She groa
ned as she remembered and hit the heel of her palm against her forehead. “I have something for you to wear. That’s where I was this morning, picking up some things you would need.” The shopping bag still lay where she had dropped it in the living room; she grabbed it and carried it into the bedroom, where she deposited it on the bed.
He opened the bag and a curious expression crossed his face; then he pulled out a lacy pair of panties and held them up to examine them before Rachel could explain. “Size five,” he commented, and looked at her as though measuring her for the fit. The scrap of lace and nylon dangled from one finger. “Nice, but I don’t think they’ll fit me.”
“They weren’t meant to,” Rachel said calmly, still tingling from the once-over he’d given her. “They were camouflage, that’s all. Anything you find in there that you don’t ordinarily use, put back in the bag.” She refused to be embarrassed, since she had only done what had seemed necessary. The “camouflage” had been darned expensive, too! Leaving him to dress in whatever he chose, she returned to the kitchen and popped buttered fresh bread into the oven, then ladled up the stew and poured tea into tall glasses full of ice.
“I need help with the shirt.”
She hadn’t heard him approach, and she whirled, startled by both his nearness and what he’d said. He was standing right behind her, clad in the black denim cutoffs and holding the terry-cloth pullover in his hand. His chest filled her vision, tautly powerful muscles covered with black, curling hair and the white bulk of the bandage wrapped around his left shoulder. How long had he struggled with the shirt before admitting that he couldn’t manage it by himself? She was astonished that he hadn’t simply exchanged it for one that buttoned, so he wouldn’t have to ask for her help.
“Sit down so I can reach you better,” she said, taking the shirt from his hand. He held the corner of the cabinets for support as he slowly limped to the table in the dining alcove and eased himself down onto one of the chairs. Rachel carefully worked the shirt up his arm, a look of intent concentration on her face as she tried not to jostle his shoulder. When she had it in place she said, “Put your other arm in the sleeve while I keep it from pulling on your shoulder.”
Without a word he did as she directed, and together they pulled the shirt over his head. Rachel tugged it into place, much as a mother would dress a toddler, but the man sitting motionless under her ministrations was no child in any sense she could imagine. She didn’t linger over the chore, well aware of his dislike for having to rely on her aid. Briskly she got the bread out of the oven and put it in the napkin-lined breadbasket, then placed the basket on the table and took her own chair. “Are you left-handed or right-handed?” she asked, not looking at him, even though she could feel the burning energy of his gaze on her face.
“Ambidextrous. Why?”
“The spoon could be difficult for you to handle if you were left-handed,” she replied, nodding at the stew. “Would you like bread?”
“Please.”
He was very good at one-word sentences, she thought as she put the bread on his plate. Actually, she should have thought of asking him if he could handle the razor, too, but his clean-shaven face said that he evidently could. They ate in silence for a few moments, and he really did justice to the stew. She hadn’t expected his appetite to be so good so early in his recovery.
The bowl was nearly empty when he put his spoon down and pinned her with the ebony fire of his eyes. “Tell me what’s going on.”
It was a demand that Rachel didn’t feel like meeting. Carefully she put her own spoon down. “I think it’s my turn to ask a few questions. Who are you? What’s your name?”
He didn’t like the counterdemand. She sensed his displeasure, though his expression didn’t flicker. The hesitation lasted for barely a second, but she noticed it and had the immediate impression that he wasn’t going to answer. Then he drawled, “Call me ‘Joe’.”
“I can’t do that,” she replied. “‘Joe’ is what I call the dog, because he wouldn’t tell me his name, either. Make up another one.” Driven by the electric surge of tension in the air she began clearing off the table, moving swiftly and automatically.
He watched her for a moment, then said quietly, “Sit down.”
Rachel didn’t pause. “Why? Do I have to be sitting down to listen to more lies?”
“Rachel, sit down.” He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t change the calm, dead-level inflection of his tone, but suddenly it was a command. She stared at him for a moment, then lifted her chin and returned to her chair. When she merely waited in silence, looking at him, he gave a little sigh.
“I appreciate your help, but the less you know, the better it is for you.”
Rachel had always hated it when anyone presumed to know what was best for her and what wasn’t. “I see. Was I not supposed to notice that you had two bullet holes in you when I pulled you out of the surf? Was I supposed to turn my head when two men pretending to be FBI agents came looking for you, and just turn you over to them? Was it supposed to pass my notice that you held a knife to my throat this morning? I’m a little curious, I admit! I’ve nursed you for four days, and I really would like to know your name, if that isn’t too much to ask!”
One level black brow lifted at her sarcasm. “It could be.”
“All right, forget it. Play your little games. You don’t answer my questions and I won’t answer yours. Deal?”
He watched her for a little longer, and Rachel kept her gaze level, not backing down an inch. “My name is Sabin,” he finally said, the words slowly drawn out of him, as if he begrudged every syllable.
She absorbed the name’s sound, her mind lingering over the feel and form of it. “And the rest of it?”
“Is it important?”
“No. But I’d like to know, anyway.”
He paused only a fraction of a second. “Kell Sabin.”
She held out her hand. “Glad to meet you, Kell Sabin.”
Slowly he took her hand, his callused palm sliding against her softer one and his hard, warm fingers wrapping around hers. “Thank you for taking care of me. I’ve been here four days?”