What was there to say? Apparently nothing. Josh shrugged slightly, turned his head away and stared sightlessly out of the window. He was obviously going to have to resign himself to being fussed and mothered by this woman, but at least she was better-looking than his real mother, so he supposed that was a bonus. No less opinionated, though, he realised with a sinking feeling. They’d probably get on together like a house on fire. Oh, hell.
They turned onto the track leading to the house, and he felt every last pebble. He’d refused to take any of the painkillers they’d given him, but maybe that had been a little rash. Perhaps he’d have one when they got home. In the meantime, he gritted his teeth and said nothing.
He looked awful. The sight of the car, as she’d known it would be, had been a real shock to him. Experienced as she was, it had been a real shock to her, as well, and she still wasn’t entirely sure how he’d managed to escape with his life. Fran had no idea what make it was. There hadn’t been a recognisable panel on it, but she knew instinctively that it would have been almost new and hideously expensive. Not that that mattered, not compared to his life.
He was struggling now, she realised, and she wondered if he’d had any painkillers before he left the hospital. Probably not. He was stubborn enough for an entire army. Oh, well, he wouldn’t die of it, he’d just feel wretched, and if that was how he wanted to play it, who was she to interfere?
The track turned into his drive, and she pulled up in front of the garage and cut the engine.
‘Right,’ she said, turning to him with a smile, ‘all we have to do now is get you out of the car and into the house.’
Josh’s answering smile was a little tight, and she thought her guess about the painkillers had probably been correct. She manoeuvred him into the wheelchair, pushed him up the grass beside the path to save having to negotiate the steps, and then once the path flattened out she pushed him quickly up to the front door and opened it with his key.
Immediately something started to beep, and he pointed across the hall towards a door. ‘In there—the burglar-alarm control. Key in “5836”, then “Part Set”, then “No”.’
She did, and the beeping stopped, to her relief. ‘Right, let’s get you in,’ she said, and turned him round.
Hitching the wheelchair over the step was a problem, but with a little huffing and puffing she managed, and finally he was in. In fact, it wasn’t until she’d retrieved his case from the car and closed the front door behind herself that she actually noticed the house, and then her jaw sagged.
There was nothing ostentatious about it, not overtly, but everything screamed quality. The solid, light oak floor, the heavy timber doors in the same pale wood as the floor, the clean, simple lines were stunning. So, too, were the original works of art on all the walls, the value of which she didn’t even dare to guess at, and this was just the hall!
She shut her mouth firmly and followed his directions along the hall and into a wonderful room with a high, vaulted ceiling and a spectacular view of the river. It was a multi-purpose room, part kitchen, part breakfast area, part informal sitting room, full of rich colour and texture, and she guessed it was his favourite place in the house.
‘Right, if you show me where your bedroom is I’ll change your sheets and get it ready for you.’
‘You don’t need to change the sheets—the cleaning agency I use will have seen to it,’ he told her tiredly.
‘OK, in that case I’ll just help you change into something more comfortable and settle you down for a while. Where is it?’
Josh waved in the direction of the door on the other side of the room, and she pushed him through it, past a glass-walled study overlooking the river, past another few doors and through the one at the end.
They must be in the room over the garage, she realised, because in the end wall there were French doors opening onto the balcony above the drive, and there was another window on the front wall with the same spectacular view as from the kitchen and study.
‘Well, at least you’ll have a lovely place to lie and convalesce,’ she said, trying not to sound like a thunderstruck adolescent.
He grunted. ‘I have no intention of lying anywhere and convalescing,’ he pointed out bluntly. ‘From tomorrow onwards, I have every intention of getting back to work.’
She stifled the snort of disgust, and set the brakes on the wheelchair with a decisive jab. ‘We’ll see,’ she said crisply. ‘Right, let’s get you into bed.’
She leant forward, ready to tuck her right arm under his to help him up, but he just looked at her, his jaw set defiantly. ‘I thought I’d already told you that I don’t need a nanny,’ he said, his voice deathly quiet.
She felt her eyebrows go up but was helpless to prevent it. ‘So you did,’ she said calmly. ‘You also told me that you needed a nurse, but if you’re going to be difficult and uncooperative the entire time, I’m going to have to leave. I shouldn’t worry, though, because I expect your mother will be only too happy to come and look after you.’
He opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it shut, linked his arm through hers and pulled himself up out of the chair without another word. So he didn’t like being threatened with his mother, she thought with a smile. How useful to know that.
Storing the little snippet for later, Fran set about undressing him, exposing yet more of the colourful bruises as well as the livid lines of his recent surgery. Under other circumstances she’d found the powerful planes and angles of his body fascinating. As it was, she ignored them, more concerned with getting him comfortably settled in bed before he keeled over. It seemed more likely with every passing second.
Josh told her where she could find soft jersey boxer shorts and a T-shirt, and she helped him into them, only too glad when he was finally lying flat on the bed and able to relax.
‘Bliss,’ he said with a low grunt of relief.
She eyed him thoughtfully. It would take more than simply lying down to get him truly comfortable, but how to talk him into it? Easy. Instead of asking him if he wanted a painkiller, she’d tell him it was time. She tucked a pillow in beside his leg and arranged the quilt so it didn’t pull on his foot, then straightened up.
‘Now, where are all the drugs they gave you when you left the hospital?’ she asked him. ‘It must be time for a painkiller by now.’
For a moment he hesitated, and then he surrendered, as she’d hoped he would. ‘In the case,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t know what else there is. Antibiotics, possibly. I haven’t got a damn clue.’
‘That’s why I’m here, so you don’t have to think about it,’ she said calmly. She fetched him a glass of water from the sumptuous kitchen and held it while he took the pills, then he settled back onto the pillows with a sigh.
‘Thank you,’ he said in a low voice.
Thank you? Good heavens. She schooled her face. ‘My pleasure. Right, now I’m going to turn out the fridge so we don’t get food poisoning, and if you’re feeling OK I’ll go to the supermarket. I’ve got a mobile, I’ll give you the number and you can call me if you have a problem.’
She went out, leaving the door ajar, and by the time she’d emptied the fridge and made a shopping list, he was fast asleep. She wrote her mobile number on a piece of paper and tucked it under the edge of the phone on his bedside table then, taking his keys with her, she let herself out and headed back into town.
She didn’t want to do a big shop, just a few basic provisions and something for tonight. After all the jostling about, she didn’t really like leaving him, but all she’d found in the fridge had been a few curls of dried-up smoked salmon and a bit of cheese that had seen better days. The milk was solid in the bottle, and what few vegetables there were were well past their sell-by date. There was precious little in the cupboards