Bachelor In Blue Jeans. Lauren Nichols

that pleased her.

      “No, I was returning Anna Mae’s keys to Mrs. Arnett.” Kristin kept her eyes above the dark, springy hair covering his chest. Thirteen years ago, only a strip of soft down had bisected his breastbone. “I thought you’d be staying at the farmhouse.”

      “I will be as soon as the water and power are turned back on. How did it go at Anna Mae’s? Did you find some pieces for your shop?”

      “A few. I was…I was interrupted and had to stop for a while. I’m going back tomorrow after church.”

      Zach ambled closer.

      Kristin glanced toward the office where her car was parked, nerves skittering beneath her skin. His thick black hair was wet, and a soapy fragrance wafted on the night air. He kept his voice low in deference to the hour.

      “I passed the church we used to go to on my way back to the farmhouse last night. Hasn’t changed mu—”

      Suddenly, his face went slack, and he set the ice bucket down. “What happened to you?”

      “Nothing,” she replied, startled.

      Reaching out, he turned her face toward the light. “Nothing? Your cheek’s swollen and there’s blood in your hair. Who did this?”

      Blood? “No one. I fell.”

      “Come on.” Grabbing her hand, he tugged her toward a unit several feet away. She cried out softly when the action jarred her aching shoulder.

      Zach’s gaze hardened. “You fell?”

      “I’m fine.”

      “All right, you’re fine. Don’t tell me what happened. And don’t accept my help. But if you don’t get some ice on your cheek pretty damn soon, you’re going to look like a poster girl for domestic abuse.”

      “All right!” Striding through the door, she moved past the disheveled bed with the plain blue coverlet, and entered his tiny bathroom. It seemed even smaller with shower mist and the intimate smells of soap and shampoo still hanging in the air. Butterflies battered her stomach as Zach reached past her to wipe the steam from the mirror, then stood behind her, staring at their reflections.

      Kristin sighed. Blood was caked near her temple, and there was a reddish-blue bruise on her cheekbone.

      Zach grabbed a washcloth, dropped some ice into it, then put the pack in her hand. “Now,” he said gravely. “What went on tonight?”

      She told him. He wasn’t much happier when she finished.

      “Chad didn’t insist that you get checked out at the hospital? And why in hell didn’t he deliver the keys to the Arnetts so you could go home and take care of yourself? Or didn’t he even notice that you’d been hurt?”

      “Zach, please,” she said, pressing the ice pack to her face. “I’m tired, and I don’t feel like defending Chad’s actions to you tonight. He did offer, but I refused. It was more important that he investigate the break-in. As for his not noticing, I was sitting in the dark, and my right side was turned away from him.”

      “You were standing in a dark courtyard and I noticed.”

      She shook her head. This was a mistake. She should never have let him bully her into coming in here. When he made sounds like a man who cared, it was too easy to forget that he’d nearly destroyed her, and too easy to remember that they’d once owned each other’s souls.

      “I need to go,” she said, shoving the ice pack in his hands. “Thank you.”

      “Wait. I want to see something.” Dropping the pack into the sink, he moved closer and turned her face up to his. After the ice, his hand was warm against her skin, and tiny nerve endings responded. “It’s still red,” he said quietly.

      “Makeup will cover it.”

      “Will it?”

      “Yes, I’m sure it—” She stiffened. “What are you doing? Zach—?”

      Warm breath fanned the hair at her temple as his lips brushed her cheekbone. “Just kissing it to make it better.”

      Kristin rammed both palms into his chest and shoved him away. “How dare you?” she demanded shakily, more furious with herself for allowing the kiss than she was with him. “You gave up the right to do that the night you slept with Gretchen Wilder.”