When Allie woke up, it was light. She blinked, feeling lazy, satiated, content--until she saw red on the pillow in front of her. Then she sat up so fast black spots danced before her eyes.
The dish towel she'd wrapped around Clay's wound had fallen off, and his blood had smeared the bedding. But, once the dizziness passed, she could see there wasn't as much as she'd feared.
"What's wrong?" he asked, lifting his head.
"You've been bleeding."
He groaned and fell back on his pillow. "Is that all?"
"Is that all? "
"The way you had my heart going, how can you be surprised?"
He'd turned his face into the pillow, which muffled his voice, but Allie knew he was teasing her. "We've got to get you cleaned up," she said, straining for a look at his wound.
"Not here. We don't have any dry firewood to purify the water."
"I can wash off the dried blood, at least." She started to climb out of bed but realized she didn't have anything except the wet clothes piled on the floor. She hesitated. It was one thing to strip in the dark. It was quite another to go strolling naked about the cabin in broad daylight.
Especially when Clay couldn't help but compare her to the likes of Beth Ann.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
She pulled the sheet off the bed with her as she moved. "It's freezing in here."
He scowled. "You don't want me to see you."
Clay never missed anything. Feeling a blush warm her cheeks, Allie glanced away. "We made love half the night. You've already seen me."
"I've felt you," he clarified. "I haven't seen you."
Take what Beth Ann has and cut it in half, she wanted to say. But she refused to reveal her insecurity. "It's too cold."
"I never expected you to be the self-conscious type, Officer."
"I'm not!"
He sat against the headboard and cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at her.
"I'm not--what did you call me? Prim and proper?"
"The way you're hiding behind that blanket isn't too convincing."
"Do you know who shot you?" she asked, trying to change the subject. During the night, she'd briefly told him about her missing gun and the note. But they'd been too preoccupied to discuss it fully.
"No idea." A crooked grin curved his mouth. "So...I'm number two."
She knew he was referring to the number of men she'd slept with. In her mind, he was number one, and she was pretty sure she'd think of him that way for a long time. She'd never experienced anything like last night. But she wasn't about to tell him that. "Stop gloating," she said.
"I'm not gloating. I'm wondering how I got so lucky."
"Are you kidding? You were bleeding. I felt sorry for you," she said with a smirk.
Clay's blue eyes sparkled. "How can I get you to feel sorry for me again?"
She laughed, shaking her head. "If you could make love the way you did last night, you're fine."
"I'd be a lot better if you'd take off that sheet."
"No."
"What if I take it off?" he challenged.
Allie recognized the desire in his voice. She'd expected last night to be an isolated incident, a breakdown of her customary resistance, due to an unusual situation. But he wanted her again.
Now.
And, just as Beth Ann had predicted, she wanted him.
Frightened by how shaky he could make her feel with just that look, Allie caught her breath. She nearly dropped the sheet and climbed back into his arms. But warning signals were ringing loudly in her head. She'd gone too far last night--too far for her job, and too far for her emotional well-being.
"We have things to talk about." She forced herself to look away as she returned to the subject of last night's shooting. "You haven't received any threatening letters or calls, have you?"
He seemed taken aback by her businesslike tone. "No."
After dunking another dish towel in the pan of water, she gently washed his arm.
He didn't speak while she worked, but she could feel his defenses snapping back into place.
She'd seen a different side of Clay, a warm, loving side he didn't show many people. It was difficult to watch him transform into the remote man she'd always known, and even harder to acknowledge that it was because she'd backed away from him first.
"Care to hazard a guess as to who might want you dead?" she asked.
"After last night, I'm sure your father will top the list."
"We're not talking about that part of last night." She set the wet towel and water aside.
He scowled. "We're pretending it didn't happen?"
She chose not to answer. "If you had to guess, who would you say shot you?"
"Joe," he replied. "Except Joe would know better than to leave me alive, in case I ever found out it was him." As Clay shoved a pillow behind his back, the gold medallion dangling on his chest glinted in the sunlight streaming through the window.
Allie picked it up. She'd wondered about it before, felt it last night as he moved on top of her. "This is Catholic, right?"
He didn't seem particularly eager to answer.
"Clay?"
"Saint Jude."
"Pray for us," she read. She could feel his eyes on her. "Jude's the patron saint of hopeless causes, isn't he?"
"I don't know."
Allie looked up at him. She was pretty sure she was right. She'd seen a similar medallion on a homicide victim in Chicago. "But you're not Catholic."
He stared at her from beneath his thick lashes, and she got the impression that he was trying to figure her out, like that first night at his farm.
"Are you?" she asked.
"It belonged to my father."
"He gave it to you?"
"No, my mother did. It was the only thing he left behind."
The fact that he still wore it indicated that Allie had been right about the depth of the scars Lucas had inflicted on his young son. She didn't like to think about the heartache Clay must have endured. She felt too drawn to him, especially after last night.
She let the medallion fall back against his chest and hurried to bandage his wounds. She needed to put some space between them as soon as possible.
"Did you find any evidence that your father's having an affair?" he asked.
Allie felt the tension between them but didn't know how to relieve it. "No, nothing at all.
Thank God. I actually feel a little sheepish for doubting him."
She expected Clay to say something to indicate that he was pleased for her. It was what almost anyone would do. But his thoughts remained a mystery.