A/N: I do not own the characters from Murder, She Wrote, even though I wish I did!

In the Murder, She Wrote book, Blood on the Vine, by Jessica Fletcher and Donald Bain, George and Jessica are invited to stay at Laddington Castle to investigate a suspicious death. While staying, George falls into the moat one night, injuring his back. I love this book in the series, but I have always wished that Jessica had taken care of George, so I started writing this story to see what would happen if she did! I think it will be end up being three or four chapters. Please leave me a review!

Chapter 1

As soon as George fell into that ridiculous moat, he was in agony. His back started spasming and I could hear the pain in his voice from below, while he was trapped, waiting for help to arrive. After they helped him out by rope, I saw the pain etched in his face. When he hobbled back into Laddington Castle, he went right to bed after taking some muscle relaxers. I offered to sit with him for a while, but he just sent me to my room.

I am worried about him though. I can't help but feel frustrated that here we are together in California again in the middle of yet another suspicious death, that as time goes on, appears to be murder. Staying in this castle with this odd family and their business associates feels like we are in the midst of the dragon's lair itself.

Pacing in my room, I am restless and despite the late hour, I know I won't sleep. I feel guilty and ashamed for leaving him alone. If I was the one with back spasms, I am certain that George would be caretaking me. He would not allow any embarrassment that I might have, keep him away from me if I was hurt. We may not be in a defined relationship, but the tension has always been there and the desire and hope for one day remains.

Sighing, I decide to check on George. The shame I currently feel for leaving him alone is far outweighing any possible embarrassment that may ensue. Knocking on his door, there is no answer, but when I turn the knob, it opens.

The room is dark, but I know somehow that he isn't asleep.

"George?" I whisper.

"Lass?"

"Is it alright if I turn on a light?"

He grunts in reply.

Taking that as a yes, I turn the lamp on the other side of the room, so as not to shine any light directly into his eyes.

Walking over to the bed, he is in a strange position, sort of twisted on his side, but with part of his body front side down. His face is turned to the side and when I lean over him, his face is wet with tears.

"George? Are you crying?"

"Jess, what are you doing here? I know it's not morning yet."

"I felt guilty. I should be here with you. Helping in some way."

"There is nothing you can do. The pain will either kill me or it won't and I'll be fine in a day or two."

Telling me that I can't do anything feels like a challenge. Squaring my shoulders, I make a decision.

Walking into the bathroom, I'm glad to see that his en suite has a deep bathtub like mine does. Turning the taps on as hot as they will go, I close the drain. Opening the linen closet, I find Epsom salts and pour a generous amount into the tub.

Setting a fresh towel on the bathroom countertop, I look around for anything else that might help George feel better. Folding over a hand towel, I fashion a pillow for the edge of the tub for him to rest his head on. I found some lotion for later, as well as some type of topical cream that goes hot and cold. The Laddington Castle is certainly outfitted well for guests.

Returning to the bedroom, I stand beside George and pull the blanket down that he covered himself with earlier in the evening. He is still fully dressed except his feet are bare.

"George, I'm running you a hot bath with Epsom salts. Are you able to roll over and I can try to help you walk to the bathroom?"

"Lass, I'm over six feet tall. You can't help me walk. I'll hurt you."

"Try. Please? If I have to, I can go find one of the men to assist, but let's see if I can first."

Grunting in pain, he rolls over slowly. He grips my hand in a vise, but I refuse to show any sign of discomfort, as I wrap my other arm around his waist and help him to stand. He does his best to carry his own weight, even as he makes a full litany of vocalizations of pain.

I can sense his disgruntlement with me for making him move, but he is too much of a gentleman to say anything. At least not yet. I have a feeling though that if I continue to push, he may explode at some point.

He reaches out for the bathroom door frame to hold on to, in an effort to release his hold on me. I walk past him and reach over to turn the taps off. The bathtub is full and the room is steamy. The mirrors have fogged up and I have a nervous energy, as I am not sure how much help George will need getting into the tub.

"Do you have a robe, George?"

He nods, pointing back over to the chair in the bedroom. I grab it, seeing his open suitcase beside it. Without trying to contemplate too much, I searched for a pair of boxers and set them and the robe next to the towel.

The toilet is behind a separate door and I motion to him.

"Do you think you can manage getting undressed or do you need help? You can go in there or I can wait in the bedroom?"

"I think I can manage getting in. But what happens if I need help getting out?"

"We will cross that bridge when we get to it. Before I forget, let me move all the body wash and a washcloth over to the side here so you don't have to reach for anything. Can you think of anything else?"

