"How would she tell me where it hurts?"
"That's a new one, kind of tough, but we'll give it a go. Let me see your leg."
"Huh?"
"Your injured leg. Stretch it out on the bed."
Gray extended his leg, his brow furrowed. Lori grabbed his ankle. A mistake. His warmth, the bristly hair, the flex of muscles and bones beneath her touch scattered her thoughts like fall leaves. Warning herself not to linger, doing it anyway, she turned his leg so the bandage faced out. "Magda?"
She turned to Lori, wide eyes blinking.
Lori pointed to Gray's bandage, gave an exaggerated wince. Then she placed her pointer fingers facing each other and waggled her hands. "Hurt."
An image of Gray sprinting across the runway after her flared to life in Lori's mind. When had he been wounded? She'd never even seen him stumble. He'd just come for her without a care for himself.
Lori pointed to Gray's leg again, plastering on a pained expression, not a difficult task at all, and repeated the gesture. "Hurt."
Another image flamed to life, of Gray dragging her onto the plane. His injury must have been excruciating by then. Instead he'd focused the intensity of those glittering emerald eyes on her. He'd been mad as hell.
Her memory overlaid a sheen of concern in his eyes, even fear for her mingling with his anger. Had it been there before? Or was she only remembering what she wanted to?
That bandage glared at her with agonizing brightness. She needed for him to go before she started crying all over his wounded leg.
Lori pointed to Magda and made the "hurt" symbol. "Magda hurts?"
Magda frowned, and Lori raised her hands to explain again. Then Magda's face cleared. She pointed to her stomach, placed her pointers together and wiggled her tiny hands, mimicking Lori's gesture. Magda repeated the process again, a questioning look on her face.
Lori nodded. "Yes, your tummy hurts." She turned to Gray, feeling as if she'd saved another orphanage full of kids all over again. "Her stomach hurts!"
They'd figured it out, together, an accomplishment too heady for her comfort level.
Gray nodded. "Okay, we're getting somewhere."
With any luck he would dose Magda up and be on his way. He could pack his bag and take those too-tempting muscular legs out of her apartment before she started dreaming up late-night thoughts. She didn't think she could take much more of barely dressed Gray while moonlight cast a yellow hue a little too like candlelight romance.
Lori tucked Magda under her arm and asked Gray, "What can you do for her, Doc?"
"Doc," Magda parroted.
Gray grinned and ruffled Magda's hair. She ducked from his touch and patted her hair back in place. Lori offered him an apologetic grimace. "Sorry.">"One cookie won't kill her."
"Is that your official diagnosis, Doc?"
"Yes, ma'am. Give this kid a cookie a day."
"With milk."
"You bet." Conversation fizzling, Gray waited. For what? He didn't know.
Silence echoed through the room, broken only by the toll of church bells, a car horn, a cough from Magda.
Lori smoothed a hand over Magda's tufting hair and smiled a polite dismissal at Gray. "You probably have things to do, work or something. You can go now."
Magda chose just that moment to glance up. Yeah. The door's that way.
Gray took in the two of them, their faces so close together, so right, and knew he wasn't needed. His mission was over for the day. Magda and Lori were settled, not that it seemed to make leaving any easier.
He shoved to his feet. "She's allowed quiet play at home for the next five days. She can play with other kids out in public after that."