“Brenner, you need to stay absolutely still. Got it?” He glanced up at her, blue eyes catching his, desperation in the depths of her gaze she was clearly trying to hide.
“I’m not planning to go anywhere, believe me.” She swallowed after she said the words, attention shifting back to the metal pressing against her ankle.
“Theresa, look at me.” Her gaze snapped back to him, just like he’d been hoping, but this time, annoyance banked her expression, while Seb let out a low whistle.
“You did not call me Theresa.”
Okay good, she was sure as hell distracted. Just what he needed. He reached down with slow hands.
“So what if I did? Is that a problem?”
“Do you have a death wish?” Seb asked under his breath. “Because this is going to get you killed.”
“You don’t like your name?” he taunted as he gently wound the release. Unfortunately, the damned thing didn’t seem to have a catch point. Maybe it was busted, or maybe it could only be released once it’d fully sprung. When he turned it, he couldn’t let go because he could feel the pressure ready to spring back in the other direction. “Theresa is a nice name.”
It sounded like she blew out a breath between her teeth.
“Exactly. It’s a nice name. For saints and grandmothers and people who own too many cats.”
He could have laughed at that, and maybe any other time he would have. But not when his hand was cramping trying to fight the pressure of the trap wanting to snap closed, and sweat was beginning to bead along his hairline.
He cast a quick look around and spotted what he needed right away.
“Seb, grab that branch over there.” He nodded his chin just left of where the fighter pilot crouched.
Seb leaned over and dragged it in.
“Jam it in here.” He risked taking one hand off the release cog to show where he meant.
Seb did as he’d asked, though the branch was a little thicker than he’d been hoping, so it took some shoving and bark getting shaved off before he was satisfied. Carefully, he let go of the release, the pressure now on the branch.
“Don’t let go yet,” he told Seb, before he jumped to his feet.
He shifted around Bren until he was facing her, planting his hands tightly on her hips.
“Hold on to me.”
She nodded, anxiety returning to her features as she stared up at him. She set her hands on his shoulders, but then fisted his jacket.
“When I say go, you’re going to yank your foot out and jump toward me, okay?”
Another nod, this one jerky.
For some insane reason, in that moment he hated that he’d told her to cover her curls earlier. He liked it better when they were tumbling free and bouncing around her face. It was crazy, but he wanted to smooth a hand through her hair and reassure her that everything was going to be okay.
Instead, he closed his fingers tighter on her hips. “It’s going to be fine. Trust me.”
She blew out an unsteady breath, closing her eyes. He took that as the cue she was ready.
“On my count. One, two— Go!”
He jerked her toward him even as she threw herself against him. The trap closed with a metallic snap and the crack of the branch breaking.
His arms had ended up around her, holding her tightly. He could feel the breath shuddering through her body and the warmth of each ragged exhale through his T-shirt. Her face was buried in his chest while her hands still fisted in his jacket. He gathered her closer, heart thudding like he’d just faced down a bomb, not a simple snare. All he could do was stand there and hold her as sharp relief coursed through him.
Seb was cursing up a storm, examining his hand. He must have caught some splinters when the branch had been jerked out of his grasp.
In his arms, Bren took a deep breath, and he sensed she was gathering herself. He slowly slid his hands to her shoulders and then pulled back to look down at her.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded, lifting her head at last. When their eyes met, she suddenly seemed to remember whom she was leaning into. She stiffened and unclamped her fingers from his jacket.
“I’m fine. Thank you.” She started to take a step back, but nearly went down when the ankle that’d been in the trap didn’t bear her weight.
He caught her arm to stop her from falling, but this time, she shrugged out of his hold, reaching out for Seb instead.
Fine. If she didn’t want his help, he was more than happy to leave her to Rayne.
But before she could hobble off, he knelt to pull up her pants leg and push down her sock.
“There’s some bruising, and it might be sprained, but I’m sure there aren’t any broken bones.” He kept the examination as impersonal as possible. “Do you think you can walk?”
