Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay by Babette Jongh (best summer books .TXT) 📗

answered with conviction. If he put her on the bed, she’d have a hard time resisting the urge to pull him down with her. The devil on her shoulder whispered naughty suggestions in her ear: What harm would a little summer fling do?

She was determined not to find out.

He deposited her on the couch next to Georgia, who had already curled into a ball on top of her special red blanket. “Can I get you anything?”

“First-aid kit’s in the laundry room, second cupboard on your left.”

“I’ve put a Band-Aid on it. It’ll be fine.”

“Not good enough. Wash your hands with the bar of Dial soap on the mop sink, then bring the kit in here. Don’t make Dr. Abby come hobbling after you.”

“Fine.” He sighed, then complied, coming back with the kit in his freshly washed hands.

“Light, please.”

He turned on the lamp, pulled up a footstool, and sat in front of her. Reluctantly, it seemed, he held out his injured hand.

“Ow!” Abby commiserated. That bird had taken a chunk out of Quinn’s pointer finger, just below the middle knuckle. “You need stitches.”

“I’ve fixed worse cuts than this with duct tape.” He dug through the kit and handed over a tube of Neosporin. “Just get on with it.”

“How did he get you so bad?” As gently as she could, she smeared the antibiotic cream over the open gash.

“Made the mistake of leaning my hand on the aviary wire when I poured the food into his bowl.” He handed over a fresh Band-Aid. “I won’t do that again.”

“I’m sorry. I hate that you’re having to do all this for me.” She wrapped the Band-Aid around his finger and smoothed down the adhesive edges.

“My fault, remember?” He replaced the bandages and Neosporin and snapped the lid shut. “Can you please stop apologizing?”

“I’m sorry.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “How does your foot feel?”

The throbbing pain from earlier this morning now burned with the heat of a thousand suns. “Not too bad. I should probably take something, though, to keep it from getting worse.”

She told him where to find the medicine, and he brought back a couple of tablets and a glass of filtered water from the fridge door. She took the pills and set the glass on the side table. “You want one of my pain pills for your bird finger?”

“No, thanks.” He turned off the lamp. “Lie back.”

She obeyed, and he tucked pillows under her foot, then covered her with an ugly crocheted throw that draped over the back of the couch. “Think you can manage to rest with your foot up for a couple hours? I’ll get some work done next door, then come back and check on you when I’m done.”

“Thank you.”

He put his hands on his hips and scowled down at her. “I wish you’d stop thanking me, too.”

“I’ll try, but I really am grateful for all you’re doing.”

He knelt down next to her, his blue eyes serious. “You are driving me crazy, you know that?”

“Am I? I’m sorry.”

He ran a hand along her arm, a light touch that made her shiver. Then he leaned in close, so close…his mouth inches from hers. “Stop apologizing.”

Then he kissed her. His lips were warm, firm, gentle, exploring. He teased her lips with his tongue, encouraging her to open her mouth. She did, and he slipped his tongue inside, just a little. With light flicks of his tongue on hers, he teased her to respond. She explored the tastes and textures of the inside of his mouth; his tongue soft-rough and sweet, his teeth shiny-slick and tasting of peppermint. And while their mouths were getting acquainted, the rest of her body tightened and tingled, everything in her reaching out toward him.

He stood and brushed his feathery hair back with both hands. “Get some rest. I’ll check on you later.”

* * *

When the streetlight came on and a pair of hummingbird moths’ tiny wings roared quietly among the yellow cat’s-claw flowers, Georgia came to see Wolf. Again, she tenderly cleaned his wound. When she finished, she sat, tail wagging. “It’s better. Smells clean now.”

Wolf licked her face in gratitude.

She looked toward the farmhouse. “Abby can’t come all the way out here anymore. You have to come to the farmhouse to eat. She put out fresh kibble on the patio.”

Wolf looked up to the darkening sky where tiny lights winked through the cat’s-claw canopy. “Not dark enough yet.”

Georgia stood and trotted to the edge of the forest. “You have to let her see you sometime. She won’t hurt you.”

Wolf averted his eyes. “She’ll chase me away.”

“She won’t.” Georgia wagged, her tail making a rhythmic whapping noise against the overhanging vines. “Unless you eat the chickens.”

Wolf believed Georgia’s sincerity, but the memory of being chased away still stung. He wasn’t ready to risk that humiliation again. “I’ll come at night.”

“You’d better hurry, or the raccoons will get it.”

“I’ll come when the house lights go out.”

Georgia sneezed. “She’ll leave the gate open for you.”

When Georgia left, Wolf stretched out on his soft bed of fallen leaves and tried to sleep. Maybe he did sleep a little, but not the deep healing sleep he needed. A tantalizing smell woke him fully; not the smell of food, but the scent of a female dog in heat. The sort of scent an intact male wolf dog such as himself could not ignore. Though his side ached and his stomach growled and his spirit ached for the kind of rest only a dog with a home could afford, he got to his feet and followed the elusive scent through the cat’s-claw forest and beyond.

* * *

Quinn’s Law & Order rerun seemed to have some random, high-pitched noises in the soundtrack. Or was it…? He muted the TV.

“Shit.” He leaped to his feet. Georgia was outside in Abby’s backyard, barking hysterically. He stepped into his shoes, grabbed the flashlight, and ran.

All the way down his drive, all the way down hers, his mind spun with panic-induced scenarios. Abby