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  She began to come around slowly, eyes fluttering open, startling him with their out of focus, fuzzy blueness as he leaned over her.

  Her eyes found his then glided down him, and despite the fact that she'd acted afraid of the sight of him, he didn't get that from her now at all. Instead, he watched her frown as she actually reached out her hand toward him, sliding it in, past the left side of his robe, which was gaping open, to run her fingers over the raised, puckered flesh it found there with a tenderness he hadn't felt from a woman—from anyone—in ages.

  He was instantly hard from the feel of her, of course. How could he help but be, although he was horrified at his reaction, too, however normal? He didn't want to scare her any more than he already had.

  So, he jerked himself away from her touch—much as she likely would from his—and that broke the spell.

  His "Don't" was much sharper than he intended it to be, but then he was feeling quite raw around her.

  He watched her come more into herself at that moment, and then she shot off the couch to literally practically cower in the corner of the room that was farthest away from him.

  Chapter 3

  Hoyt swallowed hard and sighed, trying not to take her reaction personally. He would've been terrified, too, if someone who looked like him had been bending over him when he came back to consciousness.

  He moved carefully to stand in the middle of the room, facing away from her, giving her plenty of space and, at the same time, able to see her in the mirror of the etagere in the foyer.

  His tone was deep and calm and soothing. "I would never hurt you, Mrs. Messier. I want you to know that first and foremost. My mother raised me right. I didn't mean to startle you when I came to the door, but I don't usually get visitors. I'm also a night owl, so it's early in the morning for me and I was a bit crotchety. I'm sorry. You fell off the porch and landed on your back, unconscious. I picked you up and brought you into my living room then applied a cold compress to your head, neck, and wrists."

  Arianne knew she should thank him, but she was still feeling a bit fuzzy, and not a little afraid, so she didn't quite trust herself to speak yet. She did wonder why he had presented her with his back, though.

  "I'm going to go stand in the doorway to the kitchen. It's been a while since I was trained as a medic, but I think it would be best for you to lie down for a little while longer, so that you can get your bearings and see how you feel."

  As much as she hated to admit it, he was not wrong. She was feeling more than a little dizzy and was trying to take deep breaths to countermand a bit of an upset stomach.

  He did exactly as he said he would, still able to watch her surreptitiously.

  And he was incredibly impressed by what he saw.

  She took a moment or two, with her head down, then he saw her stand—a bit wobbly, at first, which made him want to run to help her, but then more steadily. Using the wall and then the furniture, for support, she made her way back to the couch.

  "The towel on the coffee table is nice and cold. Put it over your forehead or your eyes. You might find you have a headache."

  Again, he was right.

  But almost as soon as she'd settled back and he was going to make a move to get another cold cloth, she sat bolt upright and launched herself off the couch.

  He had to hold himself back from storming over to her and putting her back on the couch himself, but he managed not to. As it was, he turned mostly toward her then quickly all the way back, so as not to upset her further, putting an arm out that she stopped short of hitting.

  "Where are you going?"

  She was nearly in tears when she answered him, "I can't believe I forgot about my daughter. She's in the car, in her car seat."

  "I'll get her and bring her in to you."

  "There's no need—"

  "Arianne. What did I just say?"

  Her mouth went dry at his quietly commanding tone, to say nothing of the sound of her name from his lips, and she instantly became a million times more sensitive to him—but not in a bad way. Yet she didn't welcome those very intimate feelings, regardless.

  He waited patiently for her to obey him.

  She knew she had no hope of making it past him to get Emmy, herself, so she did as she was told, daring to sigh impatiently once she had.

  The untouched corner of Hoyt's mouth rose at that. As he remained with his back to her, he ordered in the same way, "I want you to stay on the couch, Arianne. There's no reason for you to get up. Understand?"

  He stayed put, waiting for a response.

  It took her a while to realize that that was what he was doing, but then she said, "Uh, yeah."

  "'Yes, Sir'," he supplied, watching her cheeks color brightly in the mirror.

  Her "Yes, Sir" was delightfully reluctant.

  He was almost to the door when he heard her yell, "Tell her "Pooh Bear", or she shouldn't go with you. That's our code phrase for anyone who picks her up."

  Hoyt also heard her moan after she yelled and saw her put her head in her hands. "Okay. I'll be right back."

  He was as good as his word.

  She, however, was not as good as hers, and she'd gotten up as soon as she'd heard him stomp down the stairs, figuring she was safe in getting up to watch what transpired between the two of them.

  But he was more at ease with her than her father was, by a long shot, and was obviously being very careful of himself with Emmy.

  The sound of the voice he used with her daughter nearly made Arianne melt, too. "Well, hello, little one. We met before in the store. Do you remember, I wonder?" he asked as he hunched down by the back window of the car to talk to her. "You were in a rainbow tutu and cowboy boots?"

  She saw her daughter nod solemnly.

  "Well, your Mumma asked me to come get you. She's inside my house, lying down, and she told me to say 'Pooh Bear', so you'd know if was okay for me to come get you. Do you like Pooh? I like him quite a bit, myself."

