Love - From His Point Of View!: Meeting at Midnight. Maureen Child

is, though she’s doing pretty well as an artist these days. I tease her that she’s lost in the sixties. Here, we’ll do the difficult arm first.”

      She eased the pajama shirt off my shoulder. It fit snugly over the bandages, so she had to take her time. It was ridiculous to get turned on by that, under the circumstances. But it was a good thing the sweatpants were baggy. “An artist, huh? What kind?”

      “Sculpture. She’s into what she calls found art these days. Some people call it junk—” her grin flashed “—but she’s had two showings at a prestigious gallery in Taos. She scavenges for things people throw away, then paints this or that, puts the objects together and ends up with some pretty interesting pieces.”

      “Real modern stuff, I take it.”

      “Well, one critic called it ‘an entrancing collision between the primitive and the twenty-first century,’ but yes. I have a sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t be your type of art.” She tossed the pajama shirt on the back of the toilet, then picked up the flannel shirt she’d brought down earlier.

      “What about your father? What does he do?”

      “Who knows? He came down with a bad case of respectability a few years after I was born. Poor man. I don’t think he ever recovered. Here, hold out your arm.”

      She didn’t say anything else while I eased my right arm slowly into a sleeve, then my left. This gave me plenty of time to kick myself. She’d mentioned her mother several times, her father not at all. That should have clued me in.

      “I know your shoulder is hurting,” she said cheerily. “Turn around and let me do up the buttons. That way you can support that arm until we get the sling back on.”

      I did turn, but ignored the rest of her instructions. “Sometimes I don’t watch where I’m putting my big feet. I stepped in the wrong place. I’m sorry.”

      Her eyes flicked to mine, surprised. Then a wry smile tipped her lips. “Ben, you’re supposed to pretend there’s nothing beneath my flip attitude but more flip.”

      “I’m not much good at pretending.”

      “No, you aren’t,” she said so gently she seemed to be touching on some great secret. “I think I like that about you.”

      She liked my voice, too. And I liked all sorts of things about her. My gaze drifted to her mouth. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to grow up with so little family. I’m used to a crowd.”

      “But you were a lot older than the others, weren’t you? You said Duncan is the closest to you in age, and he’s five years younger. That’s not a big difference now, but it would have been when you were growing up. You wouldn’t have played together, or gone on double dates when you were teens, or—oh, all the things an only child thinks siblings are for.”

      “No, but that’s not…they mattered. I mean, it mattered that they were around, that…hell. I don’t know how to say it.”

      “Maybe that they were a huge part of your life? And you love them.”

      I nodded, relieved that she understood. “I’m not great with words.”

      “I think you do pretty well.” She paused, then went on quietly, “I haven’t seen or spoken to my father since I was eight. Um…he and Daisy weren’t married.”

      I felt privileged, as if she’d handed me a private little piece of herself that she didn’t leave lying around where just anyone might see it. “He missed a lot, then. Practically everything that matters.”

      “He did, didn’t he?” Her smile slid back in place. “More than me, because I had Daisy.”

      “The two of you are close?”

      She nodded, then just stood there looking up at me, curiosity and something else in those incredible eyes.

      It occurred to me that I wouldn’t have to bend far to taste her smile.

      My heartbeat picked up. I could see the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat, too. Maybe she was having the same thoughts I was. Maybe she wanted me to kiss her. That sweet notion had my head dipping toward hers.

      Had I lost my ever-loving mind?

      Reality snapped back in place. So did my head. Panicked, trying to cover up the moment, I fumbled for the buttons of my shirt.

      I forgot that I couldn’t use my right arm.

      “Oh, damn—sit!” She enforced the order with a shove.

      I sat. I didn’t have enough breath to curse, much less protest.

      “You are not going to pass out on me,” she informed me.

      “Of course not.” The first hard smack of pain had passed, but my forehead felt clammy. I cleared my throat. “I should probably get the sling back on so I don’t forget and try to use that arm again.”

      “Probably,” she said dryly, and retrieved the sling. Our conversation after that consisted of her instructions to me—turn, hold your arm out, that sort of thing. Did she know I’d been about to kiss her? I couldn’t tell.

      I fastened the straps myself. “I need to call Manny. He’s good, but he’s not used to overseeing everything.”

      She studied my face a moment. “Sure. As long as you call him from bed.”

      I scowled. “The couch in the living room—”

      The doorbell rang. It must have woken Doofus; I heard his excited yips and the scrabble of his claws on the floor outside the bathroom as he skidded around the corner, heading for the entry hall.

      Seely glanced over her shoulder, then back at me. “Stay put. I’ll be back to help you in a minute.” She left the bathroom.

      I considered the ethics of my situation. I was supposed to do what she said, but there was that “within reason” clause I’d stuck on. She hadn’t stayed around to hear my reasons for not staying put.

      One, I wasn’t dizzy anymore. Two, the foyer was just the other side of the bathroom. Three, I wanted to see who was here.

      I reached for the walking stick.

      It was slow and awkward, but the cane did help. Seely was just shutting the front door when I got there, holding Doofus back with her foot so the little idiot didn’t scamper out and get into the street. She turned around, tossing a set of keys up and catching them one-handed. Temper sparked in her eyes.

      I had a good guess who’d been at the door.

      All of a sudden she said, “Here!” And tossed the keys at me.

      To catch them, I’d have to drop the walking stick. I let them sail on past. They landed with a rattle on the hardwood floor. Doofus trotted over to investigate them. “Did you miss me on purpose, or was that a happy accident?”

      She looked at me like I was something the cat had hacked up on the rug. “The mechanic I took my car to just left.”

      I nodded, having figured out that much. “All fixed, I take it.”

      “Against my explicit instructions—yes!” Those sparks turned into big, blazing fires. “That man—that weaselly, lowlife scum I’d thought was an honest mechanic—he wouldn’t even tell me what the repairs had cost. Just winked at me, handed me the keys and said it was all taken care of. He practically patted my hand and told me not to worry my pretty little head!”

      “Well, then. Looks like you can stop worrying.”

      She growled. Honest to God, that’s what it sounded like. “This is not worry. This is fury.” She stalked closer, tilting her face to snarl up at me, “You paid for it. You went behind my back and paid for the whole thing.”

      “I wasn’t going to let you lose your car. You saved my life.”

      “You