Troubled Waters. Rachelle McCalla
worked for. “I should hope we’d have answers soon.”
Tracie let out a snort. “Not soon enough for Tim,” she said, winging a pizza crust through the air and watching Gunnar leap artfully to catch it. Her scowl faded and she grinned at the dog, but when she glanced over at Heath, she immediately blushed. “I probably shouldn’t give him people food, but when he gives me his sad-eyed begging look, I can’t very well turn him away. He’s my very best friend in the world. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” She clamped her mouth shut after that profession, which was the closest thing to personal information he’d learned all evening. She sat silently fiddling with her napkin while Heath finished the last piece of pizza.
When the two-liter was empty, the pizza box contained only crumbs and Tracie had carried their glasses to the sink, Heath realized he was going to have to pull out all the stops in order to keep from being evicted.
“Could you do me a favor?”
“What?” Tracie looked back at him from the sink, her tone unabashedly suspicious, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to invent a reason to make him leave.
Heath looked pointedly at his injured arm. “Could you take a look at my arm? The wound is on the back, on the underside, and I can’t see it very well myself.”
Concern crossed her features, but she chased the look away with one of distrust. “Why?”
“To see if it’s getting infected.”
“Can’t you go to the doctor for that?”
“I could, if I wanted to waste half a day driving to Ashland and sitting in a waiting room.” He approached her slowly until he stood beside her at the sink.
“You’re supposed to be on medical leave anyway.”
Heath could have reminded her that medical leave was voluntary, but instead checked their catty back-and-forth. “Tell you what—you take a look at it for me, and if it’s getting infected, I’ll call the doctor tomorrow.”
“I guess I can’t turn down an offer like that.”
The way she smiled at his suggestion, Heath wondered if she’d stoop to lying to him to get him to call the doctor the next day. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. If his ruse worked, he’d distract her from wanting to get rid of him and convince her to get close to him, instead. Jonas seemed to think it was the only way for him to learn her secrets. And Jonas was the boss.
Heath hurried to peel off the long-sleeved shirt he wore before Tracie could change her mind.
Tracie nearly gasped at the sight of Heath in a snug black T-shirt, but swallowed her exclamation while struggling to keep her expression unaffected. She’d already guessed the man worked out, but his well-developed muscles still took her by surprise, especially at close range. He was a powerfully built, handsome man. She focused her attention on the injury on his arm.
White tape secured a thick gauze bandage to his right triceps muscle on the underside of his arm toward the back, a place where it would have been nearly impossible for him to examine it himself. She tentatively reached for the dressing. “Do you want me to peel this back?”
“Yeah, go ahead and take a peek.”
Stepping closer, she tugged gently on one corner of the tape. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“That tape’s nothing compared to what’s under it.”
“I suppose not,” Tracie peeled back the tape and winced at the sight of the wound underneath. “Oh.” She couldn’t suppress her reaction.
“That bad?”
“It’s like something took a bite out of your arm.”
“It did. Does it look infected?”
“Not really. It looks like it’s healing.” She peered a little closer, close enough to smell the scent of the antibiotic that covered the injury. Another smell teased at her nose—something masculine and slightly spicy. She breathed a little deeper, then realized she was probably sniffing Heath’s aftershave. Self-conscious, she took a half step back.
“I guess you don’t need a doctor after all,” she noted, smoothing her hand over the tape, barely daring to press down lest she hurt him. “There.” She slid one fingertip around the edge of the bandage to be sure it was secure. “You’re all set.”
“Thanks.” He turned slowly to face her. He stood too close, and his expression was intense, his eyes smoldering.
Tracie felt overwhelmed. It had been such a long day. Her nerves had been shot long before he’d shown up on her porch with pizza, and her mind was still muddled from dinner. Talking to him had eased a weight off her shoulders. It had made her feel closer to him, too. Now he stood mere inches from her with a look on his face she’d never seen before, yet somehow she knew exactly what it meant.
She took a deep breath and tried to clear her thoughts, but instead found herself breathing in more of the faded scent he wore. “You smell good.” The words escaped from her mouth before she even realized she’d been consciously thinking them.
“So do you.” His fingers touched her hair where it hung past her chin.
About to deny it, she realized what he was referring to. “Oh, my shampoo.”
“It smells fruity. Strawberries?” He leaned closer to her, his nose nearly brushing her temple as he inhaled her scent.
“No, passion fruit,” she blurted, and immediately blushed. There was no way she could let whatever was happening between them continue. He was getting too close. She took a step back. “Sorry. You just smell so much better than Trevor.”
“How did Trevor smell?” Heath must have sensed her discomfort, because he grabbed his other shirt and pulled it back on.
“Awful,” she said emphatically, hoping to bury whatever had just happened under a mountain of words. “He wore this ridiculous, expensive cologne. I asked him about it once because it was so strong, and he told me how much he paid for it. I don’t remember what he said it cost, but it was a lot, and he always used way too much so that it followed him in a cloud. I’ve never smelled anything like it before or since. Except—” She caught herself a moment too late and stopped.
“Except what?” Heath’s steel-blue eyes watched her as several seconds ticked by. “Don’t tell me it was nothing. You were going to say something. You’ve never smelled anything like Trevor’s cologne except what?”
“It really was nothing,” Tracie sighed.
“Then it shouldn’t be any big deal for you to tell me.”
“It’s not even worth telling.”
“Prove it. Tell me and I’ll tell you if it was worth telling or not.”
Tracie’s tired mind spun as she tried to follow Heath’s logic. She felt completely exhausted: mentally, physically, and especially emotionally. “Fine. I smelled Trevor’s cologne at his house on Saturday, just before we were shot at. But how can that mean anything? It was his house. He wore so much of that stuff it was bound to linger even though he’s been dead for over a month. The smell will probably never come out of his carpets.” She planted her hands on her hips and looked up at him. “So see? It really was nothing.”
“And that’s all?”
Tracie wanted to nod, to claim there had never been anything more to what she was thinking, but she couldn’t lie to him. “And I smelled it at Tim’s house this morning. Very faintly. I was so distracted by everything else I didn’t even think about it until just now, but I guess it makes sense. Tim was Trevor’s brother. Why wouldn’t his place carry a little bit of his smell?”
“Had you smelled it before when you’d gone over there?”
“I’d only been twice before.”