Courtney's Baby Plan. Allison Leigh

from pain to pained. “I don’t need coddling.”

      She gave him the kind of stern look she’d learned from her grandmother. Gloria was retired now, but she’d been a nurse, and it was in that capacity that she’d met Courtney’s grandfather, Squire Clay. And she’d had plenty of years since then to refine that stern look and pass it on to her granddaughters. “Believe me,” she assured him, “you won’t get coddling from me. Now, do you want to sit there on the side of the bed or lean back?” She didn’t wait for an answer before she reached down for his casted leg.

      But his hands brushed against hers as he did the same, and she had to suck down another shock of tingles that ripped through her. She moved her hand from beneath his. Feeling shaky again, she deftly tucked a wedge of foam, which she’d gotten from the hospital, beneath his leg and stepped away, while he swore and jabbed at the pillows propped behind him.

      Sweat had broken out on his brow.

      She curled her fingers, fighting the urge to help him as he awkwardly shifted, lest he mistake her assistance for the banned coddling. “What can I get you to make you more comfortable?”

      He finally settled, his head leaning against the headboard behind him. He shoved his hand through his hair and looked up at her. “I don’t suppose sex is one of the options, is it?”

       Chapter Two

      Courtney stared, and the heat that she’d been trying to keep at bay flooded hot and furious into her cheeks. “Excuse me?”

      “You want me to repeat it?”

      Her lips parted. She wanted to say something, but there just weren’t any words that were coming to mind.

      And then there wasn’t time, because Axel came into the room and dumped a very worn leather duffel bag on the floor next to the foot of the bed. He also had a pair of metal crutches that he propped against the wall near the doorway. “I’d hang around and shoot the breeze,” he told them both, “but Tara’s got an appointment this afternoon and I’m on Aidan-duty. Hard to believe how much one fourteen-month-old kid can get around.” He pulled a slender cell phone out of his back pocket and handed it to Mason. “Courtesy of Cole,” he told him, before bumping knuckles with Mason’s fist and hustling out of the room.

      A second later, they heard the front door open and close.

      Courtney held her tongue between her teeth and looked back at Mason. “No,” she finally said, breaking the thick silence. “Sex is not an option. Obviously.”

      His gaze trapped hers, but she couldn’t tell if he was amused or not. “Because you think I’m presently incapable, or because I didn’t call you the morning after?”

      She shoved her curling fists into the pockets of her scrubs. She didn’t even want to entertain ideas of what Mason was capable or incapable of doing. “I didn’t ask you to call me,” she reminded. Not the morning after, nor during the twenty months that had passed since then. “You’re here because you’re recovering from an assortment of injuries. Period.”

      The corner of his lips lifted a fraction. “Yeah, that’s what I expected but figured we might as well get it out of the way so you can stop looking worried that I’m going to bring it up.”

      Ordinarily, she preferred being straightforward, too. But right now, she wished she could keep up the pretense that nothing had ever occurred between them. “Number one—” she leaned over and picked up his duffel bag “—I wasn’t worried. And number two, now it’s out of the way. Subject done.” She hefted the surprisingly heavy bag onto the empty surface of the dresser and glanced at him over her shoulder. “I’ll unpack this if you don’t mind?”

      His lips twisted. His gaze was unblinking. “Do I have a choice?”

      Her fingers let go of the zipper pull. “Yes,” she said slowly and turned to face him. “Nobody is trying to run your life for you, Mason.” She didn’t know what was more disturbing. His presence, the taste of his name on her lips after all this time or the disturbing notion that he considered himself some sort of captive.

      “You’ll be the first nurse who hasn’t tried.”

      She leaned her hip against the dresser and folded her arms over her chest. In just the one night that they’d shared, he’d learned her body better than she’d known it herself. But other than the fact that he worked for the same company that had nearly stolen her brother for good, what she really knew about Mason could have fit on the head of a pin.

      “Then I’ll be the first,” she said quietly. “The only thing I’m doing here is making sure you continue your recovery safely and with as much comfort as possible. You’re the one in control of your situation. Not me.”

      His eyes narrowed slightly, which just seemed to concentrate that pale green and make it even more startling against his dark lashes. “Why did you agree to all this?” He lifted his hand, taking in the room and, she presumed, the situation in general.

      She chewed the inside of her lip, then went for honesty. “I didn’t know you were the patient,” she admitted. “Not until after I’d agreed.”

      He lifted his eyebrow. “Why didn’t you back out?”

      Now, that was trickier.

      She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She did, but she had no intention of sharing her reasoning.

      Remember what you’re doing this for.

      “So.” She patted the duffel bag. “Do you want me to leave this for you to deal with … or …?”

      He was silent for so long that she couldn’t help wondering even more what was inside his head. She’d wondered a whole lot that night they’d been together, too. At least, she had during the moments when she’d been able to draw a coherent breath.

      Which had been few and far between.

      She swallowed down the jangling memory.

      “Knock yourself out,” he finally said.

      Feeling ridiculously relieved to have something to keep her hands busy, she turned to the task. He had a few pairs of jeans, a half-dozen colored T-shirts and a handful of sweatpants—all one-legged like the pair he was wearing. The sum total of his clothing wasn’t enough to fill even two of the six dresser drawers, and the pair of athletic shoes and scuffed cowboy boots didn’t come close to filling the floor of the bedroom closet.

      Aside from a small leather shaving kit, the rest of the duffel was crammed with books, which explained the weight.

      Hardbacks. Paperbacks. Some that looked brand new and others that looked as if they’d seen the wear from hundreds of hands. She stacked a bunch of books on the nightstand next to the bed, where they’d be in easy reach for him. “You’re a reader.” And an eclectic reader, to boot. He had everything from the latest thriller topping the bestseller charts to political commentaries and biographies to classic literature.

      He shifted against the pillows, and she couldn’t help but see the way a thin line of white formed around his tightly held lips. “So?”

      She adjusted the high stack. “Don’t get defensive. It’s just an observation.” She left the rest of the books in a stack on the dresser. “And not that it looks like you’ll run through all of these anytime soon, but I have a pretty loaded bookcase myself in the living room, too. You’re welcome to help yourself. Do you prefer to get around with wheels or these?” She held up the crutches.

      “Those,” he said immediately. “Get rid of the chair altogether.”

      “All right.” She propped the crutches right next to the bed, between the headboard and the nightstand. “Besides the books, feel free to help yourself to anything else around here.”

      He lifted his eyebrow again, giving her a long look, and she pressed