“I’ll let Maggie tell you herself when she’s had some rest. She has your number?”
As dismissals went, it was smooth and polite, but it was still a dismissal. After Sherri ensured him somewhat huffily that Maggie did, in fact, have her number, Michael wished her a pleasant night and hung up the phone, hoping he hadn’t created an uncomfortable situation for Maggie. He sincerely hoped not. There was something about the pretty little redhead that made him want to learn more about her.
*
When Maggie woke again hours later, she exhaled with great care, letting the breath escape slowly to lessen the pain in her ribs. No doubt Sherri would be calling back again soon; the woman might have had the looks of a model but she had the tenacity of a pit bull. With any luck, Maggie would have enough time to get herself up and moving by then. Otherwise she feared Sherri would end up calling 911 and a barrage of emergency vehicles would be flashing their lights outside her peaceful little home.
The sound of fierce, howling winds rattling against the panes competed with the crepitation of the fire for auditory dominance in the sturdy old farmhouse. It took Maggie a minute to get her bearings. She was on the sofa in her living room, tucked beneath a warm down comforter, a fluffy pillow beneath her head. That was weird; she didn’t even remember going to bed last night. Or making a fire. The last thing she remembered were spotty images of that hot, sexy doctor bringing her home....
Oh, God.
Maggie sat up quickly, immediately wishing she hadn’t. The pain in her head was fierce, and this morning she didn’t have the benefit of a few shots of finely-aged bourbon or the natural adrenaline from dancing to temper it. The entire right side of her body felt stiff and bruised as she forced herself off the cushions.
Looking down, she realized she was still wearing the shirt and sweats Michael had covered her in the night before. Lifting the soft flannel to her face, she inhaled the scent that had had such a devastating effect on her then, hoping it had been the post-crash delirium that had made it so appealing. Nope. Even now, after sleeping in them all night, the scent was still there, and still every bit as devastating. Maybe more so, because the combination of his scent mixed with hers was even better. Damn.
She gave herself a slight mental shake to free herself from those totally unproductive thoughts, and as soon as her head stopped spinning she looked around for her canine shadow. It was unusual that George hadn’t woken her to go out or to remind her about getting his breakfast. For as lazy as he was, the dog never missed a meal.
Then again, maybe he had tried. She had been pretty out of it. The poor guy was probably crossing his stubby little legs in front of the back door, she thought guiltily.
Bracing herself, she eased her way to standing. George had really taken to Michael, she thought, remembering how he had placed himself at Michael’s feet the night before. They said that dogs were excellent judges of character, and in this instance at least, she had to agree. How many men would have done what he had?
Maggie snorted quietly to herself. Not many. None that she knew, anyway. At least not without expecting something in return. Maggie made up her mind then and there to make some fresh cookies today and send them over to the Pub with her thanks. She vaguely remembered Sherri telling her that some of the brothers lived on the upper floors; she was fairly certain Michael was among them.
Her eyes were mostly open now, except for the right one which only seemed capable of opening half-way. Her hearing seemed to be working fine, and, judging from the discomfort she had along the length of her body, so were her tactile senses. But something wasn’t right with her nose. Amidst the light scent of wood smoke from the fire and the delicious scent of Michael on her clothes, she thought she also smelled ... bacon and eggs?
It took longer than usual for her to make her way along the short distance down the hallway. Her balance was decidedly off and her ankle and hip hurt like hell. Each step was a blaring reminder of her little accident off the stage. She wasn’t exactly the most graceful woman on earth, but neither was she typically clumsy.
What must they all think of her? Michael had said no one else had witnessed her fall from grace, but surely they all knew of it now. Would they laugh and snicker if they saw her again? Probably. Maybe someday she would look back and find it funny, too, but it wouldn’t be today.