The Wingman

by Natasha Anders

  He settled her into the passenger seat of the Jeep, and she watched him through a haze of tears, his grim profile a black silhouette against a dark background. He was angry. And it showed in his sharp movements as he maneuvered the Jeep back to the main road into town.

  “Why are you bleeding?” he asked harshly, speaking for the first time in minutes.

  “One of them cut me,” she confessed. The car veered, and his head swung to face her.

  “They stabbed you? Oh Jesus, why didn’t you say something? How bad is the bleeding?”

  “I said cut, and I meant cut. It’s not a penetrating wound. It’s a slash,” she said, forcing calmness into her voice. He was on the verge of panicking, and it wouldn’t do to spook him further.

  “How the fuck would you know that?” he asked angrily.

  “I’m a doctor, remember? I may treat animals instead of people, but I do know the difference between a serious wound and a superficial wound.”

  “Does it hurt?” His voice was too restrained, too mechanical, for lack of a better word.

  “A little,” she lied. It hurt like hell, and it was still bleeding sluggishly, which told her she’d probably need stitches.

  The thought of her in pain was unbearable, and Mason gritted his teeth and drove even faster. God, he could kill her for being so damned stupid.

  “You’re angry,” she said, her voice timid. He shot her a disbelieving glare but refrained from responding to that obvious statement. “I’m sorry I inconvenienced you.”

  “Daisy, shut up,” he advised steadily. “I’m not willing to get into this with you now.”

  Thankfully, she listened to him, but only because she was in pain. He could tell because of the way she held herself, like she was afraid to move. He was an expert at pain and the coping mechanisms people implemented to deal with it.

  They got to the small local clinic less than five minutes later, and he leapt out to find a doctor and a wheelchair. He called Spencer and asked him to contact Daisy’s family before rushing to be by her side again.

  The doctors forced him to stay in the waiting room while they wheeled her into the ER, and all Mason’s pent-up rage at Daisy and the bastards who had dared to hurt her made him want to break something. He started pacing, prowling up and down the length of the room like a caged animal as he attempted to calm his raging thoughts. Part of him wanted to rush back to Inkululeko and beat the offenders to a pulp, while another—much bigger—part of him wanted to stay here and just never leave Daisy’s side again. He wanted to wrap her in cotton wool and keep her safe from everything and everybody.

  “Mason!” He turned just as Daff stepped into the waiting room followed by Lia, their parents, and Spencer. “What happened? How is she?”

  “Your sister decided that it would be a good idea to go into Inkululeko after dark and without an escort,” he enlightened them shakily, and Dr. McGregor swore furiously. “She’s fine. A few scrapes and bruises and a nasty cut, but the residents came to her rescue.”

  “Oh, thank God,” Lia whispered; she was weeping quietly and hugging her distraught mother.

  “Oh my God, that idiot,” Daff snapped, and Mason nodded.

  “Finally we agree on something,” he said drily before resuming his pacing. He was aware of the concerned discussions around him, and when they started talking about who would stay with Daisy tonight, he stopped pacing to face them.

  “You should probably be aware of the fact that the only place she’ll be staying tonight is at mine,” he stated uncompromisingly, leaving no room for argument in his voice.

  “The last time you saw her, you told her that you didn’t even have a friendship,” Lia reminded, and Daff glared at him.

  “And that means you don’t get to have a say in her well-being right now,” Daff added.

  “Look, I was trying to do the right thing. She thinks she’s in love with me, but she’s not.”

  “How do you know that?” Spencer asked him curiously. His brother remained removed from the group, just sitting quietly in the corner and waiting.

  “Because I was her first”—Mason’s eyes shifted to her listening parents and felt his face warming slightly—“uh, first boyfriend.” What a stupid word that was. Puerile and pointless, he was neither a boy, nor a friend. “Nobody falls in love with their first significant other.”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. McGregor stated decisively. “I did.”

