Page 16 of Keeping Knight

“He’s fine.” Reaching over, I give Sampson a scratch between his ears. “I trained him to give an alert bark if he senses anything unusual. Not a direct threat—then he’d make a different bark—but something that could indicate trouble. So when he heard you having a nightmare...”

Some of the tension drains from Ruby’s face. Her features soften. “He was worried about me. He thought I might be in danger.” She leans over and offers the back of her hand to him. “Thank you. You were a really good watchdog.”

Sampson’s tail perks up, and he nudges her hand. The faintest smile touches her lips, and she strokes his head. Then she turns back to me. “I’m sorry, Micah. For interrupting your workout. And making you come running… It’s so embarrassing.”

I frown. “Embarrassing? Having a nightmare isn’t embarrassing.”

“But—” Ruby plucks at the blanket. “You’ve already done so much. I don’t want to put you out even more.”

“You aren’t putting me out,” I say firmly. “And there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. At all. Most of the people I know have dealt with nightmares at some point. Some of them still do. It’s not pleasant, but it’s natural. It’s just your brain trying to deal with something upsetting.”

She stares at the blanket for a few seconds. “I guess so.”

“Do you want to try to go back to sleep?” I ask. “I can get you some water. Or some tea. Do you want me to look for a nightlight, so the room isn’t so dark?”

“That’s okay. I don’t think I can sleep now. Maybe I’ll try to find something to watch on TV. Or read a book on my phone. Although I guess I should email my client. Tell her I might be a day or two late with her manuscript. With everything going on, and not having my laptop with me...”

“I’ll get your laptop. And anything else you need from your apartment. Just make me a list.”

“You don’t have to⁠—”

“Ruby.” My voice firms. “I don’t offer things I don’t want to do. I’ll get your things. I want to go to your apartment anyway to make sure the door and window were replaced properly.”

“Oh.” For a moment, Ruby looks lost. “Well. You probably want to get back to your workout. Since I’m not going back to sleep, you won’t have to worry about me interrupting it again.”

“I’m done with my workout.” That’s not true. I still have another thirty minutes of weights and twenty with the punching bag. But the idea of leaving Ruby to go back to my exercise room, especially when she looks so small and lost? I can’t.

“How about I make you something to eat?” I add. “Some tea or coffee, at least. And I think I’ve got some oatmeal. That should be soft enough not to hurt your throat too much.”

“Are you—” Ruby stops. Her lips tug up. “Right. You don’t offer unless you want to.”

“Right. And I know I’d like some coffee. We can have it in the solarium. There’s a really nice view from there when the sun comes up.”

“The solarium?”

“That’s what the realtor called it. It’s just a living room, really. But I have plants in there, since it’s the room that gets the most sun.”

She looks at me for a long moment. Then she nods and gives me an actual smile. “Okay. That would be nice.”

I couldn't help noticing how cute Ruby looked in my clothes last night, but I tried really hard not to.

She was hurt, after all. Scared. Traumatized. My only concern should have been taking care of her.

But shit, does she look good in them.

I can’t explain it. But there’s just something about seeing her swamped in my clothes—my old Army sweatshirt hanging halfway down her thighs and her fingers barely poking out from the sleeves—that strikes a chord deep inside me.

With it brings a bone-deep need to protect. To comfort. To hold her in my arms and wipe away her tears when she cries. To take away her pain.

It’s not just that, though.

As I watch Ruby walk into the kitchen, looking so damn vulnerable and sweet in my sweatshirt and shorts, a surge of possessiveness comes over me. I like her in my clothes. Not just because of how she looks in them, but because they’re mine.

“I know I look silly,” Ruby says. She pushes a sleeve up, but it almost immediately falls past her fingers again. “I think I could wear this as a dress.” A moment later, her cheeks go pink. “Shoot. That makes me sound ungrateful. I’m not. At all. Your sweatshirt is great. It’s soft and warm and...”

“Comfy?” I offer with a smile.

She brightens. “Yes. Comfy.” Joining me at the counter, she looks down at the two bowls of oatmeal I’m putting the final touches on. More elaborate than the plain oats I usually have, I’ve added brown sugar, a bit of cream, a sprinkle of cinnamon and nutmeg, and, for the final touch, a dollop of Nutella. Gourmet cooking, it’s not. But I didn’t want to just hand Ruby a bowl of plain oatmeal, either.