Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [28]
He relaxed his fingers, allowing them to curl down toward his palm. But if he unfurled them, they’d reach the top of her corset. Swallowing, he moved his attention to the window. A bluebird landed on the starch box in her yard, a tiny twig in its mouth.
She blew on his arm. He jumped, the recoil pulling his arm back, then forward, straight into her. His hand opened instinctively, before he immediately closed it.
“Oh!” Her eyes widened.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, I am. Did that sting or something?” Her face filled with concern.
He searched her expression. Had she not noticed? How could she not notice?
“No, ma’am.” He cleared his throat. “I was just looking out the window and wasn’t, I didn’t . . .” He took a deep breath. “No, ma’am. Didn’t sting. I’m sorry to have jumped.”
“It’s almost ready. Just another minute or so.” She tapped the edges of the mixture and blew on it again.
He slammed his eyes shut, but it only heightened his other senses. What the blazes was he doing, letting this woman tend to his needs as if he was some drugstore cowboy? He should have known better.
“I’m going to remove it now,” she warned.
Opening his eyes, he nodded, but she was already peeling the concoction back. She smashed it up into a clump, dropped it on the table, and picked up the tweezers.
The elder root had done its job and drew the splinters out so she could grab hold of them. Bending over, she brought her face close to his arm, her breath tickling it. Her rib cage pressed against his curled hand. The fasteners running down the front of her corset were easily identifiable through the lawn of her shirtwaist, their tiny metal housings digging into his fingers.
With her tongue caught between her teeth, she extracted one splinter after another. To distract himself from where his hand lay, he focused on the little mole beneath her lip.
“How on earth did you get all these?” she asked.
“I fell.”
She whipped her head up, coming this close to knocking his lower jaw clear to Kingdom Come. “You fell?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“From a telephone pole?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How far?”
He shrugged. “Fifteen feet?”
She collapsed against the back of her chair, giving his hand a reprieve. Though having it against her had been no hardship.
“What happened?”
He twisted his mouth in disgust. “I got a little cocky coming down and missed a step.”
“What did you fall on? Your head? Your back?”
“My feet, fortunately. I pretty much hugged the thing all the way down and this was my reward.” He indicated his arm.
“Well, for heaven’s sake. You’re supposed to push away from the pole when you start to fall, not hug it. Any seasoned lineman knows that.”
He lifted a brow. “What would you do? Push away or grab the pole?”
Her face softened, revealing a hint of laugh lines around her mouth. “I’d probably grab the pole.” Bending back over, she continued her work.
He lowered his chin, trying to catch a whiff of shampoo paste. It was something flowery with cinnamon mixed in somehow.
Finally, she finished. “There. Let’s have the other one now.”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. You’ve done enough. I can take care of the rest.”
“Don’t be silly. The poultice will be useless if you wait until you get back to the boardinghouse.” She grabbed his other wrist, released the cuff, and pushed up his sleeve. “This one doesn’t look as bad as the other. I’ll have it fixed up in no time.”
She touched his skin in a couple of spots, then dug the rest of the poultice out and began to spread it. It had cooled and wasn’t as malleable as before. Slipping her arm underneath his, she continued to work the doughy substance. The longer she did, the slower she went. Finally, she stopped altogether, her fingers resting against his pulse. It was beating much faster than it ought.
A tiny shiver ricocheted through her. She shifted in her chair, flattening herself against it. But no matter which way she moved, his hand was firmly ensconced against her torso.
Red blossomed onto her cheeks.
Finally, he thought, his ego somewhat soothed. He tried to pull back, but this