ANNIE KNEW that her behavior had effectively ruined the professional relationship she and Trent had developed during their six-week association. She could hardly go back to meekly calling him “Mr. McBride” now and pretending she saw him as just another client. But finding him on her floor earlier had changed everything. She’d realized then how vulnerable his pain made him—and how fragile his ego was since the accident. He’d been visibly surprised to hear her call him lucky, because he’d gotten out of the habit of thinking of himself that way.
She’d sensed that he’d dreaded her reaction to finding him incapacitated, and she had understood that pity was the last thing he wanted. He needed her to be blunt and matter-of-fact, and she had been—even to the point of rudeness. He had responded to that much more favorably than he would have to expressions of sympathy or concern. But she doubted that they would ever be able to return to the coolly polite distance they had maintained before.
She dawdled a while cleaning the kitchen, but could find nothing more to do. Tucking her novel under one arm, she carried a cup of coffee in each hand when she joined him in the living room. He was sitting in the rocker he’d made, and she could see now that the chair had been built to his personal specifications. The curved wooden seat and wide-slatted back that she found so comfortable provided firm support for his back. His elbows rested easily on the broad arms of the rocker as he gazed down at the paperback he’d chosen from her library.
He really was a talented woodworker, she thought, remembering the beautiful furniture and cabinetry in his house. She wondered if he had any plans to do it professionally. As long as he made some commonsense allowances for his bad back, there was no reason he shouldn’t earn a living doing something he excelled at, was there?
He looked up and she made herself speak casually. “I brought coffee.”
He reached out to accept his cup from her. “Thanks.”
“How’s your back?”
“Better.”
She settled on the couch with her coffee, laying her book beside her. “Is there anything I can get for you? I have some cookies in the pantry.”
“No, I’m fine.”
She picked up her book, then sat with it unopened in her lap, her gaze on Trent as he sipped his coffee and turned a page in the paperback. The afternoon sun slanted through the window behind him, turning his hair to gold. Such nice hair, she thought wistfully. She wondered if it felt as soft and springy as it looked.
As if he’d sensed her looking at him, he glanced up. “What?”
She shrugged, embarrassed at being caught staring and relieved he couldn’t read her mind. “Nothing. Sorry.”
He turned his attention back to the book, took another sip of coffee, then looked up at her again. “If you’re waiting for me to do something interesting, I’m afraid this is it.”
Her cheeks warmed. “I’m sorry. I keep staring, don’t I? I suppose it’s because I don’t have guests very often. Actually, you’re the first.”
He closed his book. He didn’t seem annoyed when he leaned back in the rocker and held the coffee cup loosely in front of him. “Your first guest, hmm? This probably isn’t the way you expected it to be.”
“Well, I’d prefer my guests to be here from choice rather than being physically incapable of leaving,” she admitted with a smile.
She’d half expected him to frown again at her mention of his earlier predicament, and it caught her a bit off guard when he chuckled, instead.
She didn’t know why, but he suddenly seemed to be in an almost mellow mood—mellow for Trent, anyway. Was it the medication? The food? The fact that he was feeling better? Whatever the reason, she decided to enjoy it while it lasted.
She smiled back at him. “All in all, I don’t think you’re a bad first guest. You stay out of my way, you don’t complain—much—and you like my cooking. Or at least you seemed to.”
He grimaced. “I’m really a lousy guest, aren’t I? I didn’t even tell you how good the meal was.”
The words pleased her more than they should have. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“I already knew you were a good cook. You’ve been bringing me casseroles ever since I gave you this chair.”
“It was the least I could do. I really love the rocker.”
He lifted the coffee cup to his lips again. She couldn’t help following the movement with her eyes. He had a great mouth, she mused. And when it curved into one of his rare, sexy smiles…
She brought that line of thought to an abrupt end. “I noticed that you fixed the knob on the medicine cabinet.”
“Yeah. It just needed a new screw. The, uh, window’s still stuck, though.”
Apparently, he’d been working on the window when he’d thrown his back out. “Tha
t’s okay. Maybe you can get to it next time.”
He lowered the cup slowly. “Next time?”