Free Aubrielle's Call by C. Marie Bowen Page B

kitchen. “Are you hungry, Lou? It’s almost time to eat.”
    The old man shuffled toward the kitchen staring over his shoulder at John. “I remember you, sir. I haven’t forgotten.”

 
     
     
    CHAPTER 11
     
     
     
     
    “Who does he think I am?” John asked in a hushed voice as Mae Moroney ushered Aubrielle’s father into the kitchen. John’s gaze dropped to Aubrielle, and the desire to fall to his knees and take the washcloth from her torn hands surged inside his chest.
    I wish she remembered me.
    Aubrielle dabbed her skinned knee with the wet cloth. “It’s hard to tell.” Her tangled hair swung as she shook her head, then she looked up at John through long dark strands. “Perhaps an officer he knew in the war?” She glanced toward the kitchen and shrugged. Concern clouded her large dark eyes. “He’s getting worse.”
    John gave up trying to maintain his distance and dropped to his knees beside the chair. He held out his hand for the washcloth. “Let me do that.”
    “ Non, non. ” Aubrielle hooked a long curl behind her ear. “I made a terrible mistake today, m onsieur. I trusted.” She shook her head and her expressive eyes filled with sadness. “Now you ask for me to trust again. I am unsure—and more so—I am embarrassed by such kindness.” She released a deep breath and lowered her chin. The rosy tint in her cheeks confirmed her words.
    “Don’t be.” His hand trembled as he placed her foot on his thigh. “The water has run down your leg and into your stocking.” He untied her shoelace, set the saddle shoe aside, and rolled the ankle-high hosiery over her heel. “You’re still too cold.” He clasped both hands around her foot and silently caught his breath as her chilled skin touched his. The ache in his chest crawled up his throat, and he blinked to clear the moisture from his vision.
    Aubrielle shuddered and closed her eyes. “You cannot know how delightful that feels,” she whispered as she leaned her head back.
    John cleared his throat. “You’ve had a shock. We need to keep you warm.” He lowered her foot into the hot water, stood, and pulled the crocheted blanket from the back of the couch and draped it around Aubrielle’s shoulders. “Now the other foot.”
    “Why do you do this for me?” Her eyes fluttered open, and her gaze followed his movements.
    John set her sock and shoe aside and lowered her other foot into the warm water. “Why?” He raised a brow and smiled. “There’s a long answer and a short one. The long one is filled with tales of adventure and damsels in distress and should wait for a better time.” He picked up the washcloth from the water then glanced up to find her curious gaze following his every move.
    “Anyone would have helped you at the park, Miss Cohen. I was simply the closest and heard your cry.” He squeezed the water from the cloth and wiped the dirt from her knee. “As for helping you home, and cleaning your legs—what man could say no to this?” He raised his brow at her bare feet and winked.
    “Now you play the fool to make me laugh.” Aubrielle matched his grin.
    Mae set a small bottle of Merthiolate on the side table. “I’ll take care of the rest, Mr. Larson. I’m familiar with treating injuries.” She took the washcloth from his hands. “I was a nurse in the Great War.” She knelt beside the washtub. “Dinner is at seven. We don’t dress, but try not to be late. Lou likes his meals on time.”
    “Thank you.” John shrugged into his coat. “But there’s no need to feel you must repay me.”
    “Nonsense.” Mae held the medicine dauber suspended above Aubrielle’s knee. “It’s the least we can do. Brie is like a daughter to me.”
    Aubrielle touched his arm as he passed the chair. “Thank you again, Mr. Larson.” Her attention darted back to the red drop of antiseptic above her knee. “I would like you to have dinner with us as well.”
    “All right. But please, call me John. Both of you.”
    Mae