hey, Sunny. How’s your day so far?” Davis asked weakly.
At least he recognized her part-time help, Eden thought. Cross that symptom off the list.
“Better than yours. Heard about the fire. Rumor has it, it was either a gas leak or your septic tank spontaneously imploded,” Sunny said, cheerfully sliding onto the corner of Eden’s desk and swinging her feet back and forth.
Eden’s office was getting crowded.
A movement on the small security monitor caught Eden’s eye. “Fire chief,” Sunny said.
“Keep an eye on him and don’t let him fall asleep or throw up on anything,” Eden ordered.
She found Fire Chief Eloisa MacDougal sniffing the collar of her jacket and wincing at the front desk.
“Hi, chief,” Eden greeted her.
“Sorry for the smell, Eden. I won’t stay long. How’s Davis?”