"No, lass. Thank you."

I nod.

"Alright, I am going to sit in the chair by the door here and wait. Let me know if you need anything. Don't lock the door."

He smiles out of the corner of his mouth. I can tell he hurts too much to really smile, but he seems to be amused with me all the same.

His next words prove it.

"Lass, if I wasn't hurt right now, I'd be taking off your clothes along with mine and we'd be getting into the tub together."

"George!"

He makes eye contact for the first time since I came into his room.

"Aye, I think we would."

I feel my body grow warm under his watchful stare and his green eyes seem to be brighter, even though I can still see the evident pain on his face.

I swallow and instead of saying anything, I leave the room, closing the door behind me.

After sitting in the chair for several minutes, without hearing any movement of water behind the door, I begin to worry that he is having trouble getting into the tub, but before I decide to knock on the door, I hear the sloshing of water and a deep groan, as he must be lowering himself into the water.

I pace his room, looking out the windows and trying to stay calm. Trying not to think about what George said before I left the bathroom is almost impossible as I continue to hear the water. What would it be like to be in the bathtub with him? I haven't done that in years. Taken a bath with a man. It would almost certainly lead to bed, wouldn't it?

Is that something I want?

Shaking my head, I become irritated with myself. I can't pretend to be that naive; certainly not with myself. Of course, it would lead to bed and if I got in the bathtub with him, I would know that!

Now, whether I want it or not, is a different story.

I have been alone for so many years now. I do miss waking up beside someone in the morning and I definitely miss snuggling with someone at night as I fall asleep. Of course, that someone was only ever Frank. Even now, I tear up thinking about him in that way. I don't ever let myself think about intimacy with him anymore. It's far too painful to remember. And with time, the memories have faded, becoming less intense. But I do dream about him still.

George lives in England and Scotland. So, if my goal is to have someone in my bed every night and every morning, I may be sorely disappointed pursuing a relationship with George. Perhaps my worry is if our relationship were to develop, it might become even harder to be alone at home in Cabot Cove.

Now, the thought of being in a man's embrace, with legs entwined and hearts beating together as love is shared and made is something that I know I desire. I must, or I would not even allow the whisper of a relationship with men like George to occur. I like to flirt, always have. I think all women must love to feel attractive and desirable. I know I do. But I would never be so cruel as to lead a man on, with no intention of ever having a relationship.

Even now, knowing that there is an unlocked door between us and him being in a hot tub, it is difficult not to think about him. I am attracted to George, even as we have only ever been friends. Embraces, kisses on the cheek, and a rare goodbye kiss on the lips is all that has ever happened between us, even though George has been very upfront that he has fallen in love with me.

I know I love him as a friend, but I have constantly denied whether or not I am in love with him. I haven't felt ready. Yet, I wonder what it will take for me to feel ready. What push or catapult do I need? It is starting to feel somewhat ridiculous, as though I am standing on the edge of a pool about to jump in, knowing that the water is cold, but the sooner I jump, the sooner I will acclimate and it will be satisfying and refreshing.

Walking over to the bathroom door, I tilt my ear trying to listen for the sound of water. It's been rather quiet for a while now. I hope George has not fallen asleep in there.

I knock on the door, pausing, before saying, "George? Are you alright?"

He must move finally, as I hear water, and he sighs, "Yes, lass. The water is beginning to grow cold and I'm trying to figure out how to get out."

There is not any type of handlebar or ledge to grab ahold of, as I looked earlier. I knew this could be problematic, but we are adults after all.

"Alright, I'm going to come in, George."

"Wait!" I hear him move, causing him to groan in pain again.

After a few moments, I hear the tub begin to drain, and he tells me I can come in.

I open the door, averting my eyes from him, and immediately reach for the towel, holding it up.

"Lass, I've already covered myself with a hand towel. If you can give me your hand, I think I can manage to pull myself out."

Standing by the edge, I gaze down at the floor, seeing him out of the corner of my eye. He tries to kneel first, while holding the towel with one hand, and grasping my hand, again in a vise. Trying to pull him up, as he stands is difficult but not impossible, and in a few moments, he is standing, albeit hunched over.

He asks me to hand him the dry towel now, as I realize that the hand towel covering him was submerged and is now dripping wet and clinging to his body. I hand it to him and he trades them quickly, dropping the wet one in the bottom of the tub. Wrapping the dry one around his waist, he gingerly steps out onto the floor beside me.

Quietly, I turn my attention slowly up his body, taking my time staring at his chest and the clean lines and defined muscles, up to his collarbones and neck, before landing at his bright green eyes. His skin is flushed from the hot water, but my face is flushed from desire.

