Wounded Wings (Cupid Chronicles) (11 page)

Chapter 14

Nowhere was safe. Elijah couldn’t leave his garage apartment without being bombarded by those seeking love advice. At the diner, of course. But everywhere in between as well. The walk to work, the grocery store, the laundromat, Delaney’s when he went in for a haircut . . . but at church? Was nothing sacred?

He glanced up from the emptying pew into Mildred Walker’s gently weathered face. She had become a regular at the diner since he began serving his Chicken Dijon and honeyed carrots on Wednesday nights. “Good morning, Miss Walker. Great service, wasn’t it?”

He stood, hoping to escape quickly once he saw the predatory gleam in her beady eyes.

Her hand flew out and gripped his arm in a vise-like grip. “Wonderful. Now, Eli, I was hoping to speak with you a moment.”

He swallowed. “Ma’am?”

Her gaze darted over his shoulder, then honed back to his. She leaned in fractionally. “Is it true? What they say?”

“About what, Miss Walker?”

She frowned, obviously nonplussed with his obtuseness. His stomach sank. Not again. “About your gift when it comes to matchin’ up folks.”

He opened his mouth to dispute the claim when Sam ambled by with Vi on his arm, both smiling broadly. Automatically his eyes sought out Naomi. He zeroed in on her by the altar speaking with the pastor, the Sheriff at her side, his hand gently at the small of her back.

Elijah took in every detail—from the way the sun filtering through the stained glass lit her golden hair, to how she filled out that form-fitting gray dress. And, again, to how the officer had his hand on her. Were they more than friends?

She laughed and leaned into him. His hand rubbed up and down her spine as if he’d done it a hundred times before. But then she stepped away and punched his arm.

Miss Walker cleared her throat, but at that moment Naomi shifted and pinned him with her beautiful green eyes, trapping him as the smile froze on her face. She sobered, offered him a small nod as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

The Sheriff turned and caught his gaze. In the span of two seconds, he seemed to be silently threatening him, but Eli couldn’t fathom why.

“Excuse me,” Miss Walker interrupted, squeezing his arm again and forcing Elijah’s attention back to her.

“I’m sorry. You were saying . . .?”

“Matchmaking!” she demanded, drawing a few curious stares.

Across the aisle, Michael stood, seeming to smile encouragingly. Where had he come from? Had he been at church the whole time? Elijah rubbed his brows in frustration. He came to church seeking peace and a place to be close to Father again, though he felt as alone here as anywhere.

He sighed and met Miss Walker’s insistent gaze. “I’m sorry, ma’am. You’ve heard wrong. I don’t have any special matchmaking abilities.” He pulled his arm away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He spun away and rushed in the opposite direction, bumping into people in his hurry out of the worship hall.

He made it as far as the church’s front steps before Michael’s booming voice stopped him.

“Eli! Where’s the fire, buddy?”

He jogged down a couple more steps, then his conscience made him stop and turn. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t hear him. He pasted on a smile. “Michael. How are you?”

Michael tucked his hands in his black jeans—his only concession to church wear, apparently—and sucked in a deep breath of the clear morning air. “I’m wonderful, friend. You?”

Elijah nodded as parishioners filed out around him, including a disgruntled Miss Walker who was shooting daggers at him with her eyes. He glanced away sheepishly. “I’m well, thank you.”

“Good. That’s good.” He seemed to want to say more, but he didn’t as they stood there uncomfortably. Elijah started to bid him goodbye just as the Sheriff opened the door and ushered Naomi, Sam, and Vi outside.

Vi spotted him first. “Well, good morning, Eli.”

“Miss Stevens.” He tipped his head.

Sam nodded in his direction, and the Sheriff lasered him with another warning glare. They all began to walk away, but Naomi hesitated.

“Eli.”

“Naomi.”

Then she tucked her hand in the Sheriff’s elbow and let him lead her away.

“So,” Michael said, bringing him back before he could get away. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, how did your dinner with Naomi go? I hope you got a lot accomplished?”

“Accomplished?”

Michael’s brow dipped. “For the festival?”

“Oh. Right. Yes. We were very productive.” He tried valiantly to ignore the buzzing in his veins as his lips recalled hers. Soft and moist. Perfect.

“Will you be going out again?” Michael asked Elijah and leaned against the stair railing like he didn’t have a care in the world. Obviously
his
pants had never felt tight enough to explode before.

“Well, uh, I don’t know if that’ll be necessary . . .”

“What about a
real
date?”

Elijah stopped mid-thought and stared. For the very briefest of moments, the sunlight played on Michael’s head, creating a glow unlike anything he’d seen since . . .
before.
He had to catch his breath.

“You okay, Eli?” Michael leaned forward, and the weird trick of the sun was gone.

He swallowed. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“So? Will you ask Miz Naomi out again? For real this time?”

He glanced away. “I’m not sure . . .”

“Not sure about what?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea. She probably doesn’t want to go out with me. I’m no good at that kind of thing.”

Michael laughed. “Nonsense. I can help you.”

Elijah glanced up at the huge, bald man. He wasn’t sure how a guy like him could help. Did
he
date? Did he even want the help?

His heart skittered in his chest. “How?”

Michael stepped down to his level and slapped his back. “Easy. We’ll start with Michael’s Dating 101. You’ll have the ladies—or more precisely, one pretty lady—eating out of your hand in no time.” He laughed when Elijah shook his head in disbelief. “You just wait and see, my friend. Just wait and see.”

Naomi flew over to the diner late Monday afternoon once Maura called to tell her that Emma had been discharged from the hospital and they were stopping by for a quick visit before heading home.

