Galahad in Jeans (Louisiana Knights Book 2) by Jennifer Blake Page B

themselves.
    “I’ll make fresh coffee while you shower,” Carla said as they entered the house through the kitchen. “That’s unless you’d rather have something else hot to drink?”
    “You’re wet, too. I can make it.” He had been more than a little aware, all the way home, of the way her damp shirt clung to the curves of her breasts. It wasn’t exactly a wet-T-shirt-contest view, but was hard to ignore.
    “Not as wet as you, or as muddy. I didn’t land flat on my back on the wet ground.”
    She had a point. Besides, his white T-shirt really was nearly transparent, so his bloody scrapes were shining through. With a grudging nod, he headed toward the stairs.
    Beau stood under a hot shower for a good five minutes, trying to thaw out. Dragging on a pair of sweat pants then, he turned this way and that in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to check out the damage. He had a bruise on his ribs, but the main scrape was along his side a few inches above his waist.
    “Here,” Carla said from the open doorway, “I found this in the kitchen.”
    He turned to see her holding Eloise’s first aid kit. He felt the tips of his ears turn hot as he took it from her with a quick word of thanks and set it on the vanity counter. Though he wasn’t particularly bashful, neither was he accustomed to entertaining females in his bathroom.
    “Coffee ready?” It was the first thought to enter his head.
    “Almost. You might want to clean those scratches with peroxide first, and put antibiotic cream on them.”
    A frown drew her brows together as she studied his injuries. Goose bumps rippled over his skin as if her gaze was a physical touch. “I can do it later.”
    “Or I can do it now. I’m not sure you can reach that spot under your arm, anyway.”
    She was so logical. It didn’t help that he was torn between dislike for being treated like an invalid and a heated need to feel her hands upon him. He reached for a touch of mockery to counteract that last impulse.
    “You can do better with one hand in a sling?”
    She chuckled, a rich sound that made him want to laugh with her. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we? But yes. I can try.”
    What could he do except stand still and let her have her way?
    Tearing open a packet of gauze squares, she soaked a couple in hydrogen peroxide and rubbed down the worst of his scrapes. Beau set his teeth and endured the burn, though his eyes watered. At least she was quick, and had the good sense to fan the damaged skin with a washcloth to sooth and dry it before reaching for the antibiotic cream.
    “I didn’t mean to be sarcastic about the rescue,” she said as she handed him the tube so he could squeeze a dollop of cream onto the fingertips of her good hand. “I do understand why you went for a solo attempt.”
    “You don’t have to keep saying you’re sorry. I gave you a scare, that’s all. And that’s okay since I gave myself one, too. Lizzie would never have let me forget it if I’d squashed poor Twitter.”
    “Don’t even think about it,” she said with a shudder.
    “Right.” He shuddered right along with her, though it had more to do with the warm, smooth glide of her fingertips down his side, and the current of need it set off low in his belly, than it did any bird.
    “I think you scared Lizzie’s mother, too. She didn’t even want to look until she was sure that parakeet was safe.”
    “I don’t doubt it. Her husband was a lineman for the power company. He was killed by a live wire while trying to restore power after a storm. She’s a single mom, now, working at the liquor store to make ends meet.”
    She gave him a quick glance in the mirror in front of him. “Do you know everyone in town?”
    “Most of them.”
    “And they know you.”
    “It’s the way it works.” He wasn’t sure what she was getting at. Hadn’t she ever lived in a small town or maybe a neighborhood in a larger one?
    She held her hand out for more cream. “You’re Lizzie’s hero