Scout spent the day in George's bed, listening to the comings and goings of various workmen as they presumably began work on the broken doorjamb and door of her bedroom. George wouldn't let her out of his bed, threatening to fire her if she stirred from it. She didn't know him well enough to tell if he was serious or not, but figured she'd better not tempt fate. She was still feeling a little wobbly, anyway, and was more than happy to stay in his comfortable bed, the comforter drawn up around her knees, though she did feel a little strange to have him waiting on her, bringing her food and tea all day long.

"I can at least go downstairs to eat," she protested when he appeared at her bedside with a tray laden with lunch things in the early afternoon.

"Nah, better for you to just stay put this first day," he said with a shrug. "I'm not doing anything anyway, and the dogs are getting a lot of exercise following me up and down the stairs hoping something falls off the tray, so everyone wins, right, guys?" He turned to Jess and Bandit, who were indeed watching their master and the contents of the tray he carried very attentively.

"Well, wait a sec, aren't you going to stay and eat with me?" Scout asked when George turned to leave.

"I only brought enough for you, though," George said.

Scout gestured to the tray. "I can't possibly eat all this myself," she said. "Please. Or I really am going to have to share with the dogs."

George looked from her to the tray, then back at her, finally shrugging. "Okay," he acquiesced, sitting down at the foot of the bed.

Scout picked up half the sandwich, motioning to the other half, which George picked up, and they ate as they chatted.

"So, what do you do around here by yourself all day?" Scout asked.

George shrugged again.

"I read a lot. I write music, watch movies, go for walks with the dogs, play golf--"

"There's a golf course?" Scout asked.

"Well, it's technically a 'links'," George replied. "Something to do with being next to the sea, I believe, but don't ask me what the difference is," he continued with a smile. "It's part of Farraway Mist, I mean it's private, I own it. Why, do you play?"

Scout nodded. "I come from three generations of golfers. My cousins belong to the same golf club as the Kennedys, even."

George raised his eyebrows. "Impressive."

Scout shrugged dismissively as she fed the crust of her bread to the dogs, breaking it in half so each would get a piece and not feel slighted, and George was glad he didn't have to explain to her why this was how it was done. "Yeah, sports and stuff was always really important to my family. Certain kinds of sports, I mean. Like tennis, skiing, golf, of course." She rolled her eyes. "My brother Chip was never very athletic, not like the rest of us, you know? So sometimes Susan, Bobby, and I would try to not be as good as we were, so the fact that Chipper sucked so bad wouldn't show? And our dad would figure out what we were doing and he'd get so mad at us." Scout shook her head, smiling at the memory.

"Kids!" she said in a gruff imitiation of her father, George assumed. "You're only making Chip weaker when you aid and abet him like that! Instead of covering for him, why don't you help him improve? Work with him?" She looked at George. "But you know how some people just aren't coordinated? They just don't get it?"

George nodded.

"Well, that's Chip. If he remembered to swing the racket, he forgot to move his feet. If he remembered to dip his elbow, he forgot to pivot or whatever. And he was afraid of the ball. And he didn't like to go fast, so forget skiing. Poor guy. I had to ski down the slope holding on to him in Stowe one time, because he couldn't come down by himself. And once, when we were out riding, he lost his nerve because the horse he was on was a little too spirited, and he had to dismount and wait while I jumped both of our horses over this fallen tree because he just couldn't."

George looked up at her.

"You ride?" He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.

Scout nodded. "I mean, not anymore. I don't hunt or anything," she hastened to reassure him. "I never did anything like that! And I never rode competitively or played polo or whatever. We just had horses, and I loved them, I loved being around them, I loved their intelligence and communicating with them, you know? But eventually I couldn't stand all the crap they had to put up with, all the equipment they had to have on them, and I nearly cried when I had to shove the bit into my beautiful horse's mouth, I really did. I started riding her just with a bridle, which cost a lot of control, and was kind of dangerous, and then I felt bad to ride with even a saddle, then I started feeling like in this day and age maybe I shouldn't be riding at all, you know?"

Scout looked over at George, spots of color on her cheeks again, and George realized that this time she was embarrassed.

"I talk too much, sometimes," she murmured, picking up her water glass and taking a long drink. "This is me, shutting up now."

George shook his head vigorously. "No, no, not at all," he said firmly. "It's very relaxing, soothing, actually, to be with someone who's willing to carry the onus of a conversation. Please, continue."

