Until then, all Mitchell had to do was ignore the odd itch to erase the sadness lurking in her extraordinary eyes that mimicked his sorrow when he thought of Abbie. As much as he disliked seeing those bruises marring her face, the fleeting idea of replacing her bad memories with one fucking good one before they parted company wouldn’t come to pass. Since losing his wife, he only indulged his dominant sexual preferences with submissive women at the club, ones who didn’t expect anything other than his undivided attention for a scene or two.
It was best not to involve himself with Lillian’s troubles other than to get her well enough to send her on her way to wherever she was headed in a few days.
Chapter 3
“The storm has passed, but I told Sheriff Monroe to put digging your car out as low priority.” Lillian picked up her plate and stood, her mouth tightening with pique as she flicked Mitchell an irritated look. He held up a hand to ward off her complaint. “We’re both fine here for another twenty-four hours, and even longer if necessary. There are others in worse straits, including livestock that local ranchers could use a helping hand in getting to.”
Her shoulders slumped as she carried her empty dish to the sink. He liked she didn’t expect him to clean up after her.
“You’re right. Even though this is my first winter storm outside of the city, I should have realized the efforts it takes to get to people who are so spread out.” She rinsed her plate and turned to lean against the counter. “I missed the turnoff to Billings, where I planned to stop. Where is this Willow Springs you mentioned?”
“Not far, closer than Billings from here. Hailing from Denver, it took me some time to get used to the small-town vibes, but now I like it. If you’re in no hurry, you should stay a few days to rest up and let yourself heal.”
A sorrowful spasm crossed her face before she averted her head toward the snow-covered window. “I might, seeing as I’m not headed anywhere in particular. I wish I had my paints,” she murmured with a soft sigh.
“You’re an artist? I wondered when I saw the canvases in the back of your car.” Mitchell walked over to a cupboard to her left and retrieved a notebook of unlined, blank sheets. His arm brushed hers as he lowered it and handed her the tablet. “You can have this to sketch in, if you want. It’ll give you something to do while I go out and clear the window and get more wood. There should be some pencils or pens in that drawer.” He nodded to the end drawer along the counter.
For the first time, her eyes shone with gratitude and pleasure as she took the simple offering, careful not to let their hands touch. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I want to check your ribs before I go out.” Michell wiggled his fingers in an upward motion, signaling for her to lift her sweater. This time, her deep purple gaze lit with amusement.
“Men usually don’t insist on me making it easy for them to get under my clothes.”
His mouth twitched, enjoying her humor. It was so much better than her sniping or sadness. “I’m not most men and I’m checking you out as a doctor, not a lover.”
She set the tablet on the counter and lifted her sweater, her eyes on his face as she smirked, “So you’re not imagining what I look like without my bra right now?”
Sliding his eyes down, he visually caressed her white satin-covered breasts long enough to watch her nipples pucker in response. “About as much as you’re not imagining me touching you.” Her eyes flashed and she started to lower her top. Apparently she could dish it out but had trouble taking it. Or maybe she was fighting her response as hard as he was struggling to suppress the growing need to ease the pain reflected on her face with something pleasurable. He stopped her by reaching out and running his fingers over her bruised ribs. “Relax. It’s just a little harmless banter to break up the tedium.”
Lillian sucked in a deep breath as he lightly probed her black and blue ribcage. “Do you always blow so hot and cold? One minute you’re the nice, concerned doctor, the next a put-upon host and now the congenial acquaintance.”
“I could say the same about you, pet,” he answered absently as he tried to palpate her ribs without causing her too much discomfort. When he realized he let slip with another nickname, he glanced at her face, lifting one brow at her silence.
After a moment, she shrugged, saying, “Just don’t call me baby.”
“Deal. One to ten, how sore are you?”
“Maybe a four or five. I’m fine.”
He lowered his hand, replying, “You will be in a few weeks. Until then, no lifting or straining. I have aspirin, if you need it.” He plucked it out of an upper cabinet and set the bottle on the counter and then strode toward the door to shrug into his coat. “This will take a while, so rest and amuse yourself until I come back in.” Snatching up his gloves, he stepped out into bright sunshine but frigid cold air, wondering at the urge to put space between them.
Lillian scowled at the closed door. Mitchell’s parting comment had sounded more like an order than a suggestion, his clipped tone stirring up her resentment of this whole situation. When she’d teased him about getting under her clothes, she’d done so to throw him off guard, the same as her lightning quick, warm responses to his innocent touches had flustered her. The same desperate impulse to drive away and keep on going that had gripped her when she’d stumbled out of Brad’s house returned to plague her. Only she was as stuck here, with no way out as much as she had been trapped for the previous month into staying with Brad.
Liana’s smiling face popped up into Lillian’s head as she remembered their laughter as they’d tossed tinsel they’d plucked off their Christmas tree onto each other. That was the last time she’d heard Liana’s voice. A week later, Lillian had gotten the phone call from her sister’s boss telling her she’d collapsed at work and was en route to the hospital.
Blinking back tears, Lillian sat at the table and started sketching the scene in her head. During her two-week vigilance at the hospital, she’d passed the time by drawing childhood memories of the two of them, thinking they might help Liana heal when she awoke. After her twin had been moved to the care home and Brad blackmailed Lillian with threats to her beloved sister, she’d been too distraught and then too angry with him and fate to sketch any more memories.
It had been a grave mistake to let herself lean on Brad right after Liana had collapsed. She’d broken up with him because of his high-handed, possessive manner and attempts to control her, but the shock and despair of her sister’s condition had rendered her helpless to cope alone. With no other family, Brad had taken advantage of her grief and uncertainty and then revealed the true depth of his obsession with her when she’d backed away. But every snide, cutting remark, every punch, arm twist, kick and unwanted fuck had been worth it to ensure Liana didn’t suffer at his hands. Lillian still shuddered when she recalled the things he’d said he could do to her, things sure to cause tremendous pain without anyone being the wiser.
A scraping sound drew her eyes to the window as she finished a sketch of Liana reaching to place the star on a Christmas tree. She watched the snow fall away from the window, one scrape from top to bottom at a time, until enough cleared she could see Mitchell. A black Stetson covered his head and a scarf tucked around his neck was stretched over his mouth and nose, but there was no mistaking that unnerving, penetrating gaze zeroing in on her through the cleared glass. She wanted to look away, to hide from whatever he was trying to calculate from her expression but refused to back down.