  Only then, did he open the car door and reach in to undo her car seat, talking to her the whole time. "I'm gonna pick you up now, sweetie, and we'll go see your mom. What's your favorite Pooh Bear story, hmm? I like the Blustery Day one."

  She went to him without hesitation, as if she'd known him all her life, and once he closed the car door, he held her gently on his hip as he brought her back into the house.

  Arianne scrambled back to the couch as soon as he turned back, and Hoyt flew Emmy over to her mother on her belly but set her down next to the couch, then he carefully turned himself away from them as he listened to them talking.

  "I'm sorry to have left you in the car so long by yourself. You okay, buglette?" she asked immediately.

  "Huh-huh. You felled down, Mumma!"

  "I did! Mumma's not any too graceful, huh? Will you kiss my booboo?"

  He could hear Emmy's sloppy smooch of what was probably Arianne's head, wishing she'd gotten the chance to do the same for his own boo boos.

  "Thank you! I feel much better already!"

  Emmy giggled at that.

  "May I have a hug, too, please?"

  Hoyt liked the way she led by example with her daughter, too, and he could hear the sounds of them hugging each other enthusiastically.

  She put Emmy down behind him, and the child naturally began to look around the place, but Hoyt headed her off.

  "Emmy?" he said, crooking his finger at her.

  The way it felt when she ran to him without the slightest hesitation was utterly indescribable.

  He only wished her mother would do the same thing, although he knew he probably shouldn't have been hoping for that.

  When she got there, he lifted her onto his lap and asked in a firm voice, "Look at me, please, Mischief."

  She beamed up at him.

  "I'm very glad to have you visiting my house, but it's not a place that's had kids in it at all, and there are some things that I do not want you to touch. I want you to stay in this room with us, and if there's something you'd like
to touch, I want you to come over to me, and we'll investigate it together, okay, princess?"

  "'Kay!"

  With that, he put her down and addressed her mother. "Well, we haven't met formally, but I'm Hoyt Chandler. And you're Arianne Messier. You're renting my house."

  "Hard to shake hands with someone's back," she pointed out, watching his shoulders slump slightly and wondering what she'd said.

  When he spoke, his voice was a bit gruff sounding. "Well, I realize that my visage is off-putting and it frightens you, so I'm trying not to subject you to it."

  Was that a snort he heard?

  "Wrong."

  "Wrong?"

  He said it like a man who wasn't often used to being wrong, and if she was more comfortable with him, she might have laughed. "Yes. Wrong," she replied softly. "Your scars don't bother me at all. Why would they? They're just scars."

  "They're ugly."

  "So am I."

  "Ahem."

  "Got a frog in your throat?"

  "No, but I'll have you over my lap if you keep talking like that."

  Even Emmy paused at that, looking at him from the window seat she'd found, but he just winked at her. He hadn't turned around yet, so he couldn't do it at Arianne yet. But then, he meant what he'd said, so he wouldn't have done that in her direction, anyway.

  "I-I don't think so."

  Her voice sounded different than it had when their conversation began. He detected more than a little fear creeping into it, and he didn't like that in the least.

  "I'm going to turn around. Fair warning."

  Hoyt waited a moment then swung his legs around. He took one look at her and said, "You see, the expression on your face is one of fear, which makes me think you've lied to me about how you feel in regards to my freak show of a face."

  Ari was trying to keep herself from actively cramming herself into the corner of the couch. Somehow, he looked much larger now. "It's—it's not your scars! It's your size! You're so fu—freaking big!"

  He would almost have been happier if it had been his disfigurement. The fact that she was fearful of his size made him wonder if someone his size had dared hurt her.

  And as much as he desperately wanted to ask her that very personal question, he knew he didn't know her well enough to do so—and likely never would.

  "Well, I'm afraid there's not much I can do about that. I could put a bag over my head so you didn't have to see my ugly mug, but the big thing is kinda non-negotiable, unfortunately."

  Her voice was small and soft but still firm when she chided him, "I can't take you over my lap, but you shouldn't say things like that about yourself, either!"

  She was going to make him blush, which was going to make him even uglier when the color hit the ruddy shading of his bad side. "It's much more accurate to say that about me than about you, you have to concede."

  "I don't have to do any such thing," she stated staunchly.

  He didn't intend to argue with her about it, especially since he was right. So, he asked instead, "How are you feeling?"

  "Better—"

  Emmy appeared at his elbow at that moment. "I wanna thee thomething, pleathe."

  He was about to agree to do so with her and was going to praise her for doing as he asked, but Arianne pre-empted him.

  "Teensie, what have I told you about interrupting?"

  "Don't," the little girl answered with a definitive nod of her head.

  Hoyt smothered a chuckle unsuccessfully, and Arianne gave him a look, which shut him up.

  "That's correct, but you just interrupted me. When two people are talking, you must wait your turn to join the conversation, not butt in on someone's sentence."

  "Yeth, Mumma," she answered dutifully. After waiting a second, she asked, "Can I interrupt now?"

  Arianne closed her eyes and shook her head. "Yeah, go ahead."

  She wanted to see some of the model airplanes he'd made as a kid, and he showed them to her proudly, all while keeping a weather eye on her mother, who seemed ready to bolt.

