Free Love Proof (Laws of Attraction) by Elizabeth Ruston Page B

getting
out,” she called, knowing he was still in there.
    “Can’t wait.”
    “Burke, this isn’t funny now.  Thank you for the towels.  I mean it—I
appreciate that.  But now you’ve had your fun . . . ”
    Had he really cleaned up her vomit?  Fun.  Right.
    “Sure you don’t need some help in there?” Joe asked.
    Sarah’s jaw tightened.  “Very sure.  Get out.”
    “I had them bring you a new robe, too,” he said.  “I knew the other one
would probably be a toxic waste site.”
    “Shut up,” she said again, feeling like a child for saying it.  But he
was egging her on like they were twenty years younger.  If he was going to act
like a fifth-grader, so could she.
    “I’m going to order some coffee,” Joe said.  “Interested?”
    Sarah stood behind the shower curtain, shivering.  She needed a towel
more than she needed to win the point.
    She pulled the curtain back enough so that she could reach out toward
the toilet seat, but Joe beat her to it.  He handed her one of the thick
towels, and smiled when she met his eye.
    “I like your hair,” he said.
    Her hand flew to the mass of curls the water had activated.  She was on
the verge of saying, “Shut up” again, but stopped herself.  Instead she closed
the shower curtain again and began toweling off.
    “I’m sure I’ve looked wonderful the whole time you’ve been here,” she
said.  “Barfing over the toilet . . . ”
    “Hallucinating in bed . . . ”
    “I didn’t,” she insisted.
    “Okay, if you say so.”
    The truth was, there might have been a dream right before she woke up. 
And he might have been in it.  If she’d said any of that out loud . . .
    “Burke, why are you messing with me?  Do you think I’m feeling up to it
right now?”
    “I don’t know, that’s what I’m testing,” he said.  “I’m trying to gauge
whether you can fly back home today, or whether you need to stay here.”
    Sarah paused in her drying.  “We have depos in Idaho.”
    “Not anymore,” he said.  “Not this week, anyway.”
    “Why?”
    “No one wants what you have,” Joe said.  “Especially right before
Thanksgiving.  Paul saw you go down yesterday morning, and he was on a flight
home by the afternoon.  The court reporter, too.  We’ve all agreed to
reschedule.”
    Sarah stepped out of the shower with the towel wrapped around her
torso.  She used one of the other towels to hide her spiraling hair. 
“Rescheduled them when?” she asked, feeling less self-conscious now that they
were talking about work again.  “We don’t have time.”
    “We’ll stop by here again as part of Montana next week,” Joe said.  “The
flight from Missoula to Billings goes through Salt Lake anyway.  And we’ll
squeeze in Idaho after that.  Don’t worry, Henley, it’s all taken care of.”
    She liked it better when he called her “Henley” than when he called her
“Red.”  She almost felt like they were back on normal footing now.  Except for
the fact that he was standing in her bathroom wearing loose cotton pants and a
T-shirt, and she wore nothing but two towels.
    “Chapman left yesterday?” she said, finally processing that bit of
information.
    “Yep.”
    “But you didn’t.”
    “Nope.”
    She looked at Joe in the small space between them.  He gave her an easy
look back, not trying to get credit, it seemed, but just stating the facts:  he
had taken care of her.  He had stayed to watch over her.  And he was still
there.
    Sarah shook her head.  “This doesn’t change anything.”
    Joe looked her in the eye.  “I know.”  Then he turned to leave, saying,
“Coffee, Red?”
    Sarah bit back her first response.  She forced herself to be
pleasant—for her own sake, not his.  Yes, what he had done was very kind. 
Above and beyond, even.  But if he expected anything in return—anything more
than the most basic, polite gratitude—he was deluded.
    “Tea would be better,” she said.
    He walked over toward the