Angel: An SOBs Novel

by Irish Winters

  “Easy,” the guy said. Smoky baritone, his voice was smooth as bourbon on the rocks with a gentle sting of command embedded in it, something she had no use for. The bourbon, yes. The command, no. Suede Tennyson’d had enough of being jerked around by—jerks.

  He eased the straw away after one paltry swallow. “Let’s make sure that first drink stays down.”

  He must not know who I am or he wouldn’t be so fucking nice. On a good day, she’d light him up with her vicious tongue, but now… Suede might be naked, but she got the sense that this guy meant her no harm. Besides, she was too weak to argue. “C-c-cold,” she mumbled. I’m fucking cold. Frigid was more like it. Lionel would no doubt agree if he’d been there.

  Speaking of the ass… A shiver rattled over her, jarring every last aching bone in her body. Her brain roared ‘Lionel pushed me!’ even as this stranger tugged a thick blanket under her chin, tucking her in like a little girl.

  It had been so long since anyone had done that—if ever—that Suede honestly couldn’t remember the last time. She grunted, needing someone to know that Lionel tried to murder her, but nothing intelligent-sounding passed beyond her dry lips.

  A hand that felt like the size of a platter cupped her trembling bicep, pressing warmth into her shivering muscles. “There are two bladders of hot water at your back to warm you, ma’am, but it’ll take time before your body temp returns to normal.” There was that ma’am again, an oddly reassuring gesture in the midst of her full-blown panic. “Take another sip, but take it slow. We need to rehydrate you as quickly as we can, I just don’t want you throwing up what you drink. You’re in tough shape and retching is bound to hurt your ribs, and you can’t afford to lose more moisture. I’m afraid I was a little rough on you.” The straw glanced over her bottom lip, and greedily, she snagged it before it got away. Talking about Lionel could fucking wait. She needed a drink.

  But what did that mean? A little rough on me? Shivering tremors hit her hard, but she wasn’t losing hold of that straw this time. Clamping it between her teeth, she took in as much as she could before she released it. At last she wet her lips. “You hurt me?” she asked even though she knew better. But still. Men did that to women all the time. What made this guy any better than the others in her life?

  “Not on purpose, but I did do dozens of chest compressions and they’ve been known to break ribs. I don’t think I broke any of yours, but tell me if you’re having trouble breathing. I need to know.”

  Tears stung her eyes. “How… how would I know? Everything” —her body clenched as searing pain shot up from her thigh. Want to or not, she whimpered— “hurts.”

  That same warm hand cupped the back of her head, holding her steady. Gently. She leaned into this strange, kind man like a little girl, needing this odd new sensation of being cared for—just once in her fucked-up life—to last.

  “Easy now. No sudden movements. All you’ve got to do is breathe. Just breathe.” He seemed so familiar, and that voice. Growly low, but soft like velvet over steel. It caressed her soul as much as that big hand of his had caressed her broken body.

  “W-who are you?” The words grated like the serrated teeth of a steak knife drawn past her tonsils and over her tongue. “And where the fuck am I? What…” She sucked in a searing, shivering gasp. “What’d you do to me?”

  “Chance Sinclair at your service, ma’am.” His voice tightened, but she didn’t care why. Nice or not, this guy had some explaining to do. “I pulled you out of the pond below Mother’s Day Falls tonight, and you’re lucky to be alive. It’s wicked weather out there. Right now, you’re in my cabin in Northern Montana and you’re safe. Now open your mouth and take these three tablets.”

  Another order. Did he think she was weak and stupid? Why would I take any pills from you? “You a doctor?” she asked stubbornly, her brain on fire from the headache crushing her skull. She’d meant to tell him something important, but it eluded her now. No hangover had ever felt this fucking bad.

  “No, ma’am. I’m no doctor, but I am the Navy SEAL who pulled your ass out of frigid water, got you breathing again, and hiked home in a blizzard to save your life.” He didn’t say that with anger, more like it was a history lesson she needed to understand right here and now.

  “Oh,” was all she could come up with. She had been up on that mountain, but the why was lost in the fog in her head. It had something important to do with Lionel, but thinking took energy she didn’t have. But taking pills from a stranger? A definite no-go. Smart girls and women didn’t do that—she would know—not in bars and not wherever she was now. “W-what are they?” And why the fuck should I take anything from you?

