Wounded (a mystery and a sweet romance)

Wounded: Chapter 7

“It’s probably Mandy or Jasmine, wanting me to help milk something,” Tara said. The two women had adopted her over the last couple of days, showing her around and inviting her for meals. She liked them and had shared a few details about her life and her work, but she had thus far avoided mentioning her meetings with Malcolm.

Tara opened the door. It wasn’t Jasmine. Or Mandy.

It was cool and cloudy out with moisture dripping from the trees, and Malcolm appeared ready to tramp around in the mud. He wore hiking boots, jeans, and a khaki button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing the ropy muscles of his forearms. The memory of Tara’s dream flooded over her, including the kiss she had inflicted on him, and she feared she would burst into flames of embarrassment if she met his eyes. But he probably thought her strange for studying the top button of his shirt. That wouldn’t do. She forced herself to look up to his face—briefly.

Malcolm’s brows rose in inquiry. He looked down, taking in Tara’s slippers and—dear Lord, she was wearing her Tweety Bird nightgown. How sexy.

His gaze lingered for a moment. The cool air whispered in, stirring gooseflesh on her bare legs and arms. It was the first time his looks had held more than dismissal. Except he was probably amused by Tweety, not transfixed by her body.

“When you said tomorrow, I was thinking noon-ish,” Tara said. “Or at least nine-ish.”

His eyes returned to her face, and, yes, there was a hint of amusement in their brown depths. She didn’t know why she cared, or why she would have rather caught... a more intense emotion there. It wasn’t as if he had been sweeping her off her feet, treating her like a princess. He was probably more interested in sleeping with wolves and mushrooms than girls anyway.

“I thought I would come early,” Malcolm said, “and leave before your buddies started roaming the property.”

“Ah, right.” Tara pointed into the cottage. “I’ll put on clothes. And shoes. A good idea, don’t you think?”

“Your choice.” He smirked. “I’ve found them to be useful on occasion, but you seem to be a free spirit.”

My, he was in good humor this morning. Or rather, this was the first hint of any humor whatsoever she had seen from him. She must have appreciated it, because she found herself smirking back.

When she hustled back into the cottage without shutting the door and bent to pick up her shoes on the way to the stairs, she realized she had stuck her butt out in his direction. The sexy Tweety nightie fell far too low to worry about displaying anything unseemly, but she glanced back, wondering if he might be watching. But he was looking off toward the trees. It figured.

Once she had dressed, Tara found Malcolm outside, already walking among the tall firs, his gaze scouring the mud and sodden needles. She followed him at a distance, not wanting to interrupt his concentration. He paused a few times to look high up into the trees, once staring at the side of one for so long that she almost broke her silence to ask what he had seen. But his focus shifted back to the ground first.

The rain had stopped, though a heavy mist hung in the air. Water dripped from the swaths of moss dangling from the branches. Tara zipped up her lightweight jacket. June in the Pacific Northwest. This close to the rainforest, it was even wetter than Seattle. Beautiful, she admitted, with everything lush and green, but the damp air had a tendency to seep through clothing and chill bones.

Malcolm bent to poke at something next to a gnarly root. Nice butt, she thought, then looked away. The last thing she needed was for him to star in more dreams where she was being attacked by carnivorous mushrooms. That dream had probably been telling anyway, a warning that she wasn’t his type. Not surprising. In school, she had always attracted her fellow computer nerds rather than the athletic outdoorsy sorts. She hadn’t minded, as she had taken a few programming classes and understood most of their tech-speak. With her web-based career, she had more in common with them than the gym rats, anyway. Still, it would be intriguing to slide her hand along a sleek, muscular body someday... Maybe the sun would come out later, and Malcolm would grow warm and feel the urge to unbutton his shirt.