Rich, divine scents permeated the air when she pressed open the door—something with rosemary and the smallest hints of orange and garlic. As usual, the dessert case was packed beautifully, a mix of Vi’s sweets and Eli’s lovely pastries. She’d bite her tongue off before admitting she’d secretly tasted one of his crème puffs and it was heavenly. Decadent. Wonderful enough to put them out of business.

She forced that traitorous thought to come to a screeching halt.

He was here temporarily. A tasty diversion for the fine folks of New Destiny. So he could tease them with his fancy crème brulée and cloud soft pastries, but he didn’t have her fooled. He wasn’t here for the long haul like she and Vi were.

At the end of the long counter, she spotted Maura chatting with Sharla, Emma perched on her lap sleepily. As she approached, Emma’s head popped up.

“Miss Naomi.” A toothless grin lit her face.

Naomi smiled in return. “You lost your front tooth.”

Emma nodded. “Yeah. But the Tooth Fairy came to the hospital.”

Naomi turned her smile on Maura. “I’m sure your Mommy told her where to find you.”

“And she left me an extra quarter, too.”

“Really? Cool!” She automatically reached for the little girl when she squirmed in her mother’s arms, and Maura gave her up easily.

She pressed her nose to Emma’s. “I’m glad you’re home and feeling better. We were all very worried about you, little girl.”

Emma giggled. “Me, too. I missed my Barbies.”

A sudden commotion in the direction of the back room had everyone in the dining room tensing as heads swiveled in that direction. Sharla rushed away and through the swinging doors into the kitchen.

Naomi let Emma slide down her legs to the floor and run toward Scott when he entered the front door. It was hard to miss the intense emotion that passed between Maura and Scott as the little girl all but climbed up his body.

“Help!” Sharla shrieked from the kitchen, immediately charging the air with panic. “Can someone please help! Eli’s burned himself.”

Titters and worried whispers rippled through the crowded dining room, but no one moved.

Burned.

It was as if someone shocked Naomi with a defibrillator. She ran into the kitchen, slamming the door against the wall.

Sharla turned from where she was bent over Eli’s hand. “Oh, Naomi, get me the tub of butter, would you? It looks bad.”

Eli glanced up, his face impassive, but his eyes glinting with unshed tears.

Suddenly, what Sharla had said registered. “No.” Naomi rushed forward and gently took Eli’s left hand in her own. Three of his knuckles and about half the skin on the back of his hand was blooming an angry, shiny pink and a couple of small, watery blisters were already beginning to form.

Tears began to prick her own eyes as the visceral memory of that kind of pain flooded her. She knew the anguish of scalded flesh.

“Come on. Water.” She left no room for argument as she tugged him toward the sink. Shoving her memories back, she let her training take over as she tucked his hand under the stream of cold water.

He hissed at first, but gradually relaxed.

“Sharla, do you have some Tylenol or Motrin?” Naomi glanced back at the woman who had taken up pacing in the back by the stove.

Sharla’s head shot up. “Oh, sure. I think I have some gel caps. How many you want?”

“If it’s Motrin, bring him three. He’ll need ‘em. And some pain reliever spray for the burn if you have it.”

Sharla nodded and rushed off, seeming glad for something to do.

Naomi glanced back at Eli’s hand under the running water, then up into his face. He’d been stoically silent this entire time. “You all right?”

He nodded, drawing his hand back.

She pressed it back under the stream.

“How do you know how to do this?” he asked. “Take care of burns, I mean.”

She couldn’t take her eyes off the running water as her heart hammered her ribs. “I have a nursing license.”

He was silent for a long moment.

She finally glanced up.

“You are a nurse?”

She nodded.

“And you bake?”

A soft laugh escaped her. “Yes.”

“Why?” His other hand trapped hers on his wrist so their three hands were being bathed in the cool flow. “Why do you not heal people instead of make cakes?”

“I . . .” She didn’t know how honest to be. He’d shared some of his life with her—his life in New York, his sheltered upbringing. His kisses. “Making cakes isn’t so bad. Plus Vi needs me.”

“I see.” His thumb brushed along her knuckles. “You are a special woman, Naomi Evans.”

“Oh, I don’t—”

“Very special,” he said, ignoring her sputtering. “You take care of those around you at your own expense.” He paused. She could barely take a breath. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

She dipped her eyes. Swallowed. “You’re welcome.”

“I . . .” he started, but paused.

Just as she felt herself being drawn into him, wanting to lean into the solid strength of his body, Sharla came back rattling a bottle of pills. “Got ‘em.”

Naomi blinked. “Good.” She turned and accepted three of the gel caps and a bottle of water. She took a quick breath before facing him again. “Okay, this should help.”

He used his good hand to grab the pills from her palm and maintained eye contact while he swallowed all the pills at the same time with one swig of water.

“Thank you for the pills and burn spray, Sharla,” Naomi said. “Eli will be fine, I promise,” she reassured her when she saw her concerned frown.

Only when Eli offered a sweet smile did Sharla press a kiss to his cheek and finally excuse herself back to work in the dining room.

Alone, the silence became uncomfortable. Especially every time Naomi glanced at Eli’s lips and remembered tasting them.

She found a clean towel next to the sink then shut off the water. “That should be good.” She reached out to dry off his hand.

He placed his hand in her palms and let her dry him gently. “Thank you,” he said again.

She nodded and sprayed the pain reliever onto the pinked skin.

He hissed through his teeth.

Without a thought, she bent and pressed her lips to the healthy skin on his wrist just above the burn. He sucked in another breath. She lifted her gaze, suddenly aware of what she’d done and hoping she hadn’t caused him more pain. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.”

She rose and let his hand drop.

“Why do you do that?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Do what?”

“Kiss me?”

She felt the color burning her cheeks. She had no good answer for him . . . or herself, for that matter. She shrugged and turned away. “Instinct. You had pain and I just wanted it to go away. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”