He is handsome and attractive and he is barely covered. We stare at each other for a moment without speaking. But I know he is in pain still, and pulling myself together, I ask if he needs anything before I walk back into the bedroom to allow him to dress.

"No, I think I can manage."

I nod, leaving him and closing the door softly behind him.

A few minutes later, he opens the bathroom door, and I reach for his hand to guide him back to the bed.

He tosses his robe off at the foot of the bed, standing in just his boxers. He appears not to mind, as he crawls in under the covers, groaning again.

"How are you feeling now?" I ask softly, as I perch on the edge of the bed beside him.

He places one hand on my side and the other reaches to hold my hand.

"Toasty. The bath was nice and hot. I know I muttered a lot, but I am grateful to you, Jess."

I smile. He is on his back with the covers halfway up his bare chest. Averting my eyes, I stand and walk back into the bathroom, hanging up towels and wiping down the wet surfaces. Returning with the lotion, I go back over to him and ask him to turn over.

His eyebrows disappear in his hairline.

"Just do it, please."

Groaning again, but not arguing at least, he carefully turns over.

Moving the cover down to his waist, I set the lotion on the bedside table, rubbing my hands together to spread some warmth, before squirting a generous amount of lotion into my hands. Inhaling to steady my nerves, I start to massage his back, starting at his neck and shoulders, where I know he isn't as sore, in an effort to acclimate both of us to the fact that I am touching him. I heard him take a big breath when I started to touch him, too. I know it is a bit unnerving for both of us, but I hope it helps him to relax. His skin is warm from the bath and smooth. Leaning over him, trying to keep my own back from bending awkwardly, as I stand at the bedside massaging him, I can feel him begin to relax, which helps me not be as tense.

After a few minutes, I move my hands down to the middle of his back, and I can feel the tightness. By the time I reach his low back, I can feel the muscles that have hardened as though they are coils of thick rope. I can see them jump and move, as the spasms are beginning again. I think George is trying to be quiet, but every so often, he releases a low moan. Feeling his back spasm, I have a greater understanding of how much pain he is in.

It is difficult to get much purchase with my hands trying to force with strength and willpower his muscles to release their powerful grip on his body. Realizing that I am beginning to breathe harder, as I keep trying to help alleviate some of his pain, I try to slow down. One bath and one massage are not going to cure him. Instead, I need to focus on getting him to relax enough to simply sleep tonight.

Knowing that his hips and glutes are probably a factor in his low back pain, as it usually is on my own when I struggle with back pain, I tentatively massage the sides of his hips and upper glutes, over his boxers. I can't bring myself to go any lower. He can't see me right now, but I know my face is red, just touching him as much as I already have.

After some time, I pause, asking softly if he thinks he can sleep now.

He says, "Yes, lass, I think so."

I pull the covers back up and turn the lamp off. Walking back to the bedside, I tentatively reach my hand to touch his shoulder.

"Sleep well, George."

"Thank you, love," he whispers.

I fancy I can hear him snore as I close the door behind me.

Returning to my room, I undress and climb into bed. My heart is pounding and I know sleep will elude me if I don't calm down.

It is late now, well past midnight. The castle is quiet. I know there are likely others awake, but they have all retired to their respective areas, far from the guest wing.

Trying to process my feelings and emotions, I realized what had happened tonight. Touching him the past hour had made me aroused. My body had woken up from a hibernation that I had not realized I was living in. Feeling my face grow red again while alone in the dark makes me feel absurd. But I know it is true. My body feels warm and alive and my fingers have a nervous energy. I am already hoping I will get to touch George again.

What now? He was hurt and we are guests in a castle of subterfuge that I still have no idea who are the bad guys and who are the good guys. I somehow doubted there was black and white with these people anyway. I have to simply hope that for now, we are both safe.

Sighing, I rolled onto my side, willing myself to sleep.

"Hmmm, George, that feels good," I whisper, as he makes his way down my face, neck, and spends time moving slowly along my clavicles. Unbuttoning my blouse and moving it out of the way, he buries his face in my chest, breathing me in, as I gasp, feeling him unhook my bra and tossing it to the side as well. Cool air on my chest combined with his warm breath feels delicious, even as I reach for the button on his trousers. I had to feel him. I had to touch him. I need to feel him touch me.

Jerking awake, gasping for air, I groan against my pillow.

"Dear lord," I whisper, "Get ahold of yourself, Jess. You aren't a teenager."

If having my sexuality reawaken was going to be this stimulating, I am going to be in so much trouble!