  “As did I,” Dr. McGregor added. Mason looked at them in blank surprise.

  “You did?”

  “We met in high school, fell in love in our senior year, and got married after Andy finished medical school,” Mrs. McGregor stated, and her husband nodded fondly.

  “Don’t be so quick to discount her feelings, son. You once told us you were working on getting her to like you in the same way you liked her.”

  “Daisy and I were . . .”

  “I know, pretending. Right?” Mason nodded. “And yet you seemed sincere. Now you tell me she says she’s in love with you. Seems to me you finally got what you wanted. Don’t see what the problem is.”

  “I—I . . .” The ER doctor walked in, and Mason had never been so relieved to see another person in his life. He was still completely thrown by Daisy’s parents’ easy acceptance of her so-called feelings for him and more than a little stunned by her father’s interpretation of what he believed Mason’s words had meant so many weeks ago.

  “Daisy will be fine,” the doctor assured them. “I’ve administered a mild sedative to help combat the shock. She had a deep laceration on her left side, which needed several stitches; a few nasty bruises; and whiplash, but I’m happy to release her tonight. She needs a couple of days’ bed rest for the blow she received to the head—but luckily it’s not a concussion. I do recommend she seeks counseling for any PTSD she might suffer. She’s currently being interviewed by the police, but as soon as they’re done taking her statement she’s free to go home.”

  “Daff, I’ll need you to bring Peaches to my place later. I don’t want Daisy to worry about her,” Mason commanded, and the woman gave a disbelieving little laugh.

  “Listen here, Mason, you can’t—”

  “Daff, do as he says,” Andrew McGregor interrupted firmly.

  “But, Daddy . . .”

  “He’ll take good care of her, won’t you, Mason?”

  “I’ll make sure she gets enough rest.” Mason nodded. His response was met with four exasperated faces and one amused one. “What?”

  Daisy was hugged and fussed over by her family, but she was very much aware of Mason just standing in the doorway watching them all. Why was he still here? She would have expected him to make his escape by now. Spencer was there too. The man came into the room to give her a kiss and tell her he was glad she was okay, before saying his good-byes and leaving. But Daisy was too overwhelmed by her family to give much thought to Spencer’s unexpected appearance.

  Her father was giving her a gentle lecture on the irresponsibility of her actions, which she humbly accepted because everything he was saying was true. Her mother constantly asked her if she was okay, patting her hair and stroking her face as if she had to have her hand on Daisy at all times. Lia fussed over her bruises, and Daff insisted on seeing her stitches.

  The rest of the room went quiet while Daisy unbuttoned her dress to show them her wound. Even though it was covered with waterproof dressing, the size of the bandage around her torso made them all gasp in horror. Daisy was thankful that they were spared from the sight of the actual wound—a long, vicious-looking cut that curved up from her hip to just a couple of inches below her breast. She had been shocked by the size of it and grateful that it had required only a few stitches. It could have been so much worse, and she was so grateful to the people of Inkululeko for saving her.

  Daisy’s eyes lifted to where Mason stood in the doorway. He was staring fixedly at the covered injury, his eyes burning and his jaw clenched. When he looked up to meet her gaze, she was shocked by t
he raw emotion she saw swirling in those beautiful green eyes of his. He looked furious, but he also looked . . . anguished.

  His lips thinned, and he cleared his throat, breaking eye contact with her.

  “That looks huge; you’re going to have a badass scar,” Daff stated, trying to sound cavalier but defeated by the wobble in her voice and the haunted look in her eyes.

  “I think it’s time Daisy gets some rest,” Mason recommended gruffly, and Daisy was stunned when her family seemed to defer to him. They all hugged her and filed out of the room.

  “Wait, why are they leaving?” Daisy asked after a moment’s shock. “Who’s taking me home?”

  “I’ll get your stuff, and then we’re leaving.”

