Free In McGillivray's Bed by Anne McAllister Page B

at him. “Thank you.”
    The smile had him stepping back away from the bed. He nodded quickly. “Glad you like it. Drink it all up, then shut out the light and go back to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow—well, today, really—afternoon.”
    â€œAfternoon?”
    â€œI’m gonna head over to the shop.”
    â€œNow?” She stared at him.
    He shrugged and swallowed a yawn. “Why not? Not getting any sleep here.” He arched his aching back. “Hammock’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
    She winced. “I’m sorry. When I angled to sleep in your bed, I didn’t realize you were a working man who really needed your sleep.” She actually sounded slightly abashed. “I’ll take the hammock.”
    â€œDon’t worry about it. I can catch a few winks on the couch in the office.” He turned to go.
    â€œWhat about your eye?” she demanded. “You should have ice for your eye.”
    â€œI don’t need ice.”
    â€œYou’ll have a black eye in the morning if you don’t. I’ll get you some.” And damned if she didn’t start to get out of bed.
    â€œThe hell you will,” Hugh said, blocking her way. “I’ll get my own ice, if I decide I need any.”
    Their gazes locked, dueled. When he and Lachlan were little they’d had these pretend swords that lit up with sparks whenever they hit each other. Hugh felt like he was seeingthose same sparks now. He gave his head a fierce shake. And grimaced because his eye did hurt.
    â€œI’ll put some ice on it,” he muttered, “if you just shut up and go to bed.”
    Once more she looked as if she might refuse, but then she tucked her feet back under the sheet and nodded. “All right.” She paused. “Thank you.”
    â€œYou’re welcome,” he said with equal politeness. Their gazes met once more—and lingered. Finally Hugh dragged his away, turned and started out of the room.
    â€œMcGillivray?”
    He stopped. “What?”
    â€œI…I really am grateful. I’ll fix the hole in the wall.”
    He’d forgotten about the damn hole. “Don’t worry about it.”
    â€œI will. I—”
    â€œGo to sleep, St. John,” he said firmly, and walked out, shutting the door behind him.
    But when he got to the porch, he didn’t feel as if he should leave. What if she had another nightmare? She’d hit the wall last time. What if Esme’s potion didn’t calm her down? What if she panicked? Got disoriented?
    Hugh sat down on the porch swing. It was even less comfortable than the hammock. He went back into the house and sat on one of the kitchen chairs. No good, either. He made himself a bed on the pile of laundry in the corner on the floor. Not too bad. He rolled onto his side so he could see the bedroom light beneath the door.
    Belle padded over and stuck her face down next to his and looked at him quizzically.
    â€œDon’t ask,” Hugh muttered.
    Belle wandered back outside and settled onto her bed. From the bedroom he heard the bed creak. The light went off.
    Hugh glanced at his watch—4:00. Swell. He shifted. He stretched. He sighed. He squirmed.
    Sydney slept.
    At least he assumed she did. He didn’t. He was getting too damn old for floors. And his eye throbbed. He got some ice, put it in a plastic bag and held it against his face. That was what he was doing when the shouting started again.
    â€œDamn it to hell!” Hugh tossed the ice bag into the sink and stalked into the bedroom.
    Syd was thrashing on the bed, arms and legs churning.
    â€œWake up!” he shouted from across the room.
    She sat up abruptly and stared at him, dazed. “What? Why are you yelling at me?”
    â€œI’m not the one yelling, sweetheart. That was you.”
    â€œOh.” Her head sagged forward and she thrust her hands through her hair. “Oh, I’m sorry.