Ethan's Daughter. Rachel Brimble
his wrapped hand. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”
Blowing out a breath, he reluctantly held it out.
With a gentle care he hadn’t expected, she unwrapped his hand, flinching slightly as she looked at his slashed palm. Ethan stared at her bowed head. Her hair was blond, but had every shade from almost cream to shots of shimmering gold. It looked silky soft, falling forward as she gently probed around his wound, her glasses edging down her perfect nose.
She abruptly looked up and he snapped his gaze to hers. “What’s the verdict?”
“The verdict...” She glanced at Daisy before facing him. “...is that this is far too deep to have been done by the accidental slip of a kitchen knife.”
Ethan scrambled for a response. Her intelligent, knowing gaze held his as seconds passed. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but she got there first.
“So, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to bandage this up the best I can and then we’re going to the hospital. I don’t have my car and you can’t drive, but we should be able to get there by cab easily enough.” She looked to Daisy. “Why don’t you go get some warm clothes and shoes on, honeybunch?”
Panic pushed Ethan’s pulse into overdrive. “We can’t do that.”
Leah faced him, suspicion and maybe even a hint of triumph darkening her gaze. “Why not?”
“Because...” He clenched his jaw. Shit, shit, shit. “Because it’s late. Daisy should be in bed.”
“I don’t mind, Daddy.” Daisy clambered down from her seat and walked to the door. “I’ll be really fast.”
Irritation replaced his anxiety as Daisy sped from the room, her feet stomping quickly up the stairs. He faced Leah as she wrapped the dishcloth expertly—and tightly—around his wound. He lowered his voice. “We can’t go to the hospital.”
Slowly, she raised her head. “Why not? Keep that hand up in the air. Put your elbow on the table.”
He glared. “You know why.”
“Tell me.”
Goddamn it. “Because there was no kitchen knife. There was a knife, but it didn’t come from my kitchen.”
“I know, because this is a defensive wound. This is the wound of someone who has wrapped their hand around a blade to stop someone from attacking them with it.” She glanced toward the open kitchen door before looking into his eyes with such concern that he was in danger of weakening, of telling her just what had been going on in his kitchen minutes before she’d appeared at his door holding Daisy.
She sighed and tied the bandage, cupping his hand gently in both of hers. “I’m a nurse, Mr. James. I can help you, but you need to tell me what happened here.”
He shook his head and stood, fighting every instinct in his body that this woman, this stranger, could be trusted. “Look, I can’t thank you enough for bringing Daisy home, but you need to leave and pretend you didn’t see me this way. Can you do that?”
“Yes, I can do that. I shouldn’t, but I can.”
“That’s all I ask.”
Her gaze lingered on his before she gave a curt shake of her head. “Sorry, no can do.”
Her defiance lost its previous sexiness and all he felt now was annoyance. “Look—”
“That cut needs stitches. I can’t leave you this way. Clearly, neither you nor I are happy about the situation, but there it is. Now...” She stood. “Where’s your first aid supplies and sewing kit?”
He stilled. “Sewing kit? Do you mean you’re going to—”
“Yes, Mr. Hotshot Novelist, I’m going to fix you up myself.”
“You know who I am?”
A faint blush stained her cheeks and she cleared her throat. “Of course. I might have even read some of your books.”
He smiled in shameful satisfaction. “Is that so?”
She glared. “Anyway... I’m going to get your darling daughter sitting in front of the TV with some milk and cookies. Then I’m going to come back in here and stitch your hand the best I can. After that, you’re going to put Daisy to bed and then tell me what happened. Agreed?”
He cursed and squeezed his eyes shut, wishing her out of his kitchen, out of his home. Slowly, he opened his eyes and dropped his shoulders in defeat. “The first aid kit’s over there, second cupboard on the right. As for the sewing kit, that will be still in its cellophane in the cupboard to the left of the couch in the living room.”
Her lips twitched as though she fought a smile. “Great. I’ll be right back. Keep that hand elevated.”
Once again, his focus slid straight to her butt as she headed out the door. Holy Mother of God, his messed-up life had just gotten ten times worse.
LEAH TOOK A deep breath as she smoothed her hand over Daisy’s curls, before leaving her in front of the TV looking as cute as heaven in her panda pajamas and bunny slippers. As she left the living room, Ethan James’s sewing kit in her hand, Leah hesitated. How had she managed to walk into a circumstance so incomprehensible she would undoubtedly read it in one of his novels next year?
It didn’t matter how much her logic told her to sprint for the front door. No part of her could leave the man hurt and bleeding.
She might want to right the wrongs of the world, be the best possible nurse she could, but considering the amount of violence and abuse she’d seen in her job, trusting a situation—a human being—at face value was a huge boulder she wasn’t likely to overcome anytime soon.
Handsome novelist or no handsome novelist.
For better or worse, she was knee-deep in a situation that her stubborn ass would see through to the end. Her work would always come first, and sooner rather than later, Ethan James would realize she owed him no favors, only her duty.
If he didn’t like that? Too bad.
He wouldn’t be the first man she’d annoyed through her commitment to the job. It was all that mattered to her. She strode purposefully into the kitchen. “Okay, then. Let’s get started.”
The weight of his gaze rested on her back as she walked to the kettle on the counter. Running water broke the silence as she filled the kettle before setting it to boil. Her mind raced. What would she say to him once he was stitched up and physically comfortable? She needed to know what had happened. She refused to leave Daisy in a potentially dangerous situation. He seemed far too calm to have disturbed an attempted burglary, far too calm to have undergone an assault by a complete stranger. Which meant he must have known his attacker.
There could be no other explanation. He didn’t want to go to the hospital. Either because his presence there would cause police attention to be directed on him or the person he could be protecting. Then again, he was a recluse. A famous novelist. Maybe he didn’t welcome unwanted attention of any sort...including Leah’s.
She turned and approached him. His gaze didn’t leave hers even as she sat beside him and pulled the chair close. Leah quickly pulled the first aid box and sewing kit toward her. He was a truly handsome man, but how could she trust he was an innocent party in whatever had caused the cut to his hand? She wouldn’t. At least, not yet.
“Okay.” She opened the boxes and scanned their contents. “There’s enough here for me to be able to stitch and bandage the wound. Before I do that, though, I’ll clean it and then numb the area. I’m going to need to wrap some ice in a cloth.”
He stood. “I’ll get it.”
She