  Five minutes later they were back in his car and once again stewing in grim silence. This was getting a little old. If he didn’t want to talk to her, he should probably stop acting as her self-appointed protector. It was bizarre and confusing.

  “Why are you turning here?” she asked in alarm when he turned onto the path that led up to his house. “I’m tired; I want to go home.”

  “You’re staying with me tonight.”

  “I can go home and Lia or Daff can stay with me. I can’t leave Peaches alone overnight.”

  “Peaches is here, Daff brought her, and before you say anything, she packed a bag for you too.”

  “But why?”

  “Somebody needs to keep your ass out of trouble.”

  “And you think you’re the man for that job?” she asked incredulously. He didn’t reply, merely stepped out of the car and rounded the front to open the passenger door for her. When she stubbornly refused to move, he sighed impatiently.

  “If you don’t get out, I’ll pick you up and carry you to the . . . fuck it, never mind.” He slipped one arm behind her back and the other beneath her thighs and very carefully lifted her out of the car.

  “Mason, I’m too . . .”

  “If you say ‘heavy’ again, I’m going to drop you on your butt,” he promised grimly, and she prudently shut her mouth. He carried her to his front door without breaking a sweat and carefully lowered her to the doormat while he reached above the doorway and lifted down a key.

  “That’s so unsafe,” she observed, and he let out a sharp laugh.

  “Says the woman who just drove into a township alone at night?”

  “Touché.”

  The dogs were both going crazy, and when he opened the door, Peaches made a beeline for her while Cooper happily greeted Mason. He patted his dog affectionately before moving to pick up a wriggling Peaches just as Daisy was leaning down to get her.

  “You want to bend down with those stitches? And you wonder why you need a minder?” He handed her dog to her, and she glared at him before limping her way into his house, while murmuring little love words to Peaches. She spared some love for Cooper too; the bigger dog seemed more relaxed around Peaches, so maybe they had come to some kind of canine truce in the short time they had been left alone together.

  “Are you hungry?” Mason could see Daisy was exhausted and—despite her defiant front—in some serious pain. He should probably just have let her family take care of her, but—and even though it had seemed like the wisest course—he just couldn’t stand the thought of not being with her right now. He was angry with her, sure, but he also wanted to cling to her with every fiber of his being. Just hold her close and never let her go.

  “Not right now,” she said. “I just need a really long shower.” He nodded.

  “The bathroom’s upstairs; I’ll help you.” He settled a hand around her waist, taking Peaches and putting the dog back on the floor in the process. She went rigid beneath his touch and stepped deftly away from him.

  “I’m sure I can manage.”

  “I told Daff to put your bag on the bed.”

  “You only have one bed, don’t you?” she asked wearily.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are we sharing?”

  “I—” He should have thought about this earlier and felt like an idiot for never considering the obvious flaw in his plan. “I can take the sofa.”

  “Hmm.” She sighed tiredly and started to drag herself up the staircase, leaning heavily on the banister. Mason followed her closely, worried that she’d lose her balance.

  “Stop hovering,” she snapped uncharacteristically when she finally got to the top. “It’s annoying.” Her gaze started to rove around the loft. Mason was happy with the airiness he’d achieved in this space; from the tall, panoramic windows to the skylight and the gigantic bed, everything just felt roomy yet at the same time—because of all the wood—cozy and warm. The loft overlooked the living area of cabin, but if one glanced up from below, the tucked-away aerie could barely be seen.

  “Shower’s through there.” He pointed toward the frosted-glass double doors leading to the massive full bathroom and clenched his hands to prevent himself from reaching for her as she limped her way toward it. “I’ll get some dinner on. Your appetite may come back a little later. Call if you need me.”

  She didn’t respond, and he reluctantly turned away and left her to it. The dogs were stretched out on their tummies in front of the cold hearth, facing each other with their wet noses touching. Coop looked smitten but confused, while Peaches looked smug.

