She hesitated.
“We’ve got to take care of this, or it could get worse.”
“I’ve never done this before.”
“Done what?”
“Been…” She gave her head a quick shake, sucked in a shaky breath.
“Here.” He set her down on the edge of the bathtub and lifted her foot into his lap, slowly, gingerly. Even after her bath, traces of mud and dried blood coated her sole. Leaning back, he grabbed a washcloth and busied himself with soaking it at the sink. He did it all without rising from the toilet seat—the advantage of a small bathroom.
Sparing a glance at Abby’s face, he said, “Tell me if this hurts too much.” At her stoic nod, he set to work, gently rubbing at the layers of grime. “Let’s see the other one.” Carefully, he cleaned that foot, too, revealing cuts and areas that looked rubbed raw. Such a tiny foot, naked-looking without the toenail polish that so many women wore like armor.
“Let’s bandage those,” he said, not wanting to set her feet down, to let her go.
“I’ll do it,” she said, trying to pull away. “I’m fine.”
He doubted that. “You need medical care.”
“I need privacy.” Her voice came out stronger, her gaze boring into his.
“You practically fainted in the tub.”
“The water was scalding. I didn’t realize.” A pause. “Please, Luc. I can do the rest myself.”
He eyed her doubtfully.
“I can do it.” This time, her voice was firm, certain, and Luc chose to believe her.
“You can stay sitting up on your own?” he asked, getting a bleary nod in response. For such a small person, she was made of tough stuff, this one. “I’ll be back.” He headed to his kitchen, where he kept his first aid kit—the one he’d bought when he’d hired help at last year’s harvest. He grabbed the big bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a pair of scissors and returned to where she sat, barely propped up on the side of the tub.
“Do you know how to use this? It’s—”
“We may not practice medicine, Luc, but we’re well versed in the art of hygiene.” The look she gave him, full of humor, softened her words. “And cotton,” she said with a half smile. “We know our cotton.”
He smiled in return, because even torn apart and bleeding, this woman had liquid steel running through her veins. He’d seen it outside, in the way she worked, uncomplaining in the cold. He’d seen it in her ability to adapt, learning new things with openness and curiosity. And he saw it in her humor. In the way she smiled and never appeared to feel sorry for herself. He’d never known another woman with such fortitude. Or man, for that matter. How could he not admire that?
The humor meant she’d be okay. Didn’t it? You didn’t laugh at death’s door, right? “What about the bandages on your back?”
“Please, Luc. Please let me do this on my own.”
“Okay,” he answered, breathy with irritation, relief, and some admiration as well. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
“Luc.”
Her voice stopped him at the door, and he turned back. She was beautiful, even wounded and hunched in on herself in his bathroom. Maybe even lovelier, with the bright-pink patches on her cheekbones and the damp curls sticking to the skin along her hairline. Her eyes on his were a fathomless, liquid gold, and all of it, every little thing that should have made her into a victim translated instead to strength.Mistress of her destiny.
“Thank you.”
He left with a muttered, “It’s nothing.”
In the living room, he wandered. The fire, just low-burning embers, needed to be fed. After that…after that, he’d clean up this mess. Only he wasn’t sure which mess he meant—the wad of blankets on the sofa, the bathroom…or Abby’s situation. His situation.
And whatever the hell this night would bring next.
16
Wrapped in mortification, Abby let her shoulders curve and her breath come. She’d been unclothed in front of him—again—and still not on her terms.
