Part 17 (1/2)
He sighed, clearly frustrated. She started to turn away, but he stopped her by snagging her arm. ”I'm not leaving until we talk about this.”
The words chilled her, and for the first time she knew there was more going on than she had been told. ”What are you talking about?”
”Mommy!” came Kevin's voice from his bedroom. ”I can't find my one-armed Spider-Man!”
”He's on your night table, sweetie.”
Drew looked past her toward the hall. ”We'll talk about this later, okay?”
Alison didn't want to wait, but even more she didn't want to frighten her son. She'd worked hard to give him a secure home, and she didn't want this or anything else to jeopardize that. ”All right.”
He contemplated her for a moment, his gaze flicking to the b.u.mp at her temple, then down to her wet clothes. ”You're s.h.i.+vering. Why don't you get into some dry clothes and let Kevin and I take care of dinner?”
She wasn't accustomed to anyone taking care of her, but the thought appealed. She was chilled to the bone and wanted nothing more than a hot shower, a couple of aspirin and some dry clothes.
”Do you have any pasta?”
She blinked at him, surprised by the sudden change of topics. ”Uh, spaghetti.”
”Sauce?”
”Mushroom. In the pantry.”
”Perfect.” He started toward the kitchen, then paused to look at her over his shoulder. ”Take a shower, Alison. I'll keep an eye on Kevin. Everything's going to be all right.”
Alison wanted to believe that. She wanted to believe what had happened to her at Evans Yachts was a random act of violence. But as she made her way down the hall toward the linen closet, she couldn't shake the niggling suspicion that there was a h.e.l.l of a lot more going on than anyone had bothered to tell her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
Drew cut tomatoes while Kevin tore lettuce and chatted about his day at the Happy Hippo Day-care Center.
”...and then Timmy Burns threw up all over his desk and Mrs. Duffy had to call his mom. I made two new friends and one of them's a girl called Toni, but she looks kinda like a boy so I thought it would be okay to play with her.”
Drew listened with only half an ear as he set the tomatoes aside and turned to stir the spaghetti sauce on the stove. The other half of his mind was focused on the sound of water running in the shower down the hall and Alison.
He couldn't believe some lowlife son of a b.i.t.c.h had hurt her. The thought of anyone laying a hand on her made his blood boil. She was a gentle person with a kind heart and didn't deserve to be knocked around.
”Something smells great.”
He glanced over his shoulder to see her enter the kitchen, and his heart stumbled in his chest. The loose-fitting shorts and a scoop-neck T-s.h.i.+rt shouldn't have been s.e.xy, but they were. She could be wearing a burlap bag and still look s.e.xy as h.e.l.l. His eyes ran the length of her, and a sharp tug of attraction hit him low in the gut. Then he spotted the abrasions and shuddered inside. Both knees looked as if someone had taken a grater to them. He remembered how soft her skin was and felt a surge of rage at the thought of someone brutalizing her.
”Drew and me are fixing spaghetti!” Kevin said with his usual exuberance. ”I got to make the salad, Mommy. Do you want some?”
She came up behind Kevin, put her arms around him and gave him a noisy kiss on the cheek. ”That's 'Drew and I,' honey. And, yes, I would very much like some salad.”
”Good, 'cause we fixed a lot, Mommy. Drew said you had a hard day and were going to be extra hungry.” The little boy glanced down at her knees and his smile fell. ”Mommy, that musta really hurt when you fell down.”
Trying to make light of Kevin's suddenly serious tone, Alison leaned forward and touched her nose to his. ”It looks worse than what it is, honey.”
Drew stepped away from the stove and his gaze met Alison's. ”How are you feeling?”
”Better.” She smiled tentatively, and he thought he'd never seen a woman look quite so beautiful. ”Can I do something to help?”
”I think we can handle dinner.” He nudged Kevin with his elbow. ”Think we can handle dinner, sprout?”
”Yeah! I'm almost finished with the salad.”
Turning away from them, Drew opened a package of spaghetti and dumped it into boiling water. ”Kev, how about if you set out the napkins, then go wash your face and hands?”
”Do I gotta wash?”
Drew shot him a stern look, and Kevin didn't push it.
For several minutes, the three of them worked as a team. Alison took out a bottle of merlot and proceeded to remove the cork. Kevin folded paper napkins and carefully arranged the silverware on top. Drew dumped steaming pasta into a colander. To an outsider, the scene might have looked like a family preparing their dinner. To Drew, the undercurrent of tension was palpable.
”Okay, kiddo, into the bathroom to wash your face and hands,” Alison said.
”Aw, Mommy...”
”Now,” Drew said firmly.
Huffing his displeasure, Kevin rushed to the bathroom.
”Would you like a gla.s.s of merlot?” Alison asked.
”Sure,” he said, ”and then I want you to have a seat so I can see to those knees.”
”They're only minor sc.r.a.pes, Drew. I think I'll live.”
”Hey, I'm an EMT, remember? I'm bound by an oath to render aid.” He tilted his head and caught her gaze. ”Where's your first-aid kit?”
She frowned good-naturedly. ”In the small bathroom off the hall.”
”Don't go away. I'll be right back.” Drew walked into the guest bathroom and found the small kit in the cabinet above the commode. Back in the kitchen, he set it down on the table and motioned toward a chair. ”Have a seat.”
Taking her gla.s.s of wine with her, Alison gingerly lowered herself into the chair.
”Sore?”
”A little.” She looked down at her knees and frowned. ”They look worse than they really are.”
Kneeling before her, he opened the kit and studied the abrasions. ”It looks like there's some gravel imbedded in the skin.”
He tried hard to keep his mind on the business at hand as he reached for the peroxide and gauze and set both on the floor next to him. But when it came time to touch her, his concentration faltered. As an EMT, Drew had administered first aid to hundreds of people over the years. He'd always considered himself a professional, never allowing his emotions or something as ba.n.a.l as his libido to interfere with his work. But one look at the satin flesh of her thighs and suddenly he didn't feel very professional at all. He felt more like an insecure teenager about to face the most popular girl in school.