“I’m not going back, if that’s your point.” Her voice was strong and steady, no hint of fear or pain.
He pushed to his feet and put some distance between them. “No. That wasn’t my point. It was exactly what I asked. Can you walk?”
Because if she couldn’t, she was going back whether she liked it or not. They weren’t too far into enemy territory that they couldn’t call in a med-evac. It’d be risky, but not impossible.
“It’s sore, but nothing I can’t handle.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her, McAllister,” Seb offered.
He sent Rayne a nod, trusting he would be smart enough to make a call if it seemed like the lieutenant couldn’t push on. Yes, she wanted to rescue her fighter pilot, but she wouldn’t be good to anyone if she ended up seriously injured.
“We’re not that far from our campsite. Let’s use the light while we’ve got it.”
As he picked up his own pack, two of his men offered to carry Bren’s pack between them, while Bartlet found a sturdy branch for her to use as a kind of crutch. Their pace was slower, but he was hopeful they’d make the caves not too long after dark. The last thing he wanted was to be negotiating these woods after nightfall. One team member with a busted ankle was enough.
Chapter Five
Of all the damned luck. Bren was pretty much cursing any higher power who might have been listening as she examined the extensive bruising on her ankle that was displaying more interesting colors by the hour.
They’d reached a river and caves half an hour after the sun had set, and she’d never been more grateful for the simple pleasure of being able to sit down. The team’s field medic, Bartlet, had come over with a first aid kit. He’d administered an injection directly into her ankle—a cocktail to reduce pain, swelling, and bruising, and heal the sprain in a few hours. By morning, she should have little more than a niggling ache. He’d then given her a special gel pack that became ice-cold when snapped. While the others had set up camp, she’d sat and iced her ankle—twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off.
After bedrolls were laid out and a small fire lit, everyone sat down to share a late dinner of MREs—meals ready to eat—and protein bars. She’d foregone the MRE and had an extra protein bar instead. The shock and pain of nearly having her ankle snapped, plus the long day spent hiking before that, had left her feeling queasy.
As everyone finished up with dinner, Bartlet asked the colonel if he was ready to have his injury examined. McAllister shrugged out of his jacket and stripped off his shirt, leaving him in a black tank top as Bartlet had checked the wound and decided it needed stitches.
She tried not to take any notice of what was happening on the opposite side of the fire, but it was hard to ignore the way the flickering orange light played over the sculpted muscles of the colonel’s biceps and shoulders. Even if she didn’t like him, she had to grudgingly admit the man was very nicely put together. He was clearly comfortable in his own skin. He didn’t flaunt any brute strength or use his size to intimidate, though she imagined he could easily bench press more than most men. Instead it just seemed to be an innate part of him that he didn’t need to advertise.
And despite her reservations
about his character, what she’d come to know of him so far had intrigued her. She’d assumed he was a bully, both from his build and what Jordie had told her. But after spending the past twenty-eight hours with him, she’d started to realize that wasn’t the case. Yes, he could be an ass—she’d seen that firsthand when he’d ordered her to cover up her curls. But apart from making demands about her hair, he hadn’t been unreasonable.
Speaking of which…
She tugged the scarf from her head, hair feeling matted and itchy after wearing the material all day. She scratched her fingers over her scalp, loosening the strands and no doubt making the curls more mussed and wild than they usually were.
McAllister had accused her of indulging herself by allowing her hair to be shoulder length. Well, maybe there was a small amount of truth to that. But she’d always felt her curls were in direct defiance to her boring, bland name. Theresa was the kind of person who kept her hair neat and tamed. Bren was the one who didn’t care and liked the freedom in letting it go wild.
She glanced up, curious to know if McAllister had noticed her little rebellion in removing the scarf. They were in a cave, so it wasn’t like anyone would see them. That was why they’d allowed themselves the luxury of having a small fire.
Still, she was surprised to catch McAllister staring at her. Probably because every other time she’d thought he was looking at her, she’d never once caught him actually doing it. His expression was unreadable, but something was definitely going on in those intelligent gray eyes of his. Her heart rate picked up speed, sending her pulse thrumming.
