Morgan slanted another of those blue-lightning looks down at her. “What will prevent him from going back on his word once the charges are dropped? Can you trust him?”
“Not one bit. That’s where the Hobsons come in. If he doesn’t honor the agreement, we turn them loose on him.”
He chuckled. “I like the idea. Every town should have the equivalent of the Hobsons.”
“They probably do, but it’s our good luck that Loretta and her husband both work for the town. Charlie is in the water department.”
“She’s married?”
“To her high school sweetheart. Their son is in Morgantown, in his junior year.”
“Is he a Hobson too?” Morgan asked, looking a little puzzled.
“No, why? Oh—her name. Loretta was already working for the town when they got married, and she said it was too much trouble to change everything.”
“I guess keeping Hobson has its advantages.”
“Oh, yeah.” It struck her that their easy conversation was too easy. She’d become too comfortable with him, and he was already too familiar with the town and her life. Time to get out. She bent down and scratched Tricks’s silky belly. “You want to go for a walk, sweetie? I’ve been cooped up in a meeting room all day, and I could use some exercise.”
Tricks released the giraffe and jumped up, racing for her ball. As she passed by him, Morgan caught Bo’s arm, his clasp light, his expression serious. “Do you feel up to a walk? I can take her.”
Part of her was warmed that he was concerned enough to ask; another part of her panicked at both his touch and the close attention he was paying to her. She didn’t want him to notice her, didn’t want him to think twice about her or anything she did. She hid her reaction with a casual, “I feel fine now.” And she did—physically, at least. Her reaction before hadn’t been physical to begin with, not that she wanted him to know it.
“Where do you go?” he asked, looking through the windows at the woods on the right. “I figure I need to know, in case something happens and I have to call in the rescue squad.”
“I just follow the path through the woods, up the hill, and back. It’s about a mile and a half, enough to give her a good walk.” Tricks brought her ball up, and Bo stroked her head, then said, “I need to change clothes, I guess. Hold on, sweetie, it won’t take but a minute.”
She hurried up the stairs with Tricks right behind her. As soon as the bedroom door was closed behind her, Bo blew out a long breath. She needed the walk more than Tricks did, needed the time away from him to give herself a good talking to, to put her dumb-ass reaction in that mental box and seal it tight. She didn’t rule out maybe someday finding someone and getting married again . . . not completely, anyway. That was okay. That was normal.
Falling for a man she knew was going to leave was just plain stupid. She learned from her mistakes; she didn’t keep making the same ones over and over.
He was leaving. She had to keep telling herself that, because the minute she let herself forget, she was in real trouble.
The following Tuesday, after dinner, Morgan said, “I climbed the stairs today. I’m ready to graduate from the sofa to a real bed.”
“That’s good.” Bo kept her tone absent though her stomach tied itself in knots at the idea of him upstairs, so close to her while they slept. Yes, he’d be in the guest room, and each bedroom had its own en suite bath so they wouldn’t be sharing space, but still . . . she’d liked the sense of distance, the barrier of the stairs. Now he’d conquered that barrier, and he’d be upstairs with her at night. “I think there are sheets on the bed but I’ll check to make sure, and put towels in the bathroom.”
“I’ve already taken my duffle up.”
She straightened to stare at him, almost dropping the plate she was putting in the dishwasher. He’d managed to lift that heavy thing? How? She’d had to drag it inside. Sure, some of his clothes were in the laundry, but still. “How did you manage that?” she blurted. And how had she missed its presence? The duffle was big, and the only place to put it where it was out of the way but still easily accessible was behind the sofa. The duffle was gone—but now that she was looking she noticed the big Glock was on the lamp table beside the sofa.
He smirked, leaning against the cabinet beside the dishwasher and crossing one booted foot over the other. “The smart way. I unpacked half of it, took it up, then came back down for the rest of the stuff. Which means I climbed the stairs twice.” He chuckled at her expression. “I never thought I’d be proud of just being able to go up a flight of stairs.”
“Considering your condition when you first got here, you’ve come a long way.” He was still thin, still didn’t have a lot of stamina, but both his weight and his strength seemed to be increasing every day. “Exactly how long has it been since you were shot?”
“It’ll be six weeks on Thursday. I’d be in better shape if it hadn’t been for that damn pneumonia, but it kicked my butt big time.”
Just six weeks. To her that seemed like a very short time, considering how severe his wound had been, but here he was grousing because pneumonia had held him back.
She nodded at the Glock. “Are you feeling the need for protection?”
“Not particularly, but you can never tell. Besides, now that I’m stronger, I can take Tricks out if you’re busy. I’ve noticed that you’ve started taking your pistol with you when you walk her.”