His fingers were rough on her skin as he pressed his hand against her skull. She knew he was looking for a bump, that this was a clinical exam, but she couldn’t suppress the thrill at his fingers running through her hair. “No bumps.” His tone was a little different now. No longer as cranky.
“I mostly had the breath knocked out of me.”
“Hmm. Look at me.” He produced his phone out of another plastic bag and turned the flashlight on, peering into her eyes.
“Do you know what you’re looking for?” she asked, curious.
“I played football in high school and college. You learn about concussions real fast.” He let her go. “Your pupils look okay, but we’ll keep an eye on you. Sometimes it creeps up on you later.”
She licked her lips. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
Ah, that frost was back in his tone. It made her want to curl into a ball.Go to bed, Eve.
Gabe placed the radio on the couch and pulled his wet outerwear off. “Let’s get a fire started.”
Wait. Something she could contribute. “I can do that.”
“You know how to start a fire?”
“I did. I was a Girl Scout.” Her father hadn’t wanted her to join the organization, but her mother had insisted, wanting her daughter to have a normal life. As normal of a life as she could when her last name was Chandler.
As an adult, she now wondered what negotiation her mother had had to do in order to get her way. What had Maria given up so Brendan would budge on his daughter mingling with the masses?
“I wasn’t a Boy Scout.”
Well, clearly.
He gave her a quick once-over, like he was trying to figure out whether her hands could ever strike a match. “I can do it.”
“Um, it’s not like rubbing two sticks together.” She pointed at the box next to the fireplace. “They have matches.”
The Gabe she’d known would have smiled and cracked a joke, but this grim-faced Gabe only nodded.
With every step away from him, her unease grew. He seemed mad, and she knew how angry men could react. She crouched in front of the fireplace. Her fingers were frozen and she was dripping water everywhere, but she could manage piling the logs and opening the box of matches. “Sorry to put you in this position. I know this is your vacation.”
“That’s fine.”
“You’re all wet now.”
He grunted. “Haven’t had a chance to ride an ATV for a while. A dirt bike is best when things are dirty.”
Her fingers fumbled open the box of matches. “You could have been hurt.”
“Unlikely.”
After months of driving him around and talking to him, speaking to him like this, without looking at him, felt so normal, she almost deepened her voice to hide her identity. She caught herself and struck a match. It didn’t light. “You could be in a luxurious house right now in front of a fire instead of this ratty place.”
“I’ve stayed in worse places.”
His tone was short, but his words didn’t sound like the words of an angry man. The disconnect only made her more anxious. She struck the match again, but it still didn’t light.
She couldn’t concentrate on this, not when she was waiting for him to fly into a rage. Why wasn’t he yelling at her? Why wasn’t he telling her she was dumb and foolish?
Her lips tightened, her temper oddly cranking high. She should be trying to make herself into a ball and disappear. She didn’t know why she wasn’t, but this anger felt good.
She tossed the matches to the ground, stood, and whirled to face him. “If you’re going to get mad at me, can you do it now?” Her words were almost a shout, shocking her. The rain and the bumps and bruises had eroded her self-possession.
