to have to leave. I shouldn’t worry, though, because I expect your mother will be only too happy to come and look after you.’
He opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it shut, linked his arm through hers and pulled himself up out of the chair without another word. So he didn’t like being threatened with his mother, she thought with a smile. How useful to know that.
Storing the little snippet for later, Fran set about undressing him, exposing yet more of the colourful bruises as well as the livid lines of his recent surgery. Under other circumstances she’d found the powerful planes and angles of his body fascinating. As it was, she ignored them, more concerned with getting him comfortably settled in bed before he keeled over. It seemed more likely with every passing second.
Josh told her where she could find soft jersey boxer shorts and a T-shirt, and she helped him into them, only too glad when he was finally lying flat on the bed and able to relax.
‘Bliss,’ he said with a low grunt of relief.
She eyed him thoughtfully. It would take more than simply lying down to get him truly comfortable, but how to talk him into it? Easy. Instead of asking him if he wanted a painkiller, she’d tell him it was time. She tucked a pillow in beside his leg and arranged the quilt so it didn’t pull on his foot, then straightened up.
‘Now, where are all the drugs they gave you when you left the hospital?’ she asked him. ‘It must be time for a painkiller by now.’
For a moment he hesitated, and then he surrendered, as she’d hoped he would. ‘In the case,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t know what else there is. Antibiotics, possibly. I haven’t got a damn clue.’
‘That’s why I’m here, so you don’t have to think about it,’ she said calmly. She fetched him a glass of water from the sumptuous kitchen and held it while he took the pills, then he settled back onto the pillows with a sigh.
‘Thank you,’ he said in a low voice.
Thank you? Good heavens. She schooled her face. ‘My pleasure. Right, now I’m going to turn out the fridge so we don’t get food poisoning, and if you’re feeling OK I’ll go to the supermarket. I’ve got a mobile, I’ll give you the number and you can call me if you have a problem.’
She went out, leaving the door ajar, and by the time she’d emptied the fridge and made a shopping list, he was fast asleep. She wrote her mobile number on a piece of paper and tucked it under the edge of the phone on his bedside table then, taking his keys with her, she let herself out and headed back into town.
She didn’t want to do a big shop, just a few basic provisions and something for tonight. After all the jostling about, she didn’t really like leaving him, but all she’d found in the fridge had been a few curls of dried-up smoked salmon and a bit of cheese that had seen better days. The milk was solid in the bottle, and what few vegetables there were were well past their sell-by date. There was precious little in the cupboards either, and the freezer contained nothing more than a few ready meals that left her cold.
He obviously took after his mother on the home-cooking front, she thought dryly. Well, not any more. Fresh vegetables, lean meat, chicken and fish and plenty of fruit.
Her phone rang and she rummaged for it in her bag, halfway between the carrots and the broccoli.
‘Get coffee,’ he said. ‘Not instant—the real stuff.’
‘OK. If they have it, do you want me to get some with a Fairtrade label on it—or bird-friendly or organic or anything?’
The snort nearly split her eardrum. ‘Just coffee, Fran. Nothing clever.’
So her ultra-rich and spoilt client was a coffee addict, was he? She might have guessed. ‘What sort of beans, and what country?’
‘Arabica. Don’t care what country. Medium to rich roast—and don’t be long.’
‘Do you miss me?’ she teased.
Was that a little growl of frustration, or poor reception?
‘Don’t get witty—I just want the damn coffee,’ he grunted, and hung up.
Fran let the smile out, grabbed a head of broccoli and moved on to the fruit, the chiller section and finally the coffee. It was a tiny supermarket with a limited selection, and she couldn’t be bothered to go into town and look in a specialist shop. No Fairtrade, no bird-friendly, not even any organic, although Josh hadn’t wanted it, but they did have Arabica in a medium roast and she decided that would have to do. She’d sacrifice her principles on this one occasion, although she only picked up one packet. The last thing he needed was too much caffeine.
She toyed with the idea of decaff, but thought better of it. He didn’t need a temper tantrum either, and caffeine enhanced the action of some painkillers, so caffeine it was.
She threw it into the trolley with all the healthy goodies she’d bought, added a packet of chocolate biscuits to satisfy his sweet tooth and headed for the checkout. Five minutes later she was on the way back to his house, and as she turned the corner of the track and pulled onto the drive, she saw him standing above her on the balcony, dressed only in his boxer shorts and T-shirt.
She got out of the car and tipped her head back, looking up at him with a mock-stern expression on her face.
‘Why are you out of bed? You’re standing again, and you’ll catch your death. It’s October.’
‘I’m fine. I’m just looking at the view, breathing air that doesn’t taste of disinfectant and being glad to be alive.’
Most particularly the latter, she guessed, after seeing the remains of his car. She brandished the carrier bags. ‘I’ve got coffee,’ she said with a smile, and he gave her a cock-eyed grin in return.
‘Thank heavens for that. I don’t suppose you got any chocolate biscuits?’
‘Just a walking miracle, me,’ she said cheerfully, and headed for the front door, humming softly under her breath. Maybe working for Josh Nicholson might not be so bad after all.
CHAPTER TWO
FRAN hurried up the path, let herself in through the front door and took all the bags through to the kitchen, setting them down on the breakfast bar. By the time she’d done that, Josh was there, hobbling on his damaged leg, putting far too much weight through the external fixator and wincing with every step.
‘For heaven’s sake, sit down, you idiot,’ Fran said crossly. ‘What are you trying to do, put yourself back in hospital?’
She went over to him, taking his arm and helping him down onto the soft, squashy sofa. How she would ever get him out of it she didn’t know, but she’d cross that bridge when she got to it. In the meantime, he was eyeing the shopping bags like an addict waiting for his fix.
‘Coffee?’ he suggested hopefully.
‘Patience is a virtue,’ she said, probably sounding exactly like his mother, but she didn’t care. She pulled all the shopping out onto the worktop, found the coffee and the coffee-maker and put them together. Within moments the kitchen was filled with the wonderful aroma of fresh coffee, and Josh was sighing with relief. While