  “Sorry. I should’ve told you that. My bad. They’re just two painkillers, Ibuprofen, each eight hundred milligrams. The other’s an antibiotic. I’m not big on drugs, so it’s all I’ve got on hand. I know it’s not much, but” —his shoulders lifted— “you’re in bad shape, ma’am, and these are better than nothing.”

  Suede hesitated. The direct honesty in his voice combined with that silky tone of command was wearing her down. What did she have to lose? Her body did feel like it had been steamrolled, and to be honest, the formidable strength reverberating inside Chance’s tone quieted her suspicions. He sounded like he knew what he was talking about.

  Why would he have saved her if he intended to dope her? Okay, erase that stupid question. She’d known enough sleazy guys in clubs and private parties all over the world who would’ve done exactly that to get at her. In between listening to her heart pounding in her poor head and this guy’s steady breathing, a searing cough that felt like gasoline on fire squeezed out of her lungs in short, sharp barks. She’d never been sicker.

  The man tipped his forehead closer to hers. “You can trust me, ma’am. I served with honor on and off the battlefield. Uncompromising integrity is my standard. My character and honor are steadfast. My word is my bond.”

  Wow. That sounded like an important oath or something. Better yet, not once had he called her baby or darling, just ma’am. It sounded as if he respected her. How bizarre was that? Respect was the last thing she expected from a, a guy. Hearing it spoken out loud gave her the sense that Chance Sinclair wasn’t a player. He was a serious man and he meant what he said.

  I am sick. He is taking care of me. Maybe I can trust him.

  She squinted to see if it brought him into any better focus, but his facial features were lost in a blur of shadows and the headache in her eyes. All she could make out was shaggy hair spiked in all directions. It circled his head like a rugged halo on a fallen angel with the orange burning glow of some kind of fire behind him. She was fairly sure that was a beard on his chin, not just more obscurity caused by her brain fog.

  Still, she stalled, unwilling to surrender her hard-earned independence to another man.

  He didn’t force them down her throat. Instead, “Listen. If you won’t take the pills, at least suck on one of the medicated throat lozenges I’ve got. Your lungs were full of dirty water by the time I reached you tonight, and your voice sounds like gravel, so I know you’re in pain. Inhaling has got to hurt. I’ve also got an analgesic spray to deaden the pain in your throat if you’d rather. This storm could last for days, and I won’t be able to get you to a doctor, so you need to use what’s available.”

  It all came back to her. The driving snow. The bitterest cold. A shiver racked her from head to toe. Suede Tennyson didn’t have amnesia or any of those damsel-in-distress fainting spells. Not any more. She remembered who’d shoved her off that cliff, and who’d kicked her while she’d hung on her fingernails. That jerk-off, Lionel York.

  Tears stung her eyes, but this guy wasn’t York, was he? Why did she feel like she could trust this Chance Sinclair guy, a stranger she didn’t know, when life had taught her not to trust anyone? Not her mother or father. Certainly not Lionel and his guys.

  But this mountain-man was different, and he seemed sure of himself. Better yet, he’d helped her. Who does th
at these days? Not accustomed to being treated with kindness or dignity jolted her paradigm of men in general. “Chance Sinclair, huh?” she asked, her throat on fire.

  His head bobbed. “Yes, ma’am. United States Navy Former Petty Officer Chance Sinclair, at your service.”

  That was a lot of good stuff to know. The few military men she’d met at the Governor’s mansion had always impressed her with their manners and sense of honor. So Chance was one of the good guys. He wasn’t a politician and he probably worked for a living. Did she dare trust him? Suede caved. “The pills,” whispered out of her dry, cracked lips. Might as well.

  “Good choice.” Chance cupped the back of her head again and tipped her enough to reach the straw. His fingertips grazed her lips as he tucked two smaller pills, then one larger on into her mouth.

  Finished swallowing the meds, she ducked back into the plush nest she’d awakened in. Layers of blankets covered her and the water things at her back and backside were warm, so why couldn’t she stop shivering? “My leg hurts,” she murmured, her eyes brimming.

  “I was afraid of that. Your left one?”

