Secrets Gone South (Crimson Romance) Read Online Free

for
wood?
”
    “You do what’s necessary to do a job right.” There was no malice or condescension in his voice. There never was. Still, she felt a little ashamed.
    “I’m sure the music stand is beautiful. Everything you make is a work of art.” As was his fabulous log house in the woods and the furniture he’d filled it with. But she wasn’t bringing that up, didn’t want to remind him of the night when she’d seen his home. In fact, she didn’t want to talk anymore. She rose and raised the back of the examination table and adjusted the headrest. “Okay, Will, I’m going to stitch you up now. I want you to lean back, relax, and close your eyes. You won’t feel a thing.”
    If he knew all that eye closing and leaning back wasn’t necessary, except to end conversation between them, he didn’t show it. He just gave her that sweet, calm smile and did as she asked.
    After he had closed his eyes, she took just a moment. She would probably never get another chance to look at him unguarded. Never had she known a man so entirely comfortable in his own skin. And what skin it was—smooth, the color of rich honey, with a healthy ruddiness across his high cheekbones. She would have liked to touch his face.
    Instead, she took his injured hand in her own gloved one again and reached for her tools. “Tell me if you feel anything. I don’t want to hurt you.”
    “I trust you,” he said.
    Ha!
    • • •
    Will had not expected Arabelle to be the one to clean him up and put him back together after his stupid accident—the foolish accident of an amateur, Ellery Kane would have called it. Ellery had taught him everything he knew about woodworking, including how to avoid injuring himself. Not that it had done any good today.
    Though it had almost been worth it to see Arabelle in her element, so self-assured and capable, yet the absolute last word on refinement. Even in those doctor’s scrubs, she was beautiful and that color of green didn’t do anybody any favors. If he’d been describing Arabelle, he might have been forced to say she was of average height and weight with medium length dark curly hair, but there was nothing average or medium about her. Somewhere along the way she had found the grace of fine art that came out in her smile and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.
    My God, those eyes. He didn’t even have a word for them and he was pretty good at describing color. Almost aqua marine, but with a tad less green. They were close to the periwinkle blue in the sixty-four count Crayola box, but more jewel toned. Not that he’d had that box of crayons growing up, or even the Crayola brand. That had cost too much. After he’d sold a hope chest to a rich man from Memphis who thought nothing was too good for his daughter, Will had bought himself that very box of crayons. He still had them.
    What was wrong with him, running all this through his head? He hadn’t even taken one of the pain pills Arabelle had prescribed. She said to take them if he needed them but under no circumstances to neglect the antibiotics. Also, he was to call her if he ran a fever.
    Finally—he had permission to call her. But only under that condition. He knew better than to ask her out again. She wanted no part of it, probably regretted what had happened between them that one night. But maybe they could be friends. He’d be all right with that. Not friends with benefits either, even if she was willing, which he could not imagine. He would never do that again. He’d learned that lesson with Aspen Snow, who had sworn she was just in it for the fun. She hadn’t meant it and though he had always been honest, he’d felt bad for hurting her, until he found out she’d been telling people they were engaged. Frankly, he’d been relieved when she left town.
    Turning on the road past the Avery family farmhouse—though, in truth it was more mansion than farmhouse—always gave Will a sense of peace. It meant he was away from town and almost