the containers sit for thirty minutes while he gathered everything he needed for breakfast and a basic wipe-down.
After heating several cups of water over his tiny camp stove, he added a bit of fresh water to cool it down. Inside the vestibule, out of the cool breeze, he began a quick wipe-down routine. Normally, he wouldn’t bother, but they were heading into town today. And, if he were honest, Lindsey made him acutely aware of his dirt. He’d just pulled one arm out of his shirt when she unzipped the tent and peered through.
“Good morn— Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Sorry.” She dropped the flap.
He laughed. She acted like she’d never seen a man’s chest before. But he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. They’d slept together, but with several layers of clothing between them, and she was in a desperate situation. For all he knew, she was only putting up with him so he’d keep helping her.
Sobering thought.
He finished up, threw on a new shirt and his puffy jacket, and moved outside. “All clear.”
A few seconds later, she emerged slowly, blinking against the bright sun. “I don’t suppose you have a comb I can borrow?”
“I can do better than that.”
He doodled on a small drawing pad and sipped at his coffee until she reappeared twenty minutes later in one of his clean shirts, her long waves combed back into a neat ponytail. “Feel better?”
“Yes,” she said on a long sigh, plopping down next to him and offering him a grateful smile as he handed her a blanket and a cup of coffee.
He started making oatmeal.
“I almost feel human again,” she said, snuggling into the blanket with both hands wrapped around the mug.
“You look better.” Not just better, stunning. “You have color in your cheeks, and you can keep your eyes open. How’re your feet?”
“Still tender, but better. I should be able to keep up with you today.”
“Any other injuries that need tending? I really was trained as a paramedic.”
She shook her head. “My ribs are a little sore, and I’m scraped up, but nothing serious. Maybe dehydrated.” Reaching out, she stopped short of touching his face and winced, dropping her hand. “How’s your head? It looks painful.”
He gently pressed the tender spot where Harris had kicked him the night before. “Probably looks worse than it feels.”
She made a little noise of disbelief.
“Trust me. I’ve had worse.” He’d put a cold pack on it last night.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to his sketchbook, which he’d accidentally left open when she’d appeared.
He shrugged, feeling his face heat as he fought the urge to snatch up his drawings before she could see. “Just something I do to keep myself busy when I have downtime.”
She leaned over for a better look at the squirrels he’d captured from his memory of this morning’s encounter. “Wow. That’s really good.”
“Thanks.” Before she could ask to see more, he stuffed the little book into his pack and focused his attention on their breakfast.
“I can barely draw a straight line.”
“Straight lines are more useful in architecture than art anyway,” he said.
“You know what I mean.” She made a face at him. “I’d love to be able to recreate what I see like that. I’m in awe of how you can get the essence of something with so few strokes. Have you ever considered an art-based career?”
“Nah. It’s just something I do for fun.”
She hunched over her drink and watched him. “What do you think you’d be doing if you weren’t a security…what did you call it?”
“Specialist.” He threw some raisins and almonds into the thickening oats.
“Right, that.”
“Physical therapy.”
“Really?” She tilted her head. “That’s a big change.”
“Not so big from my old job as a medic. Helping injured people, and not stuck behind a desk. The big difference is that I’d get to see the patients improve, rather than just handing them off and never knowing the outcome.”
“You think you’ll ever pursue it?”
“I doubt it.” No. “It’s a doctoral program, and I don’t even have a BS. Plus, the space is really limited. It can take years to get in. Not sure I have that kind of patience.”
“So you’ve looked into it,” she teased. “I had no idea it was such a commitment, but it seems like it’d be worth it if that’s what you want to do.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Long before Pete killed Bethany, Todd had been ready to change gears. He wasn’t getting any younger. He could only play bodyguard for so long before it took too much of