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“Oh! I’m sorry,” she managed to say. She was tall, with short dark brown hair and a handsome, angular face. Dressed in jeans and a puffy red vest with matching sweater, she looked as ready to take on winter as her son. “I didn’t know Nico had company.”

“I’m Grace Clarke.” She held out her hand and attempted to get to her feet, but Nico’s sister intervened.

“Marie O’Rourke. And this is Brian, my son. You’re hurt.” She put out a hand to stop Grace from moving. “Stay where you are.” Her gaze darted to Grace’s nightgown, then to her booted foot and on to the rumpled bed. “What happened?”

Nico came to the rescue. He stepped into the room and handed Grace a mug of coffee. “Grace works at the lodge. She slipped in the kitchen last night and I brought her home.”

“Does it hurt?” Brian asked.

“Yes. But not as much as it did last night,” Grace said. “And Al kept me company.”

The dog leaned against Brian and licked his hand.

“I hung your clothes in the closet,” Nico said, jerking a thumb to one of the wide doors opposite the windows.