Scout picked up a cookie and took a bite, shaking her head. "I don't have anything else to say, honest," she said with a smile. She gestured at George. "You say something."

George looked around the room for inspiration. His eyes landed back on Scout, who was looking at him curiously. He found it amazing that he could ever have mistaken her for a man under any circumstances. Her eyebrows arched in an attitude of constant inquiry over the most gorgeous, pale blue eyes, framed by luscious, dense lashes, a shade darker than her dark brown hair. High cheekbones gave her eyes an almost elfin tilt, while her lips were a very unusual color, like raspberry ice, very full, and so very feminine, especially when she was smiling, like now. Her hair, the straight bangs, the simple bob that fell just to her shoulders, with no nod to her gender whatsoever, no artifice, was misleading, but in a way it only drew more attention to her face, kind of like showing a glowing jewel in a skimpy setting.

George realized he'd been staring, and wrenched his gaze away.

"Um, well, I'm like you, the youngest of the family. I have an older brother and sister, Joanie and Steven, who both live in London. Joanie is a nurse and Steven owns a bar," he said with a smile. "And my parents live in the country and are happily retired," he concluded. "That honestly covers everything about me," he said, spreading his hands.

"What about how you got famous and all that?" Scout asked without thinking.

George's expression hardened. "Not much to talk about there," he said brusquely.

Of course. He didn't want to talk about Tessa.

"I'm sorry," Scout said quietly. "I didn't mean to dredge up bad memories or anything, honest. Like I said before, I frequently talk and wait for my brain to catch up. It's one of my worst faults." She rolled her eyes again, looking around the room. "Fuck. I'm such an asshole."

George smiled in spite of himself.

"You're not an 'asshole'," he said. "There's just nothing to talk about, that's all."

He shrugged, rising. "Let me get these lunch things put away, then you can whip my arse at Scrabble, how's that sound, hm?" he asked with a smile.

"Ooh, yes, sounds perfect," she said, clapping her hands, making him smile again.

But when he returned a few minutes later with the board, she was fast asleep, nestled down in his bed, fist curled up next to her mouth. Both of the naughty dogs were on the bed as well, grinning at him, tails thumping guiltily. He raised an eyebrow at them. The spot next to her looked inviting, and the banging from the men repairing the door seemed to have stopped for now, so perhaps he'd take the opportunity to lie down for a bit as well.

He got in on the other side, taking care to stay on top of the blanket so there was no chance of any awkward situation developing. He turned so he was facing her, though there was still quite a distance between them. He couldn't remember ever being in bed with a girl quite like this one before. She was an unusual one. A true American blue blood, one his mother would definitely approve of, he thought wryly.

Scout sighed in her sleep, a pretty, soft exhalation that he could feel, a warm purring on his chest, even at this distance. The last woman he'd had in this bed was--

No.

The spill of blonde hair. The laughing eyes.

He would not think about her.

It hurt too much.

*****************************

Scout woke up surrounded by warmth, and deep, rapid, rhythmic breathing that was oddly familiar. Something hot was rubbing her back.

What the fuck?

She opened her eyes. She was staring at George's closed eye, or his eyelashes, rather, which were really pretty, creating shadows on his face in the afternoon sun which slanted into the room.

Suddenly the eye opened, and his dark blue eye was looking back at her. Naturally, this startled Scout, and she gave a little scream, which made him give a shout of surprise back.

George had his arms wrapped securely around Scout. Bandit was behind Scout, pressing on her and panting, which was what she'd felt and heard, and which was what had awakened her in the first place. Jess was similarly positioned behind George, and the two dogs were in effect pushing the two humans toward each other.

George and Scout moved away from each other quickly and awkwardly, displacing both dogs in the process, looking everywhere but at each other.

"Wow, I haven't slept that well in a long time," George said without thinking. He heard his words after, like an echo, and felt the blush creeping up his neck.

Scout, too, heard what he said and felt herself turning red. She was so pale that any kind of blush showed on her, she knew, and there was nothing she could do about it. She could feel where his arms had been on her body, like bands on her skin.

And George, too, could remember the feel of her soft, warm flesh under his hands, her slim body pressed frankly into his. He was like granite in his pants, and he hoped she hadn't felt that.

They sat up on opposite sides of the bed, deeply embarrassed. Only the dogs seemed happily oblivious to it all as they sat, grinning, tails waving.