Wild Raspberries by Jane Davitt Page B

covered him to his knees, but he still felt on the naked side.
    Tyler’s gaze raked over him, indifferent and impatient. “About time.”
    He was too tired to defend himself and not really sure of how long he’d stood under the water. Maybe he had been a while. He gave Tyler an apologetic smile and murmured, “Sorry.”
    Tyler grunted and propped his cane against the wall before transferring his grip to the doorframe. Beaded with steam, it was slippery and his hand skidded. Tyler cursed and tried to regain his balance without setting his foot to the ground. It was never going to work, and Dan was already moving to grab him when Tyler fell forward. They swayed in place, Dan struggling to support him, Tyler trying to pull back.
    “Stay still,” Dan said. “Before we both end up flat on our backs.” Tyler smelled of sweat and antiseptic and man, an emphatic assault on his senses. He tightened his arms around the broad chest and tried not to think about the muscles hidden under cotton and what they’d look like exposed.
    “I don’t think that’s physically possible, and will you let go of me, please?”
    “It’d serve you right if I did.” Dan got one hand between them and laid it flat against Tyler’s chest. He pushed and Tyler groaned, the sound bitten off fast, and got hold of the doorframe again. He straightened up, his face a shade paler.
    Dan frowned. “Are your ribs strapped up?” He was sure they were; he’d felt the bandages under the shirt and T-shirt, an extra layer that shouldn’t be there.
    Tyler fumbled at his zipper. “Yes. A little privacy?”
    “Huh? Oh, sure.” A moment later, he was on the other side of the door, shivering slightly as cool water dripped down his back. He took the towel from around his waist and gave his hair a brief, thorough scrub with it to get most of the water out. There was no warning sound of a toilet flushing, so he dug out a pair of his new boxers and shimmied into them, not caring that his body was still damp. The cabin was heavy with the stored heat of the day, and it was kind of nice to feel goose bumps anyway.
    Despite his earlier nap and the time — barely past nine, for God’s sake — the couch looked tempting, but he’d have to wait for Tyler to go to bed first; he didn’t want to be in the way. He also didn’t want to get dressed again, but he pulled on a T-shirt, in a faded navy blue, philosophical about the way it failed to match the yellow shorts with the rabbits on them. Tyler didn’t strike him as the fashion-conscious sort.
    With a yawn he couldn’t hold back, he headed for the kitchen to deal with the leftovers of the meal and the washing up. Time to earn his keep. The bathroom door opened as he walked past, and he paused and handed Tyler his cane.
    “Thanks —” Tyler’s eyes widened as he took in Dan’s shorts. “Are you trying to blind me?”
    Dan grinned. “You should see the others; this pair’s about the tamest. I thought I’d work up to the ones with pink hearts on gradually.”
    Tyler gave a soft snort of laughter. “Yeah, I can see how you’d need to do that.” He raised his eyebrows. “They’re new, though?”
    “Yeah. They’re new.” Dan waved his hand at the table, cluttered with the remnants of their meal. “I’ll clear this away. You want anything?”
    “You don’t have to —” Tyler stopped himself. “Okay, yeah, I guess you do, or the place will stink by tomorrow. And, no, I’m fine. Might just turn in early. There’s no TV, but help yourself to a book if you want to.”
    Dan had seen the packed bookshelves running along one wall of the main room and been impressed, but not particularly interested. Books were for school. He’d grown up in a house that had the Bible and a Farmer’s Almanac and precious little else in the way of reading material. “I’m about ready to fall asleep on my feet, myself.”
    Tyler nodded. “Put the garbage in the —”
    “I know what to do,” Dan said patiently.