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“I don’t even know her.”

“Maybe not, but that’s how everyone starts.”

Rolling my eyes, I dry off one of the limes I just rinsed, then place it on my cutting board. “She needs help; I have the ability to help.”

“Hmm.”

“If you’re only here to grill me on my dating life or lack thereof—by personal choice, I might add—then I am going to have to disappoint you. Not interested.”

Ryker chuckles. “Actually, since I’m in town, I wanted to offer to come by and help if you want it. With Sadie here, and no idea what happened to her or if there might be an issue in the future, I figured you could use the extra eyes.” He flexes. “And muscle.”

“Actually, the extra eyes would help,” I tell him. “Without a second bartender, my attention is split in too many ways.”

“Then I’m happy to help.” He stands. “I’ll be back about four thirty.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Ryker.”

“No problem, Mav. See you later.” He heads out of the bar, so I cross the floor to lock the door again and get to work stocking the lime bucket before moving on to lemons. As I work, my mind replays everything Zane told me.

Sadie Eaton.

Nanny.

Filed a report with the police, only to have it go nowhere because they couldn’t find the guy she said was stalking her.

Then, she shows up here six months later, looking like she‘s been beaten.

Why didn’t she go home? Why not go to the local police?

“Need help?”

The knife slips on the lemon peel and slices into my finger. I hiss in pain as lemon juice saturates the wound, then step back, cradling my hand.

“I am so sorry!” Sadie rushes around the counter and grabs a towel, then turns on the water. “Here, rinse it.” She pulls me over and guides my hand under the water.

I’m so stunned by the fact that she’s actually touching me, I nearly forget that I’m bleeding.

“Do you have a first-aid kit?” she asks, turning off the water and wrapping my hand in the towel. Her gaze levels on mine and holds.

Something passes between us.

Something I can’t quite ignore but still try to deny.

“Yeah, in my office.”

She releases me and steps back, putting distance between us again. “Where?”

“Through the kitchen door, off to the right.”

Sadie leaves without another word, pushing into the kitchen. For a moment, I just stand here, bloodied finger wrapped in a towel, staring after her. She’d reacted on instinct, ignoring her fear, and that brief window was a look at who she was before whatever she escaped from.

When I see her coming through the small window on the door, I quickly avert my gaze and toss the lemon I’d been cutting. I stick the cutting board into the sink, along with the knife I was using, then turn toward her.

She opens the first-aid kit on the bar top, then reaches inside for a cleaning wipe and bandage. “Here.” Crossing back over toward me, she takes my hand and unwraps it, then uses the sterile wipe to clean the injury.

The cool wipe stings, but I’m so beyond distracted that it might as well be nothing. Because she leans forward and blows on it, just as one might do for a toddler who has a scrape on their knee.

Nanny.