He gently stroked a strand of glossy hair away from her cheek, fingers lingering on her soft skin. She didn’t move. Again he worried about her utter stillness.
He shook his head, impatient and angry with himself. It was no longer his place to worry about her. They were woefully mismatched. Had been from the very beginning.
He should have listened to her when she’d argued against marriage. But he’d been so certain of his decision, so sure ofthem.
He straightened, withdrawing his hand from her face.
He’d been a damned fool.
He went to bed, but not before gently moving her head to a pillow and throwing a light comforter over her curled-up body. Her knees were hanging over the edge of the couch.
He swore beneath his breath as he caught himself wondering if she was comfortable.
He didn’t care.
She shouldn’t have come here in the first place and ought to be grateful that he’d deigned to have her on his couch for two nights in a row.
Consciousness returned slowly.
Kenny blinked the blurriness from her eyes and found her eyes trained on a watercolor painting on the wall across from her.
Was that a caterpillar? Reading a book?
Odd.
As awareness returned, Kenny began to realize that she was warmly and comfortably cocooned in a marshmallow. No, not a marshmallow, a really,reallyluxurious goose down comforter.
She sat up, enjoying the susurration of the fabric as she moved. It was one of her favorite sounds. It always made her feel safe and relaxed.
But as she took in her surroundings in confusion, that feeling of security rapidly evaporated to be replaced by unease.
She was on a bed. And she was absolutely certain she’d fallen asleep on the couch last night.
Her head swiveled wildly as she belatedly checked if she was alone on the queen-sized bed. The other side of the bed was empty. Not even a dent in the pillow. The covers were flat and undisturbed.
She’d clearly spent the night alone.
Which meant that Smith must have taken the couch. The uncomfortable, hard couch which was much too short for a man of his height.
Granted, it had been too short for her as well. But she was more slender and took up less space.
She pushed the rustling covers aside and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her toe was throbbing gently, uncomfortable but not as painful as yesterday.
Smith had thoughtfully left both the cast and the cane right next to the bed for her and she quickly protected her foot before grabbing the cane and making her way to the door.
It had been left slightly ajar and she tugged it open to peer into the still gloomy living area of the cottage.
If the light was any indication, it was quite early. Just after sunrise. Probably around six a.m. The back of the couch was turned toward the bedroom door, so she couldn’t see Smith, but she could hear the occasional light snore, and could see his long, bare feet dangling over the arm at one end.
She quietly made her way around to that side of the couch and her heart stuttered in her chest at the sight of him. He was on his back, head turned toward the coffee table. One arm was over his stomach and the other was flung above his head.
He had a lightweight blanket draped over his thighs and bunched around his waist.
His mouth was slack, slightly open, face completely relaxed.
He was wearing a pair of loose-fitting black and gray plaidpajama pants.
No shirt.
