Secrets Gone South (Crimson Romance) by Alicia Hunter Pace Page B

away would have been a better plan.”
    “Won’t happen again,” he mumbled.
    She nodded. It would have been hypocritical for her to chastise him. She’d had mishaps of her own and would have more—but neither was she in the mood to absolve him. If he’d been scared, it served him right for insisting on being left alone with Avery before he knew anything about the boy—like if he could climb out of the crib and which pajamas fit.
    “Let’s go before we wake him up. I need to look at your hand.” She turned off the lamp on the dresser and put on the night-light.
    “It’s fine,” he said.
    “You’re bleeding. Go to the kitchen table. I’ll get my medical bag.”
    • • •
    Groggy, Will let himself down into a chair. Right now, he hated himself. How could he have gone to sleep without putting away those pills? He’d spent two days convincing himself that he could be a better father than the one he’d had and now this. He was amazed that Arabelle had taken it in stride—or seemed to. Maybe she was off somewhere right now documenting it in a book she’d bought special for the
Sins of Will
. When she had enough, maybe she planned to run him off.
    She appeared in the kitchen door with her bag and a towel. “Put your hand here,” she said as she placed the folded towel on the table.
    He did it. Maybe if he followed five directives it would negate a demerit in her book. Or maybe it would take ten or a thousand. She sat down and started to unwrap his hand. She was wearing the ring he’d bought her. Funny. If someone had sliced this picture out of the future three years ago and showed it to him, he would have smiled. Still, he liked seeing his ring on her finger. He shouldn’t but he did.
    “Do you like that ring?” he asked.
    She glanced at her hand as if she had forgotten it was there. “Sure,” she said. “It’s nice.” And she went back to removing the bandage. “You really shouldn’t have been roughhousing with your hand.”
    “I know. Or I know now. I couldn’t help it.”
    She nodded but she didn’t look at him. She ran her finger around his wound.
    “That’s good news anyway. You didn’t rip a stitch. Close, but not quite.”
    She picked up his hand in her left one—the one with the ring—and ran an antiseptic soaked cotton ball over his wound. It was almost like holding hands and he was almost enjoying it. He blamed that on his grogginess. Damn pain meds. He didn’t want to enjoy her hand against his. She had wronged him in one of the worst ways possible. The tip of his finger brushed against the ring that should have been a symbol of coming together. Instead, it was just a reminder of what he was making her do. Maybe he was wrong. Probably he was. But wrong or right, he had to be with Avery right now. He’d known it before but after spending tonight with him, that truth was ingrained in him. Weekends and random nights would never be enough. And maybe, just maybe, after they got through the bad parts, there was a chance he and Arabelle could come together. That’s what he wanted for Avery—and for himself. And this was his only chance.
    Arabelle had not looked up. She was spreading ointment on his cut now. “If you want to get back to work, you’re going to have to be careful when you pick up Avery.”
    “I notice you didn’t say not to pick him up.”
    Finally, she looked up. She looked tired. And sad. That made two of them. “Would it matter if I did?”
    “No,” he admitted.
    “I’m going to redress your hand and I want to take your temperature.”
    He got the feeling that she put the thermometer in his mouth because she didn’t want him to talk.
    When she finished wrapping his hand, she removed the thermometer. “Have you had your night time antibiotic?”
    “Not yet.”
    She got up. “You’ll need some food. I’ll make you a turkey sandwich.”
    Turkey? She didn’t know he was a vegetarian. She didn’t know anything about him.
    “No, thank you,” he said.