“I can help. Keep my hands and head busy.”
“I’ve a couple of tomatoes in there Mick’s wife gave me from her little greenhouse. You could slice them up.”
So she worked beside him, and felt better for that, too.
He made some sort of thin gravy from the drippings, tossed some herbs in it, then poured it over the chops.
Seated at the counter, Iona sampled a bite. “It’s good.”
“What were you expecting?”
“I didn’t have a clue, but it’s good. And, God, I’m seriously starving.”
Her color came up well as she ate, he noted, and that slightly dazed look faded from her eyes.
She’d gone from glowing and fierce to pale and shaky in the blink of an eye. And now, it relieved him to see her slide back to just normal. Just Iona.
“He didn’t use the fog,” she said abruptly. “I just realized, he just—it just walked out of the trees. I don’t know what that means, but I have to remember to tell Branna and Connor—and Fin. And the jewel, the red jewel around its neck. It wasn’t as bright at the end. I don’t think. Was it?”
“I couldn’t say. I was more about its teeth, and the way you’d gone so white. I wondered if you’d slide right out of the saddle.”
“Never going to happen.” She laughed a little, closed her hand over his. And stilled when his turned under hers, gripped hard.
“You scared the life out of me. The fucking life.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What in hell are you apologizing for? It’s an irritating habit.”
“I’m . . . working on it.”
“One minute we’re riding along, easy as you please, and I’m thinking, well then, we’ll have dinner and see how that goes. The next, you’re reaping a bloody whirlwind.”
He shoved up, snatched his plate and hers. Which was too bad, she thought, as she’d had a couple more chips, and would’ve eaten them.
“If you don’t want me to apologize, don’t yell at me.”
“I’m not yelling at you.”
“Who then?”
“No one. I’m just yelling. A man can express himself as he pleases in his own house.”
“Nobody ever yelled in my house.”
“What?” He looked genuinely astonished. “Were you reared in a church?”
She laughed again. “I think, maybe—if I go by your gauge—nobody cared enough to yell. Do you care, Boyle?”
“I care you’re not lying on the ground out there with your throat torn out.” He cursed himself as her color slid away. “Now I’m sorry. Truly. I’ve the devil’s own tongue when I’m in a temper. I’m sorry,” he repeated, and put his hands gently on her face to cup it. “You were so fierce. I don’t know what turned me more around. The wolf or you.”
“We came through it. That means a lot.” She put her hands over his. “And you made me dinner, you let me settle before you let it rip. That means a lot, too.”
“Then we’re all right, all right enough for now.”
He touched his lips to hers, gentle this time. And her hands slid to his wrists, tightened.
“I should take you home now.” He eased back, but she kept her hands on his wrists.