She set her cup down. Telling herself she needed to know what happened. It wasn’t that she wanted to see him.
She huffed a quiet laugh as she crossed the foyer. Even she didn’t believe that tall tale.
When she pulled the door open, the man on her porch looked like the night had taken its best shot, and he’d taken it personally. Rumpled shirt with sleeves rolled, mussed hair, the shadow of a beard darker than before.
Concern had her blurting out, “You look like you haven’t slept in a month.”
His mouth twitched. “That good? I’m surprised.”
“I didn’t mean…” She shook her head, another topic more important. “Never mind what I meant. Did you find her?”
“Yes. She’s safe now.”
Everything inside her unclenched.
“She was dehydrated and pretty banged up. She’s at the hospital.” His tone roughened when he added, “The bastards used zip ties.”
Erica briefly shut her eyes, thinking of Cheyenne’s raw, bloody wrists. “I know.”
“Yeah, I guess you do,” he replied softly. “Most of her injuries are superficial. It’s the ones we can’t see that will take longer to heal.” He paused, looking at her like he was trying to decide something. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“Probably not,” she agreed. Neither of them moved for several counts, then she stepped aside. “Come in anyway.”
As he passed her, his arm brushed her breast. He froze for the briefest of seconds before moving into the foyer. She braced for the usual onslaught of emotions. When it didn’t come, she should have been relieved, but she was too busy dealing with the tingling his inadvertent touch had left behind.
“Would you… um… like some coffee?” she offered haltingly.
“Black and strong, please.”
She waved him into the living room. “Sit, while I make it.”
He eyed her light-blue couch with its embroidered pillows like he was calculating the weight limit.
“It may not look sturdy, but it has held up for fifteen years and through three moves. There’s a recliner on the far end.”
“If I sit down, I might not wake up until sundown.”
“That’s okay. You can tell me what you have to over dinner.”
He hesitated, clearly tempted, then gave in and sank onto the couch.
“The lever for the footrest is on the side,” she told him.
“That for sure would put me to sleep.”
“You need it. Have you been up since I called?”
“I’m fine.”
He wasn’t.
Erica walked around and put up the lever herself. With his feet up and his head back, she saw the fight leave his shoulders.
“Five minutes,” he murmured. “While you make the coffee.”
He shut his eyes, and his breathing deepened almost immediately.
She stood watching him for a moment. She shouldn’t, but she couldn’t seem to stop.
