even plain-old indecision. But she hadn’t been able to work up a credible way to refuse him. Not that he’d really asked for permission. Because the doctor announced she shouldn’t be alone given her concussion, Dash had volunteered himself to babysit. Now that she’d had some time to get her thoughts together, she decided he’d be safer well away from her.
And she’d be safer...without his presence making her feel things she shouldn’t.
Staring him in the eyes, hoping she sounded convincing, she said, “Thank you for the ride.” She lifted her chilled fingers for a handshake—and Dash grinned.
Folding her fingers in his and drawing her hand to his chest, he asked, “Is that your way of trying to get rid of me?”
Yes. “You don’t need to stay.”
He shifted so that his body blocked the wind, stepped close enough that his broad shoulders shielded her from daylight. “Would you rather have Logan or Reese?”
She shuddered at the thought. “No.” If it was truly necessary, she did have family. Albeit, not anyone she’d want around when she wasn’t 100 percent. But she had an alarm she could set, and—
“Are you seeing anyone?”
“No.” What a stupid idea. When did she have time for a committed relationship?
“Then I’m it, right? The doc said you couldn’t be alone, so if you make me leave, I’ll have to call my brother, and he will probably call—”
“All right!” She winced, pain slicing into her brain. Damn him, he knew she didn’t want her detectives seeing her in a debilitated state. “Do not call Logan.”
“I won’t,” Dash soothed. He lifted her purse and spoke in a rough whisper. “Your keys are in here?”
She was too cold, utterly fatigued and achy to debate this on the front porch. And contrary to common sense, she was also a little relieved that she wouldn’t be alone tonight. Eyes squeezed shut, she nodded. “Side zippered pocket.”
“Hang in there, honey. I’ll have you inside in a moment.” He set down the bag of clothes, located the keys and unlocked the door.
Immediately, Oliver stepped out, rubbing his downy white head against her shins.
Dash went still. “You have a cat?”
He could see that she did. “No, he must’ve broken in. Quick, call the cops.”
“Smart-ass.” With a little more incredulity, he said, “You have a really old cat.”
At the sound of Dash’s voice, Oliver halted, then hunched his back and hissed.
“He’s my puppy-cat.” It hurt like hell, but Margo bent down to him. “It’s okay, Ollie.” She stroked his head, tickled under his chin. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go in.”
It wasn’t easy to walk with the cat winding nervously in and out around her ankles. She stumbled her way to the sofa and gingerly sank onto the cushions so that Ollie could join her. He jarred her injured elbow when he leapt up beside her. She gritted her teeth and let him butt his head on her free hand, then rub the length of his body against her uninjured arm.
Dash closed the door and now, with him inside her home, the reality of her situation really hit. She looked at him, saw him watching her curiously, and wanted to curl up and sleep for days.
Instead she said, “Ollie is blind.”
Dash stayed silent, but his expressive eyes gave him away. He thought her softhearted.
Sweet.
He thought she was gentle, like most women.
She should disabuse him of those notions ASAP, but she didn’t have the energy. Not right now.
Almost like a reminder of what they’d just endured and how proficient he’d been under pressure, Dash still wore the shirt with her dried blood all over it. Disheveled brown hair and beard shadow added a rugged edge to his good looks. Even holding a purse didn’t detract from his machismo.
She swallowed. “When I got him, Ollie already had a long list of medical issues, but he was so affectionate, such a big loving mush, that I couldn’t turn him away.” Maybe she was softhearted after all, at least when it came to her cat. “We suit each other.”
“Because you’re a big loving mush, too?”
Yes. “That’s not what I meant.” But what had she meant? She shook her head.
Dash let it go. “He lost an eye?”
“Yes.” Ollie tilted toward her, demanding she pet him harder, wanting her to use both hands. Poor guy. No way for her to explain that he’d only be getting one-handed pets for a few days. “He can’t really see out of the other. He survived a tornado but was so damaged that his original owners couldn’t care for him anymore. They already had to rebuild and...”
“And,” Dash said, his brows pinching down, “he was a member of their family.”
That’s how she’d always looked at it, too, but she didn’t want to harshly judge others who’d been through so much. “He’s mine now.” And she would never abandon him.
Dash came farther into the room. “Will it spook him if I get too close?”
“Yes, but don’t take it personally. He still has nightmares from the horrors he went through.” Ollie pawed her thigh in time to his loud rumbling purr.
“Nightmares?”
“He’ll start crying at night like something is wrong. But the vet says he’s fine. Usually he just needs to wake up enough to realize he’s safe.” With me. Her arm throbbed more insistently. She needed to bathe, change her clothes and get some rest.
But what to do with Dash?
Her modestly-sized home shrank with him in it. Where would she put him? He would overflow the couch, and she didn’t have a guest bedroom...
“How do you get him to settle down again?”
She wanted to sleep, not talk, but complaints had never been accepted in her family, so she sucked it up and put on a good front. “During the bad nights, I’ll hold him a while and finally he’ll go back to his bed.”
“He doesn’t sleep with you?”
She drew her hand along Ollie’s back all the way to the end of his tail—just the way he liked it. “His choice. I’ve never forbidden it.”
By small degrees Dash seated himself on the sofa. The cushions dipped with his weight. Denim stretched over his strong thighs. He brought with him the scent of man and the brisk outdoors. How could she possibly be aroused right now?
“You called him your puppy-cat?”
At the moment, even his deep voice seemed a turn-on. What the hell was wrong with her?
Ollie turned his
