Island of Glass (The Guardians Trilogy #3)(49)

“Yes.”

“I want that—after a shower, real clothes.”

“I’ll stand by.”

The shower ranked as miraculous, as did being able to use her hands, her arms with minimal discomfort. As she dressed, she noticed Sasha’s easel on the balcony, and the painting in progress of the forest.

“I was angry with the forest, too,” Sasha told her. “Ridiculous really, but that’s how I felt. I thought painting it would exorcise that, and it’s helped. Seeing you on your feet finishes it.”

“Wait until you see me eat. While I do maybe you can fill me in on what’s been happening while I was out of it.”

“Bran’s made real progress on the shield he’s creating. Doyle’s been cracking the whip when he hasn’t been at the books.”

The idea of Doyle researching without prodding had Riley stopping short. “At the books?”

“Translating mostly. Some passages in Greek, others in Irish or Latin on the stars, and the island. No definitive answers yet there.”

As they came down the back steps, Sawyer walked in from the mudroom. “Hey! I was just going to head up to check. Look at you!”

“Don’t look too close,” Riley advised, but he wrapped his arms around her in a hug. “Aw, you missed me.”

“Did. Nobody around here wants to discuss the details, small and large, of the cinematic pastiche that is A New Hope.”

“You’ve really suffered.”

“Tell me.” Though he was subtle about it, he kept an arm around Riley’s waist to walk her to the table. “But you’re looking for food.”

“Damn skippy.”

“I’ve got this,” he told Sasha. “Bran’s still out with Doyle at target practice. Annika’s out there with Brigid—Brigid’s teaching her to knit,” he told Riley as he took the container of soup out of the fridge.

“Knit?”

“Yeah, they’ve bonded over yarns. Anyway, they’d like to know the prodigal’s returned.”

“I’ll go out.” Sasha took a last glance at Riley, went out.

Curious, Riley sat back. “Okay, you got rid of her.”

“Just wanted you to know she’s worried you’ll look at her different.”

“Don’t, won’t, and we settled all that.”

“Knew you would.” While the soup heated, he cut her a generous slab of bread, deftly sliced up an apple, cubed some cheese. “Appetizer.”

“Thanks. Missed you, too. I guess the search for the star’s been on hold.”

“Not altogether. We talked about maybe diving, since Brigid was here for you, but it didn’t make sense—and didn’t feel right. It needs to be all six of us, so we tabled that. Unanimously. Doyle and I mapped out some areas on land. Annika says he’s a little bit stuck on you.”

“What sort of areas . . . What? What?”

Obviously amused by her reaction, Sawyer smirked. “Could be because Sasha gave her Pride and Prejudice to read to you. Annika thinks Doyle’s like Mr. Darcy.”

“Oh, please.”

“What I said.” He jabbed a finger in the air. “She’s romantic. Bonus for me. Still, Doyle’s been pretty messed up about what happened to you. We all have been, but . . .”

He glanced at the door—just in case—as he ladled soup into a bowl. “I guess I noticed some myself. We had to hold you down.” Blowing out a breath, Sawyer set the soup in front of Riley. “Don’t like going back there. Seriously horrible, every level. But we had to hold you down while Bran and Sasha worked on you, when we got you back upstairs. I was pretty focused on you—had your legs. Doyle’s behind you on the bed, propping you up so Bran could get some potion into you, holding your shoulders.”

“I don’t remember . . . exactly. It’s all jumbled.”

“That’s probably a good thing. Leave it jumbled. Anyway, he looked rough. He doesn’t let a lot show, you know? But he looked rough. I guess we all did. I didn’t think much of it until Annika started with Darcy and all that, but Doyle, he kept talking to you—mostly in Irish and low, so I don’t know what he said, but it was the way. Just speculation, take it for what it’s worth. I just figured you’d want to know.”

“Anni’s rubbing off on you.”

“Every chance I get.”

Laughing, Riley dismissed it, applied herself to the soup. “You know what I said to you when you were brooding and sulking about being weak and hurt?”

“I wasn’t sulking.” And Sawyer sulked a little at the idea. “Maybe brooding, marginally.”

“Just throw it back in my face if I do the same.”

“Consider it done.”

“How close was I to buying it? Don’t hold back.”

He gave her a long study first, gray eyes assessing. “You were pocketing the receipt, telling dead relatives calling to you from the light to keep the change.”

Nodding, she ate. “Then I won’t brood and sulk much, because hey, alive.”

“A fine attitude,” Brigid said as she came in with Annika. “It will serve you well. Let’s have a look.” Stepping around the table, Brigid took Riley’s chin in one hand, laid the other on top of her head. “Clear-minded, a bit weak, a bit sore. You’ll tire more quickly than you’d like for another day or so. Rest and the restorative will help there. The soreness will pass, as will the weakness. Red meat for you tonight, girl.”