Page 54 of River Wild

“There, all done.” He’s lowering my foot to the floor.

I didn’t even know he’d put the Band-Aid on; I was so distracted by what I was feeling. Or what I shouldn’t be feeling.

I shoot to my feet. His dark eyes follow me up.

“Thanks,” I blurt, a slight shake to my voice. “For fixing me up.”

Thanks for fixing me up?

Christ on a cracker.

I sidestep him. “Well, bye then.” I make a beeline for the still-open door that I came in through earlier.

“Where are you going?”

His deep voice catches my back, stopping me. I glance over my shoulder. He’s standing now.

“Home.”

“Your feet are bare.”

I thought that was obvious. You know, since he was literally just blowing on my bare foot.

Don’t think about it.

“Where are your shoes?”

I turn fully to face him. “I didn’t come in with any. I was in a rush.”

“Wear a pair of mine to go back in.”

I glance down at his bare feet. They’re huge. Just like his—

AnnndI’m bright red again.

“That’s not necessary, and they wouldn’t fit me anyway.”

But, clearly, he’s not listening to me because he’s turning away and walking back into the kitchen, where he apparently keeps everything, and then he returns moments later with not one, but two pairs of shoes in his hands. Boots and sneakers.

He puts the sneakers by my feet. “Put them on.”

Christ, he’s bossy.

Ignoring his order—because I no longer take orders from men—I watch as he pulls the boots on his own feet, leaving the laces unfastened.

“Why do you need shoes?” I ask him.

Dark eyes lift to mine. “Because I don’t walk the streets barefoot.”

Huh.

“Put the sneakers on, Red.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t want to.”

“You want to cut your foot open again? You’re lucky you didn’t on your way over here.”

How would I cut my feet in our gardens? Unless he has broken glass scattered around his. Wouldn’t surprise me.