or something while you and I use the showers in the pool house.”
There was a pool house. With showers. Definitely not Kansas anymore.
“You remember the way in?” he asked Cara.
She nodded.
“Tell Regina we’re back, everything’s going to be okay with the guy and that your mom and I will be in after we get cleaned up.”
“Sure. Okay. Come on, Ruby.”
Ruby towed her Gruffalo along. She clung to the threadbare plush toy in times of stress.
Faith grabbed a bag with a clean dress in it.
Mason briefly checked out the van. “This a paratransit vehicle?”
She nodded. “It’s pretty old, but the lift still works.” Noting his inquisitive expression, she said, “It hasn’t been used for paratransport in quite a while.”
“Is it for clients?” he asked.
“My late husband was in a wheelchair.”
“Oh. I’m... I see.”
She could sense him processing the information. People didn’t expect a woman in her midthirties to be a widow, so that always came as a surprise.
“He passed away six years ago,” she said.
“I’m sorry.” Awkward silence. No one ever knew what to say to that.
Faith gave a brisk nod. “Let’s get cleaned up.”
The pool house had separate showers, the space divided by weathered cedar boards in a louver pattern.
Faith scrubbed her hands and arms with a cake of soap that smelled of lemon and herbs.
“I have to admit, that’s a first for me,” Mason called from the adjacent shower stall.
Even though they couldn’t see each other, Faith felt awkward and exposed while she showered within earshot of a man she’d just met. “I wish I could say the same.” She watched a thin stream of watered-down blood drain into the river-stone bed of the shower. “In my line of work, things sometimes get messy.”
“How long have you been a nurse?”
“All my life, pretty much. I was raised by a single mom. She was sick—congestive heart failure—and I was her caregiver until she passed away when I was about Cara’s age.”
“Damn. That’s rough. I’m sorry to hear it, Faith.”
“I went to school but couldn’t afford to get my RN degree. I trained in a work-study program and I’ve worked in the field ever since.”
She dried off with a big bath towel, which was as thick and luxurious as a robe at a Turkish spa—not that she’d ever been to a Turkish spa. But she’d imagined one, many times.
Then she put on a clean dress, hoping it wasn’t too wrinkled from packing. It was a blue cotton wrap dress, not her first choice for meeting a potential client, but it would do in a pinch.
“All set,” she said, finger combing her wet hair as she stepped out of the cabana. “I just need to— Oh.”
Words failed her as Mason Bellamy came out of the shower stall wearing nothing but a towel and a smile. Time seemed to stop as she had a swift, heated reaction to the sight of his body, a reminder of just how much time had passed since she’d had a boyfriend—or even a date. He was built like a men’s underwear model, perfectly proportioned, with sculpted arms and legs, shoulders and abs not found in nature. His towel-dried hair lay in damp waves, framing his face. His lips curved upward at the corners even when he wasn’t smiling, and she detected both kindness and wariness in his eyes. A small, upside-down crescent scar at the top of his cheekbone kept him from being too handsome. She gave herself a stern, silent reminder that a guy who looked like this undoubtedly spent too much time at the gym. He was probably obsessed with himself.
Or maybe he might just be the kind of guy who took care of himself, said another little voice in her head. In her profession, she saw too little of that. Might as well enjoy a little eye candy.
“Guess I need to find some clean clothes, too,” he said. “Getting drenched in a stranger’s blood wasn’t on the agenda today.”
“I need to check you out.”
He raised one eyebrow, looking intrigued. “Yeah?”
She flushed, wondering if he’d read her mind. “What I mean is, I should check your hands, see if you have any open wounds. When we follow up at the hospital, they’ll need to check again.”
Mason blanched and stuck out both hands toward her. Immediately, the towel hit the ground. “Whoops,” he said, bending to pick it up. He tucked the towel in more securely around his waist. “Didn’t mean to flash you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She felt a bit light-headed, because of course she’d peeked. His body was amazing.
“I’m not worried. Just don’t want to seem rude.” He held out his hands again. “So you mentioned blood-borne pathogens. Like HIV?”
“It’s extremely rare, but yes. Also, HBV, hepatitis, malaria—all very unlikely, though it’s best to rule them out.”
“How will we find out if the guy is okay? Will the hospital tell us?”
“There are privacy issues. The victim doesn’t have to share the results of his panel if he doesn’t want to. Most people are pretty reasonable about it.” She bit her lip, deciding not to postulate what might happen if the guy never regained consciousness, or died. “The hospital will help us figure out if there’s a serious risk. You can also be tested every few months just to make sure you’re in the clear.”
“Lovely.”
“Hazard of the trade.”
“Not my trade,” he murmured.
She took hold of one hand at a time, inspecting every detail—nail beds, cuticles, palms, wrists. She could tell a lot about a person just by checking out his hands. Thick calluses meant manual labor, or hours at the gym, handling body-sculpting equipment. He didn’t have any calluses to speak of.
Ill-kept nails meant poor grooming. Bitten nails were a sign of issues.
His hands were well-shaped and well-groomed, no surprise. His skin was warm and damp, and he smelled heavenly. She turned his hands over in hers again. As a nurse, she did a lot of touching, but usually with more clinical detachment than she currently felt. Maybe it would seem more professional if he didn’t happen to be standing there in a towel. Smelling heavenly.
He wore no wedding ring, but there wasn’t a chance in hell that he wasn’t taken. She ran her fingers over a recently healed cut at the base of his thumb.
“Cut it on a beer stein,” he said.
Was he a wild party animal, smashing beer steins while drinking