  She nodded, biting her bottom lip to keep from crying like a baby. What a fucking bad day.

  That gentle hand at the back of her head stroked over her skull to settle at the nape of her neck. “I’m sorry, but you’ve got a nasty cut on your thigh. I stitched it closed and bandaged it, but it’ll hurt a while. If the pain gets too bad, tell me, and I’ll see what else I can do. Do you remember what happened?”

  Another nod. “He, he pushed me…” And the dam broke. Not one to show weakness, she squeezed her eyes to hold back the tears, but they ran like faucets turned on high, and she hiccupped like a baby. “I… I tried to hold on, b-but…” Every word sliced and diced her throat and her heart. “He kicked me. In the head.”

  A deep growl rumbled. Suede wasn’t sure if it came from Chance or the dog she could smell but hadn’t seen yet.

  “What’s his name?” Chance asked, his question reverberating with menace.

  “Lionel York,” she admitted. “My fiancé.”

  “The tennis player? Him? You’re marrying that jackass? He’s… old.” This time she knew where the growl came from. Chance couldn’t have sounded meaner.

  “Just by ten years. That’s all.” Age didn’t matter. All men were jackasses.

  The pad of a callused thumb wiped the teary stream from her cheek. “Listen. It’s late and you’ve had enough for one day. We’ll talk more tomorrow or whenever you’re up to it. Are you ready for that cough drop now? It might help.” There was that caring tone again, melting her prickly defenses like honey on a hot buttered roll fresh from the oven.

  “Yes, please.” Suede would’ve bobbed her head, but it was shaking enough already.

  The tips of his fingers tucked that tiny piece of instant menthol relief between her lips. For whatever reason, even the minimal effort to lift her head or work her jaw muscles hurt. Who would’ve thought that she, America’s sassiest darling, could’ve been brought so low?

  “Thanks,” she rasped, sucking that cough drop as if he’d just given her a succulent bit of fresh king crab. Menthol vapors stormed her sinuses even as a soothing sting settled at the back of her throat. Good. Oh, so good.

  A giant hand smoothed over the top of her head, and finally, the face that went with it came closer and into better focus. Worried, pinched brows first, then a manly nose, long and straight. She blinked to clear her murky vision. Thick whiskers covered his cheeks and chin, which added to the shadows. His head was much larger than hers, his brow wider, but the tenderness glowing in his dark eyes caught her in their trap.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt you before, but I had to stitch your leg while you were out,” he explained as the hint of peppermint wafted over her face, drowning out the menthol in her mouth. “I couldn’t let you bleed to death. Are you hungry at all? Could you handle a couple spoonfuls of broth before you go back to sleep?”

  Suede closed her eyes at the thought of warm soup sliding down her raw throat, but she shook her head. “Not now.” That tiny slice of menthol heaven on her tongue, the warm wash of peppermint in her nostrils, and the gentle hand cupping her aching head already soothed like nothing had before. As awful as her broken body felt, and it had to be broken as much as everything hurt, these small acts of kindness brought another rush of tears to her eyes. No one was nice to Suede Tennyson. Not on purpose.

  Tonguing the cough drop into her cheek, she tried to tell him who she was. A muffled “Suede” was all she got out before the tip of a warm finger sealed her lips.

  “Shush,” he murmured, his forehead nearly to hers, and his breath so delicious she wanted to lick his lips. “I know who you are, Suede. You’re Governor Tennyson’s daughter, and you’re also one of Hollywood’s hottest hotshots, now shush. Go to sleep. The broth will be just as good later. Rest easy.”

  She meant to argue. This man was so bossy, but “You’re being nice to me” was all she came up with.

  He cocked his head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Because... because…” A hiccup squeaked out of her. No one’s ever nice just to be nice.

  His head dipped closer. “You, young lady, are sick, and you’re exhausted. Get some sleep.”

  No, I’m not. I’m… I’m saved. Overwhelmed by this gentle warrior’s kindness, Suede grabbed onto his forearm sleeve and pulled herself into his chest. “Don’t leave me,” she cried, frightened and lost and so damned thankful for this one good man in her crazy celebrity life. “Please,” she begged. “Please don’t let go. Don’t let me fall!”