  “You too, huh, boy?” Mason said in quiet sympathy. “Trust me, it won’t get any easier. She’s going to drive you completely crazy.”

  Neither dog acknowledged him, and he left them to it.

  Nearly an hour later, Mason stepped out of the kitchen and listened for any signs of activity from upstairs. The shower wasn’t running, and the light was on, but everything was silent.

  “Daisy?” No response. Concerned, he rushed upstairs only to halt on the landing. She was stretched out on her side, wrapped in nothing but one of his massive towels, fast asleep. His eyes tracked over her bare skin, inventorying every little scrape and bump and bruise. The mark on her jaw was now a livid purple and was starting to swell.

  Her knees were badly scraped; had they dragged her? A sob caught in his throat at the mere thought of it. Finger marks on her arms and around her wrists, a massive bruise on her left thigh, all of which made him feel physically ill. But none of them compared to the sizable knife wound that he knew was hidden beneath that massive dressing. He had nearly thrown up at the sight of it and had hated himself for not being there to protect his woman. The terror she must have felt. It killed him to know that she now understood what that kind of fear felt like.

  She was trembling, he suddenly saw, and her skin was pebbled with goose bumps. She must be freezing. He dragged a comforter over her, but the shivering didn’t stop, so he kicked off his shoes and dragged off his clothes until he was wearing only his boxer briefs and climbed in behind her. He tugged her carefully back against him, telling himself he would hold her just until she warmed up. But even after the shivering stopped, he couldn’t bring himself to let her go. He didn’t think he would ever have the strength to let her go. He fell asleep resigned to that fact.

  He awoke hours later, the house still ablaze with light, and he groggily reached for his phone to check the time. It was just after two in the morning. He got out of bed, careful not to disturb Daisy, but she didn’t move at all, and he headed downstairs to switch off the lights and check on the dogs. The pooches were both curled up in Cooper’s big bed and lifted their heads to watch him approach.

  “You show your girlfriend how to use the dog door, boy?” he asked quietly, and Cooper’s tail thumped against the wooden floor. He checked that there was enough water in the bowl for them and went to the kitchen to store the soup in the fridge.

  After making sure the house was locked up and everything was switched off, he headed back upstairs. Daisy hadn’t moved at all, and he watched her for a moment, contemplating the sofa downstairs before deciding that he would risk her wrath in the morning, and climbed in next to her once again. This time she sighed and snuggled closer to his body
heat. Content, Mason allowed himself this moment of peace and fell asleep again in moments.

  Daisy was warm and comfortable and reluctant to open her eyes. A small, niggling part of her brain told her that waking up would bring way too many problems. She wanted to stay in this happy, peaceful moment, where everything was perfect.

  A light snore surprised her into opening her eyes. The sound had not come from her. And with full consciousness came pain and memory. There wasn’t a single part of her body that didn’t hurt, and she groaned. The glorious source of heat all along her back tensed, and she knew immediately who it was.

  “You okay?” his sexy morning voice asked in concern.

  “Achy,” she said, and the large hand resting on her thigh squeezed gently. He sat up, careful not to jostle her, and she looked up into his grim, unsmiling face in confusion.

  “What happened to the sofa?” she asked.

  “The bed was more comfortable. I’ll get you some coffee.” He got up before she could stop him, and she flushed when she saw he was wearing nothing but a pair of white boxer briefs . . . and an impressive morning erection. He didn’t acknowledge it, but he made no attempt to hide it either, keeping his gaze level and his face impassive.

  She pushed herself up, wincing when her stomach wound tightened and pulled at the stitches.

  “Gently,” he snapped. “You don’t want to tear those stitches.”

  “Okay, nurse, I just forgot about them for a second. And where the hell are my clothes?” The latter as she realized that she was stark naked beneath the covers.

  “You were wearing only a towel when I found you last night. It probably came off during the night.” Despite that impressive hard-on, he managed to look remarkably unaffected at the idea of her nudity.