Chapter Fourteen

Verity let herself into the cabin. To her surprise, Mike sat on the sofa. “You didn’t have to wait up for me.”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep until you’d gotten home okay.”

Warmth suffused her at his concern.

“You look tired,” he said.

“I’m exhausted.” She’d been on her feet all day, running between patients. The infirmary needed more staff—another nurse, an aide, and a receptionist to manage the waiting patients. Another doctor would be a huge asset, but they could get by with the others. She had no idea how poor Dr. Twygg had managed before she came. “We got the last of them treated and settled in the bunkhouse. It’s fortunate none of them required hospitalization, or I’d still be at the infirmary.” She rolled her shoulders. She would love to flop on the sofa but feared if she stopped moving, she wouldn’t get up again.

“Have you eaten? ”

Her stomach rumbled at the mention. “Lunch, but no supper.” A dinner box had been delivered, but she’d been too busy to eat, and then she’d forgotten.

“I brought you a meal from the mess. I can heat it up.”

“That would be great. Let me shower first. Everything go okay?” She’d been a little worried. Mike had grown comfortable around Brody, but the two of them had never spent time alone.

“It went great. He had a ‘horn dog’ as he calls them for dinner.”

“They made them! That’s great.” Although her son seemed to be thriving in his new environment, she tried to give him as many of the comforts of home as she could, so she and Fury had gone to Phibious with a special request. On Earth, she didn’t let him eat hot dogs very often because she didn’t consider them to be healthy, but he loved them, so he got one every now and then as a special treat.

“That’s what I ate, too. They were tasty.”

“Is that what you brought me?” She would eat anything at this point but would’ve preferred something other than a “horn dog.”

“I got you the regular adult meal, but I don’t know what it is.” He moved toward the kitchenette .

“You thought of everything. Let me clean up, and then I’ll eat.”

She peeked in on Brody. He slept, dead to the world, clutching his stuffed alien. She tiptoed in, tucked the covers around his shoulders, kissed his forehead, and crept out.

In the bath, she let the hot shower massage her sore muscles. She hadn’t done anything physically demanding; the patients had been mobile, thank goodness, but tension had stiffened her neck and shoulders. She could have stayed in the shower a long time, but her rumbling stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten, so she washed up and got out.

In her nightgown and robe, she padded out to the kitchen and took a seat at the table. He set a plate in front of her. It looked like egger, but she wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. It was food. “It smells delicious.”

“Thanks. I slaved for two minutes over a hot flash cooker.” He grinned. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thank you. I don’t want to keep you up. Why don’t you go to bed?” Usually the one caring for others, she wasn’t used to people waiting on her.

“I’m good.” He took a seat at the table. “Eat. ”

She dug into the meal. “Thank you again for watching Brody.” It was always in the back of her mind that he hadn’t signed up for a package deal.

“I enjoyed the time with him—just us two bros.” He paused. “I took him to see a horniger calf.”

Alarmed, she stopped eating. “A horniger?”

“A calf . In the barn. No horns or antlers. He was 100 percent safe.”

Relieved, she resumed eating, trusting he wouldn’t endanger Brody. Nobody knew the animals like he did. He worked with them every day. “I’ll bet he loved that.”

“He did.”

She’d finished about half her meal when her head started to nod, fatigue tugging at her. As a toddler, her son had once fallen asleep in his mashed potatoes. She pushed the plate away before she did a face-plant. “I’m done.” She rubbed her still-stiff neck.

“Neck bothering you?” He took her plate away.

She rolled her shoulders. “Residual tension.”

Warm hands settled on her shoulders and kneaded.

“You don’t have to—oh my god,” she groaned.

He chuckled .

She closed her eyes. “You have magic fingers.” Her head lolled as he massaged the knots out of her muscles. They didn’t speak, his touch providing all the communication necessary. Her body relaxed, finding relief and pleasure. Despite the intense fatigue, her nipples hardened, and she felt a dampness between her thighs. With another man, she might have suspected ulterior motives, but she trusted Mike.

If she hadn’t been so damn tired, the massage might have led to something more. She’d decided she was ready to consummate their marriage.

His thoughtful gestures and concern had won her over—bringing her dinner, stepping up and taking care of Brody. It had been his idea to see if the mess hall cook could come up with something comparable to a hot dog. Like Honoria had said, he was a good man. Good was sexy as hell.

Any handsome man could turn her head, but there had to be substance behind the pretty face before she would act on the attraction.

“Where else are you sore?”

“My feet?”

He turned her chair, pulled the other to face her, sat, and lifted her feet onto his lap. He massaged, his thumbs hitting the right spot .

“Oh my god.” She groaned. “That’s perfect. So good.”

He laughed softly. She loved his voice.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” He could open a massage parlor and be busy all day. Except, she wouldn’t like him touching other women, possibly arousing the sensations he stirred in her. Or in himself. A hard-on tented his pants.

He shrugged. “With you, it comes naturally.”

Their eyes locked, and a heated unspoken understanding sizzled between them. Not tonight. But soon.

He set her feet on the floor. “You’re tired. It’s late. Bed for you.” He scooped her out of the chair.

“I’m not that tired. I can walk.” But she rested her head against his shoulder.

“Of course you can.” He strode into their room and settled her into the bed. “Luckily, you can sleep in tomorrow.”

“I still have to go to work.” Today’s patients would return to their settlement, but there would be others. Hopefully, just routine cases.

“On a weekend?” he asked. “Isn’t the clinic closed? ”

“Tomorrow is Saturday!” The week had flown by, and she’d lost track. “You’re right. I can sleep in.”

He cut the lights. Boots thumped on the floor. Clothing rustled. The mattress depressed.

It seemed natural to roll into him. His arms came around her, and she snuggled against his bare chest. He wore briefs on his lower half. He pressed a kiss to her temple. Sleep tugged at her eyelids, and that was the last she knew.