His brow furrowed as he looked her over. “Injured?”
Another shake of her head would have to do, as she didn’t have the air to explain it to him.
Resolve sparked in his steel grey eyes. “Put this on.” He pulled off the yellow slicker he wore and helped her thread her arms into it. She had only fastened two of the toggle buttons when, without so much as a by your leave, he scooped her up with one arm supporting her back and another beneath her knees. “There’s a pool building beyond the trees. It’ll do for shelter.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on as he carried her. Barney trotted at Luke’s heels, looking worried, but with no bird in his mouth.
“The macaw,” she breathed.
Luke’s quiet laugh reverberated into her body. “The bird is fine. Barney brought it to me. It’s safe and secure, waiting for you back at the house. I knew right away you would have run after it. Next time—if there is a next time—come to me, okay? I’ll get it back for you.”
“You were with Tom,” she whispered between breaths. “That was more important.”
He looked at her, his nose nearly touching hers. Then he jerked his gaze straight ahead again and climbed the stairs to what appeared to be a Roman bathhouse. He carried her between two pillars and through the glass door.
A glass roof over a pool allowed in natural light—what little there was of it, at any rate. With a few panes missing overhead, it also allowed in the elements. Showers sprayed into the drained pool, which still held a few inches of collected rain from previous storms. The place smelled of mold.
With care, Luke lowered her into a lounge chair beside the pool.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
Barney loped to her and laid his head on her lap and looked up at her.
“He says he’s sorry,” Luke told her.
“I know.” Unable to resist the animal’s human-like expression of guilt, she scratched behind his wet ears. “I speak dog.”
He grinned. “I’ll be right back.”
When he returned from his jaunt into the men’s dressing room, it was with a bundle of towels in his arms. “Here. Dry off the best you can. I won’t have you catching a cold on my watch.”
Since when was she on his watch at all? She sent him a quizzical look, and he took a knee before her.
“The way I see it, this is my responsibility,” he said. “It was my dog that made off with your bird, wasn’t it? And if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have run after him, wouldn’t have reached right past your limits and gotten stuck in the rain. Now, you said you’ve had polio. What I know for sure is that weak lungs and chest muscles make it harder to cough, which means fluid and mucus can build up in your lungs, so pneumonia could set in. I won’t have that.”
He was exactly right, though how he knew remained a mystery she’d have to leave untouched for now, given that she still fought for breath. Gratefully, she accepted the linens, removed the slicker, and did her best to towel-dry her clothes. When she offered his raincoat back to him, he insisted she wear it again, which she did. With one more towel, she squeezed rain from her hair, then dried her spectacles and replaced them.
Torrents drummed the roof and splashed inside. “I need a minute.” Elsa leaned back in the lounge chair, willing her body to reset to normal—or at least, what was normal for her.
“We aren’t going anywhere till the rain stops,” he said. “Take your time. Take it easy. Just breathe. Easy for me to say, right?”
She smiled at him, then squinted beyond his shoulder. On a ledge near the roof, several swallows perched, waiting out the storm with them.
Luke scrubbed his hair with a towel, then combed through it with his fingers. He pulled a piece down to cover a scar.
“You don’t have to do that,” she told him.
“Habit. I don’t like to make people uncomfortable. This is the only one I can hide. I tried growing a beard, but the hair doesn’t grow through scar tissue, so that only made these scars stand out more.” He looked away, and the marked side of his profile disappeared.
“You don’t make me uncomfortable. And please don’t hide your face. I like it.” How awkward could she get? She felt a blush heat her cheeks, and she was grateful for the shadows that muted what must be a bright pink color.
Luke met her gaze again, then dropped it to Barney and stroked his fur. “That’s nice of you to say. I confess that being around you feels a little like Beauty and the beast.”
That didn’t make sense. Few people who knew her limitations had ever called her beautiful. Part of her wanted to crack wise and pretend he’d called her the beast, implying that he was the beauty—which he was. Handsome. The scars did nothing to diminish that. But all she could say was “applesauce,” then commenced blushing again. “Did you meet Wesley and Jane?” she asked.
“Yesterday,” he answered. “Briefly. There wasn’t much to say.”
