“Thanks,” he said and didn’t sound as surly as usual.
She gave him his privacy, retreating to a distance where she couldn’t hear him pee. Okay, so it was as much about her privacy as his, but she didn’t want to listen to a stranger taking a leak.
There was no telling how long it would be before he was strong enough to climb the stairs, or even step into the tub to take a shower. Showering was going to be an immediate problem—not tonight because he was exhausted from the day’s exertions, but definitely tomorrow. He needed one of those shower stools to sit on, but she didn’t have one. She did, however, have some of the lightweight plastic porch chairs stacked in the storage room at the back of the house, and maybe one of them would fit inside the tub. If not, she’d find something.
After a couple of minutes she heard the toilet flush—hard to miss that—then the plumbing in the walls notified her that water was being run in the sink. Good; at least he was a hand washer. She grinned to herself. She could just see his face if she’d sent him back to wash his hands.
Then the bathroom door opened and she went to meet him, taking up the same position as before. “Let’s talk supper,” she said as she helped him back to the sofa. “I think you should eat something solid, but if you still don’t feel up to it, I’ll make another smoothie for you.”
“What are you having?” He sounded only minimally interested.
“What I usually have: I’ll nuke a frozen dinner.” Sometimes she cooked, but that was the exception, not the rule. Cooking wasn’t her forte. She could get by, and maybe she’d make some spaghetti tomorrow if he felt like eating that, but she was tired and didn’t want to bother with anything tonight.
His chest rose and fell. “Got anything with beef in it?”
She ran a swift mental inventory of her selection of frozen dinners. “Sorry. I have chicken and turkey.” Tomorrow she’d go shopping, but he’d been dumped on her without warning, and for tonight he’d have to make do with what she had.
They’d reached the sofa, and she braced his weight as best she could while he half-sat, half-collapsed onto the cushions. She wracked her brain for some suitably macho food. “Or I can make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” Maybe that wasn’t macho, but at least it wasn’t girl food.
His head shot up. “No shit? Uh—sorry.”
“That’s okay. I’ve said ‘shit’ a time or two in my life.”
“A peanut butter and jelly sandwich sounds great.” He almost sighed the words, as if grateful he wouldn’t have to eat yogurt or sprouts.
The choice wasn’t the most nutritious, but at least it was solid food. Going on a hunch, she made him half a sandwich; if he managed that and wanted more, she’d make another for him, but she doubted he’d want anything else. When the sandwich was made, she considered what he might want to drink. Her options were water, skim milk, and beer. “Water or milk?” she called. She wouldn’t tell him about the beer.
He evidently knew something about women, because he said, “What kind of milk?”
“Skim.”
“Water, please.”
She snorted and got him a glass of water, put that, a napkin, and the small plate containing his half sandwich on a tray that she took to him and placed on his lap.
“If you can finish this half sandwich, I’ll make you another,” she said to head off any comment.
She didn’t linger and watch him eat, though Tricks had no such compunction. The dog had been on her best behavior, staying out of the way and not demanding attention, but food knocked that notion out of the park. She positioned herself directly in front of him, dark eyes fixed on the sandwich, following every move he made as the sandwich moved from plate to mouth and back again. About every ten seconds she scooted a little closer to him, in case distance was causing him to misinterpret what she wanted. Within a minute, she was practically sitting on his feet, her muzzle resting delicately on the edge of the tray.
Bo bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing and watched to see how he dealt with the power of the eyes.
He’d eaten about half of the half sandwich when he asked warily, “Is she going to attack?”
“I wouldn’t put the sandwich anywhere close to her mouth,” Bo replied, then relented because she didn’t want Tricks to startle him into any sudden movement. She’d already done that herself, and she still felt guilty. The least she could do was afford him some peace to eat his pitiful meal.
She opened Tricks’s treat jar. “Want a treat?” she asked rhetorically because Tricks had abandoned him as soon as Bo reached for the jar. She trotted over, eyes bright, and from the corner of her eye Bo saw Morgan hurriedly stuff the rest of the sandwich into his mouth.
She crouched down and gave Tricks the treat as well as a good rub behind her ears and a kiss on top of her head. “Want another?” she called, feeling as if she was offering a treat to the man as well as the dog.
“No, thanks,” he said. “That was enough.”
After collecting the tray and setting the glass of water beside him so he could have a drink if he needed one, she nuked a turkey dinner for herself and ate in silence, sitting at the kitchen bar. Only when she’d finished did she think to ask him if he wanted the TV on.
“Sure,” he said, though he didn’t sound very interested. At least sound, rather than silence, would fill the air. She usually read or watched TV or surfed the web at night, but she didn’t want to sit with him and had already spent enough time today on the computer; she didn’t want to spend more. That left reading, or going up to her bedroom to watch the small TV set she had up there.