  He stiffened, his body taut as if he didn’t know quite what to do with her, but gradually, his arms circled her nearly as tightly as she gripped him. She needed him so damned much.

  “It’s okay,” he murmured, his lips in her hair. “You’re going to be okay. You’re safe. Honest. No one can get to you here.”

  “He… he…” She couldn’t get a grip! “He k-k-killed me!” Where this sudden torment came from, she didn’t know, but it rolled over her like a steamroller, pulverizing her tough bitch alter ego to dust, leaving her confidence shredded and bleeding in its wake. Never—NEVER—had she lost control like this. Not even all those times…

  Fears bubbled up from her soul. Fears from long ago. Fear of shadows and of the dark. Fear of falling. Of never—ever—being good enough for anyone. Not even herself.

  Chance didn’t let go. “He tried, but you’re still here. You’re still here, baby.”

  She felt like one. Suede couldn’t stop her damned eyes from leaking. Her nose ran into his shirt. She sobbed and wept, coughed and shuddered, and still he held on. Rocking. Gently rocking until the hysteria released its death-grip, and she could catch a breath.

  Shocked she’d come undone so completely, she sucked in a rasping gulp of air. It was his fault she’d unraveled, this strange caring man. She’d never dealt with anyone as kind nor as capable as Chance Sinclair before, not once in her life. It felt uncommonly, extraordinarily safe inside this circle of his big arms, his body wrapped around her like a last line of defense. Like a wall between her and the world. There was no censure here. No berating. Just strength and power and warmth. A steady heartbeat. A tender touch.

  Her body quivered like a jar of apple jelly that hadn’t set. “W-what’s wrong with m-me?” she asked, another round of tears on its way. Her teeth chattered so hard, she bit her lip. Wishing she could leech some of the calm from Chance, her fingertips still clenched his biceps while the top of her head bumped under his chin.

  He molded her to him, his fingers splayed at her back, his head, shoulders, and upper body curved around her like a protective shell. “You’re dealing with shock and trauma right now, that’s all. It’ll pass. Give it time. Just breathe. Know that I won’t let anything happen to you. You’ll be okay here, I promise.”

  She rubbed her cheek against his shirt, believing him. Trusting for the first time in forever. Of all the pe
ople in her life, this stranger was the only one who hadn’t let her down, and she didn’t think he was going to. “I’m scared,” she admitted. Of everything.

  “Shush,” he crooned, swaying back and forth. “I’m here. Go to sleep, Suede. Go to sleep.”

  Again with the ordering her around. What was with this guy? Yet the way he’d said those last words melted what little was left of her defensiveness. Warm and safe in the arms of this rugged angel was a good enough place to be. She’d leave as soon as she was able to, but for now, Suede closed her eyes, and with a sigh, she let the darkness take her.

  Chapter Five

  The hot water bladders and blankets weren’t working fast enough, but Chance didn’t want to take that last step, not if he could help it. He would not join Suede Tennyson in that big bed—his big bed. No way.

  Earlier, he’d transferred her from the couch to his room because it was smaller and easier to heat, and she’d need privacy once she came to. His bed was softer, but the wood-burning stove in the corner produced so much heat he’d had to strip down to a wife-beater and boxers. That he’d added five-inch-thick steel plating between the outside logs and the inside framing of his cabin made certain no storm or enemies could get in, but neither could the excess heat get out.

  Poor Gallo’s long tongue lolled to the floor. He’d curled up next to the bed, panting like crazy, but not leaving the lady he’d found. Chance made sure his water dish was full, but tomorrow morning, that dog had a deer leg coming. Maybe an entire roast.

  It was good that Suede talked when she’d come to, and taken the meds Chance offered, but she had a long way to go before she was back on her feet. That barky cough of hers worried him. He felt certain he hadn’t broken her ribs, but her lungs were congested, her voice was weak and hoarse. Pneumonia and being snowed-in weren’t a good mix.

  Chance didn’t think Suede was afraid of him. More likely disoriented. Maybe remembering who’d pushed her. But those eyes. They were too big for her face, and the fear radiating from those glimmering blue pools rattled him. She’d looked so much like a lost little girl about to cry. Not at all what he’d expected from her girl-gone-wild video.