  "Baby girl, it's time we stopped imposing on Mr. Chandler and headed on home. Mommy has job applications to fill out."

  Emmy left him to go stand by her mother.

  "You're looking for a job?"

  She stood as carefully as she could but managed to wobble a little anyway, which he didn't like the looks of. He automatically took a step toward her that had Ari giving him another one of those deer in headlight looks that he hated being on the receiving end of.

  He was torn, feeling as if he really shouldn't discourage her from feeling the way she did about him. After all, it wasn't as if he had anything to offer her, really, and he wasn't even sure whether he believed what she'd said about not being afraid of how hideous he looked.

  But he wanted her—with a bone deep, unmistakable, nearly impossible to ignore hunger that made his hands ache with the need to touch and hold her, to fit that small body to his in the most elemental of ways and sink himself deeply into her wetness. It was a response he'd never had to any women in his life before, and he didn't like some aspects of how it made him feel.

  "Yes, I am. But I'm not having any luck, unfortunately."

  An idea popped into his head, but he rejected it out of hand, following behind the two of them as they moved toward the door but doing his best not to crowd them.

  Her. Not to crowd her. Emmy, apparently, had no problems with him, despite the fact that he knew he closely resembled a lot of the monsters in children's books.

  In fact, when she paused to turn back to where he had remained in the living room doorway, the little girl took that moment to run back to him. He caught her up and held her warm, sweet smelling little body against him, saying, "It was great to see you again, poppet," as he kissed her cheek with a comically loud smooch.

  She grinned, and—he suspected deliberately—leaned over to kiss his ravaged cheek, proclaiming, when she leaned back, "There. It'th all bedder now."

  "It definitely is! Thank you very much for using your princess powers on me!"

  "Welcome!" she grinned proudly. He kissed her forehead then put her down with an unfamiliar sense of pure reluctance to do so.

  Emmy ran to her mother, who was already across the porch, while waving back at him. "Bye!"

  "Bye, Emmy!"

  Hoyt stood at the door, hands in his pockets. "Goodbye, Mrs. Messier."

  She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and he thought it was because of what he'd said. But then she reached down to pick something up off the ground, near where she'd fallen, and came back to stand in front of him, looking nervous again.

  "This was the whole reason I came over here—because Bev closed the office. I wanted to give you the rent before it got any later in the month."

  "Thank you." He wished he could see her eyes, but she was staring at her feet.

  "I'm sorry about… touching you, too, when I first came awake. I wasn't feeling myself at the time, but it was very improper of me to have done so, regardless."

  "Yes, it was," he murmured a bit gruffly, making her head come up suddenly. Damn, he didn't think he'd ever recover from looking into those wistfully sad, big blues of hers!

  "Well, I'm sorry." Ari turned away before she said or did something else she was ashamed to in front of him. That seemed to be all she could do when she was around him! "I'll be sure to get the check in the mail earlier. I'm not usually late with that sort of thing."

  He didn't answer her, and it made her just that much more nervous, and she very nearly peeled rubber driving away from him.

  Hoyt didn't close the door until he could no longer see her, castigating himself for not saying what he wanted to say to her before she left. She could have had a concussion, and he needed to make sure she knew what the warning signs were of that, in case she needed to go to see a doctor.

  He waited until he thought she was probably home, then he texted her. I'm sorry to bother you, but I forgot to mention that you should be on the lookout for a potentia
l concussion from your fall. If you have a bad headache, or feel nauseated, your vision is blurry, or you're sensitive to light, please go to the clinic in Barnesboro or the ER in Sevierville. He only hesitated a second then added, if you need me to, I'd be glad to drive you to either place.

  How did you get my number?

  Bev gave it to me, since I'm your landlord.

  Arianne sighed. It wasn't as if she was going to forget that. Thank you for your concern. Texting is excruciating on a flip phone, though. Good night.

  Well, at least she answered him. He supposed that was something.

  Nothing came of her fall, thankfully, besides a slight headache that only lasted a day or so.

  And it turned out that Bev was only gone through one more rent cycle, too, thankfully. She arrived back in the middle of the next month and called Ari to let her know.

  Unfortunately, Ari wasn't having any better luck at finding gainful employment, and she was beginning to be quite stressed by the situation. None of the banks in the area had even given her a nibble. She'd applied for just about everything out there—even things she wasn't really qualified for, and still nothing.

  She'd cut their expenses way back, wanting to stretch the money they had as far as it would possibly go, getting on the budget plan for her electricity bill, jettisoning the land line to the house and just using her cell, and reducing their cable bill to just internet, which hadn't helped much because they preferred to "bundle" services, but ten dollars was ten dollars.

  They didn't eat out—not that they'd done that much before, but she stopped it altogether. There was no more recreational driving through the beautiful mountains—not until they had something—anything—coming in.

  Finally, she got an interview. It wasn't for anything great—just a cashier job at a gas station in the next town over—but she was grateful for it regardless.

  The only problem she had was that she didn't know who she could get to take care of Emmy, since the interview was at two in the afternoon. She certainly couldn't take her with her, and Bev was just about the only person she knew in town. But Bev had a job of her own, so there went that.