The Gamble (Colorado Mountain #1)(112)

Mom shuffled off with Mindy, Max, Brody and my wet clothes and Brody climbed into Max’s bed with Mindy, holding her close as the doctor came up the stairs.

At this point, Max took my hand and led me to the bathroom, closing the door. Before I knew what he was about, the drawstring at my bottoms was pulled and the pajamas dropped to my ankles.

“Max!” I hissed on a whisper.

“Shower,” he whispered back.

“Max,” I repeated my hiss.

His hands came to my waist and his face got in mine. “Two choices, Duchess, you get undressed and get in that shower, warm yourself up and clean those scrapes so I can put salve on ‘em or we both get undressed, get in the shower and I clean you up. You got one second, what’s it gonna be?”

“I’ll take a shower,” I said immediately because I knew by the look on his face that his threat was not idle.

“Right,” he replied and then he was gone.

I was putting my shampoo and conditioner back in the shower when the door opened, Max’s torso slipped through, he tossed a pile of clothing on the counter by the sink then the door closed again.

I took a hasty shower but even hasty, the warmth of the water seeped into my skin reminding me I was alive, I was healthy and so was Mindy. It also reminded me of other things, other things I didn’t want to be reminded of and that I could hold at bay if I was doing something, like saving someone’s life or washing her hair.

I felt the tears threaten as I carefully cleaned my leg and I choked them back, my choking audible, reverberating around the marble-tiled shower. I had to keep it together. I couldn’t let Mindy hear me. I could let it go later. Now, I had to keep it together.

I got out, dried off, wrapped my hair in the towel and had new, clean underwear on when Max was back in the room, closing the door behind him.

I covered my lacy bra-covered chest with my arms and hissed yet again, “Max!”

He completely ignored me, got close then squatted down. I tried to take a step away but he caught me behind my knee and kept me close, his head tipping back.

“Stay still, Nina,” he ordered.

“I’m okay, it’s not that bad.”

“Babe, the skin’s broken in places.”

“It’ll be fine.”

His fingers squeezed the back of my knee. “Honey, this’ll take two seconds.”

“Max –”

“Stay still, for me.”

I closed my eyes and my body settled. Without thinking, my system knew it’d do anything, anything, for Holden Maxwell.

I opened them again when I felt Max’s moist fingers gliding with care along the scrapes on my leg from hip to ankle. He had to go back to the tube of ointment several times and it took longer than two seconds but I didn’t call him on this mainly because I was absorbed in watching his bent head, his fingers on my skin, both of these successfully shoving out the panicked, desperate thoughts and feelings that had me in their grip.

When he was done, he straightened and his eyes came to me. “All right, Duchess, take care when gettin’ dressed.”

Then he moved to the sink to wash the salve from his fingers and I grabbed the soft, flannel pajama bottoms, not Max’s this time, clean ones, mine. These were not checked in bold, masculine colors but were mint green with big pink, blue, yellow and peach polka dots and had a wide, blue, satiny ribbon as a drawstring. They were also loose fitting though not as loose as Max’s and I pulled them cautiously up my injured leg.

There was also the ribbed, long-sleeved, scoop-necked, blue top that went with them. I pulled the towel from my hair and Max took it from my hands and wiped his own before he shoved it on the railing as I pulled the top on.

When he turned back, I grabbed my comb, yanked it through my hair and whispered, “What’d the doctor say?”

“She’s okay. All systems go. He doesn’t figure she was in the water that long,” Max whispered back, I nodded and kept yanking the comb through my hair when Max said, “Barb and Darren are out there, Cotton called ‘em. They got here about five minutes ago.” When I looked blank, he went on, “Her Mom and Dad.”

“Oh.”

I was still yanking the comb through my hair when Max reached out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist, he pulled my hand between us and pried the comb from me.

“I’m combing my hair,” I informed him unnecessarily and I watched his eyes slide from forehead to shoulders before they came back to me.

“You got it, Duchess.”

“Oh,” I repeated.

He tossed the comb in the sink and his hand at my wrist brought me closer. His other hand came to my hip and that brought me closer too.

“Baby,” he said softly as he tipped his head so his face was all I could see and the emotion welled up in me, threatening to split open my skin.

I shook my head, short, quick, frantic shakes.

“No, Max, no, not now, please,” I whispered my entreaty.

He dropped my wrist but his hand curled around my neck and he gave me what I needed. “All right, honey, we’ll talk later.”

I nodded, grateful, then fell forward and pressed my forehead to his chest.

“I need a second before I go out there,” I said quietly to his chest.

“You can have as many as you need.”

I took in a shaky but deep breath before I muttered, “Stop being nice.”