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And Paul had probably been in the woods somewhere, salivating.

“The doctor was in here earlier. He gave orders that you’re to do no major lifting or…” His gaze heated. “Or any other too strenuous activity.”

She felt a flush fill her cheeks.

He leaned forward and brushed a lock of hair away from her eyes. “So I guess we’ll just have to make certain I do all the work, you know, so things don’t get too strenuous for you.”

Now, she sure liked the sound of that.

“But first, we need to get you the hell out of here.”

Her breath caught. “Can we?” She hated hospitals. Hated. Them. Had ever since she’d been a kid and her mom had been brought in to St. Vincent’s. Her mom had been sick, much sicker than a child could ever understand, and once her mom had been wheeled past the sliding doors of the hospital, she hadn’t come back out alive.

And Miranda’s life with Grandma Belle had begun.

Her lips pressed together. She didn’t need to be thinking about that time now. There was more than enough crap to deal with at the moment without taking a walk down a very painful memory lane.

Cain’s fingers wrapped around her chin, and she realized that she’d turned her face away from him. To better hide the memories.

“Miranda?” Worry. For her.

She licked her lips. “I’d really like to get out of here.” The smile she sent him felt terrible on her mouth. “I’m not much for hospitals.”

He just stared at her. Waited. “Why?”

“The smells.” Bleach and death. “I just—I don’t like them.”

A calm stare that waited, so patiently.

Fine. “My mom had cancer. I was ten when she was brought to St. Vincent’s. I didn’t know what was happening. She’d gone from being this warm, laughing woman to this person who was so pale and thin that-that…” This was one of the parts that pained her the most. “I was afraid to touch her, afraid that I would hurt her even more than she was already hurting.” And her mom had been hurting, so very badly. “I thought she’d get better in the hospital. She didn’t.”

Miranda could still remember when Dr. Bradley had come to tell her that her mother had passed away. His face had been blank, his eyes watchful. He hadn’t softened the words, but just said, “Your mother passed, Miranda. Someone will be coming to pick you up soon.”

And she hadn’t understood. Not a word he’d said. Where had she passed to? Why hadn’t her mother taken Miranda with her? She’d begged to see her mother, but Dr. Bradley had refused.

Since then, she’d pretty much hated hospitals, and she hadn’t exactly been filled with wild love for doctors.

“She died?”

His rough voice pulled her back to the present. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.” And he sounded like he truly meant those words.

“Thanks.” Her fingers were toying with the sheet. Pulling out a piece of thread. “I just…don’t like these places much, okay?” Intellectually, she knew the hospital hadn’t caused her mother’s death. She knew hospitals saved thousands of lives every day.

But they smelled of death.

And she wanted out of there.

“Did your father raise you, then?”

Her gaze jerked to his face, and for a moment, she almost forgot about hating the hospital. “What? Are you kidding me? He ran off when he found out that my mom was pregnant.” She shook her head. “No, I’ve never met the guy and probably never will.” She was fine with that. Had been for years.

“Then who⁠—”

“Grandma Belle.” Not her real grandmother. “My foster mom. The sweetest lady in the county. She took me in, me and Sam. Raised us both.” And gave them a good home when they so desperately needed one.

Sam. The first time she’d seen him, he’d been a thin boy with bruises all over him. She’d never asked about the bruises, and he’d never talked about them. But he’d become close to her. So close.