She threw back the covers and jumped to her feet, flinching from the cold wood beneath them. She’d have to beg for forgiveness and a second chance. Humiliation, it seemed, would be on the menu today, regardless.
Padding to his room, her feet slapping on the hallway floor, she stopped abruptly at the sight revealed through the wide-open bedroom door. Chance laid on his back on a fabric-covered board on the bed, just an ivory cotton sheet covering his hips and legs, while a buff man in a T-shirt and striped running shorts loomed over him, holding an elastic band that had been wrapped around Chance’s good foot. It looked like a picture out of one of those male muscle magazines that everyone said were really meant for gay guys.
The black-haired stranger lifted his head, his dark eyes curious. “Come on in.”
“Well, the sleepyhead’s up,” Chance chuckled, turning his face toward her.
God, he looked good in the morning.
“So this is the woman taking care of you. Seems you neglected to mention a few details.” The stranger winked as if she should get his reference.
“That’s an interesting outfit, Libby,” Chance said with raised eyebrows. One side of his mouth lifted in a smirk.
She glanced down and heat suffused her cheeks as she realized she was standing in nothing but red bikini underpants and a white T-shirt emblazoned with the words Bite Me.
“Don’t change on my account. I like the view,” the stranger said. His eyes positively twinkled with mischief.
Okay, clearly not gay.
“That’s a private view,” Chance retorted. This time his voice was a little gruffer. “Tom Whitefeather, this is Libby. My former wife.”
Whitefeather’s eyes went wider than an inflated hot air balloon, and the man’s mouth dropped open.
“I guess that’s as good a description as any,” she said. There was no simple way to explain their past relationship. “It’s complicated, Tom.”
“I bet.” Tom snapped his mouth closed.
Time to leave, not the least reason being she was hardly dressed for a chat.
“Have you two eaten yet?”
“Over an hour ago.”
“I am sorry.” How many times in twenty-four hours would she screw up trying to do a good deed?
“Cereal was perfectly done,” Chance added.
“Yes, well, it seems despite my best efforts, stocking cereal was a good idea.” She pivoted on her heel to go. Humiliation was definitely the special today.
“Libby.”
“Yes,” she said, trying not to sound defensive as she strode toward the door.
“I’m just funning.”
“Yes, well…”
“Before you go…” It was Tom Whitefeather’s voice.
Libby turned back around, her hands anchoring her hips as she wondered what else she was in for.
“Since you’re here and I’m on my way out, there are some things I’d like to show you if you’re going to help Chance.”
Chance had turned his attention to Tom, obviously curious too.
“Can I change first?” And she could really use some caffeine if she was to be functional.
“This will just take a second. I’ve written down most everything, and I’m heading out in a few minutes.” Tom had pasted on a goodwill smile.
Well, she’d caused enough problems with her late rising, she wasn’t about to inconvenience the man further.
“Sure,” she said and headed back.
Tom flashed a sheaf of papers. “His exercise routine is here. See these elastic straps.” He pointed to a pile of red and yellow strips of plastic-like fabric puddled on the floor. “You can wrap one around his leg and hold for tension. With the boot the doctor gave him, he should be able to walk with a cane in a few days. But if it starts to throb, he needs to rest it. I’d say exercise for no more than twenty minutes before he puts it up again. He’s got to go slow with the hand weights. Just arms, no ab work.”
“And it’s all written down?” Libby asked as she glanced at the typed paper with neat handwritten notes on the margins.
Tom nodded. “Including the maximum number of reps. But Chance here is the type to overdo, thinking it will make rehab go faster. It won’t. You’ll need to police him, make sure he doesn’t try too much.” Tom swung his gaze to Chance’s upturned face. “You’ll heal faster if you allow your body the opportunity to knit those bones.”
“Whatever will get me on a horse the quickest.”
“And if you can, a massage can help get the blood flowing and promote healing. Just avoid his ribs and the bruised area around his ankle.” Tom’s expression remained all business, but Libby felt the heat rise at the suggestion of a massage. If she had lustful thoughts looking at Chance, what would happen if she massaged him? And lustful thoughts were all they could be. She had to remember that. There was no happily-ever-after possibility with Chance. Her mind knew that, even if her heart and other regions of her body were in denial.
“I really need to change,” she said and headed for the hallway after what had to be a noticeable pause in the conversation. “If I don’t see you before you go, it was nice meeting you, Tom.” She closed the door behind her.
*