Though the fire and a few feet separated them, as they stared at each other, she got a sense of intimacy, just like those few moments she’d been in his arms after he pulled her from the trap.
For a few confusing seconds, they’d held tightly to each other. A kind of warm shiver had rippled through her when she’d been pressed against him, his heat surrounding her, the earthy, masculine scent of him overlaid with whatever soap or aftershave he’d used lacing her every breath and creating a hum deep within her.
It’d been like stepping into an alternate universe. As if reality had fractured, and she no longer knew what was right or what was truth. Only that Cam holding her against him felt so good.
But then he’d let her go and she’d seen the face she’d come to associate with Jordie’s death. Ice had injected into her chest, which put her back on solid ground.
Except, the feelings from those few long seconds hadn’t gone away. They were a constant presence in the peripheral of her awareness, altering the way she saw him every time she looked at him.
Bartlet finished with the colonel’s stitches and started packing up the first aid kit. McAllister thanked him as he picked up his shirt and then made his way around the fire. When she realized he was heading for her, she dropped her attention to the fire, avoiding his gaze as he sat down beside her.
He slipped his shirt back on, but didn’t bother fastening it.
“How’s your ankle?”
“Fine.” She clenched her teeth after the word came out. It was ridiculous how many times she’d used that word in the last day. Especially because the more she used it, the easier it was for certain people to see through it.
“You mind if I take a look?”
She shook her head, since he was already reaching for her foot.
The warmth of his fingers against her bare skin zapped through her body, and she jerked, which sent a wave of embarrassed heat through her.
McAllister glanced up at her, concern in his gaze. “I’m sorry. It hurts?”
“No.” The word came out all husky, and if she could have gotten away with slapping herself and not looking like a crazy person, she would have. Her mind teased her with the image of him sliding his hand up her leg in a way that was anything but impersonal. “Just a bit sensitive.”
McAllister gentled his touch, examining her ankle in the light cast by the fire. Dammit, when he was being an ass, she knew where she stood. When he was acting like he cared, when he had his hands on her, she didn’t know what to do with that. Her mind fought the warmth coursing through her body.
“The swelling is definitely coming down. It doesn’t look too bad. Could have been much worse.” He returned his attention to her face, but didn’t let her foot go. “Bartlet said you’d be fine to walk on it come morning. You think that’ll be right?”
Was he still trying to get rid of her? No chance in hell she was turning around, sore ankle or not. Shen needed Seb and her. This rescue was already taking longer than she would have liked, as if it was happening in slow motion. If she pulled out, Shen’s chances of being recovered unharmed went from small to miniscule.
“I’m sure.”
“Well, then,” he returned, a slight smile kicking up his lips. “How do you feel about first watch?”
Honestly, she could have laid her head down and slept for about fifty hours after the day she’d had. But everyone would be expected to take a turn watching over their camp while the others slept. Getting assigned first watch was always the easiest.
She didn’t want to think he was making concessions for her, but her tired, aching body couldn’t muster up the indignation if he was.
“Yes, sir. For how long?”
At last, he let go of her ankle, placing it back on the log where Bartlet had propped it, as if her use of “sir” had reminded him of their respective positions.
“Two hours each should get us through to the morning. Rayne can take second watch.” He turned away from her, allocating the remaining hours and leaving himself for last watch in the early hours of the morning.
Within fifteen minutes, everyone had bunked down in their bedding rolls, leaving her sitting up by herself, listening to the crackle of the fire and the night inhabitants of the forest beyond the cave.
She slouched against her pack, letting her guard down, a long sigh escaping from her.
All day, she’d been on edge. As if she were in constant, silent battle with McAllister. Like she had to watch what she said and did, even as she took note of every move he made. She didn’t realize how tense she’d been, how much mental energy it had taken up until all the men had fallen asleep and left her in blissful solitude.
To add to the mental exhaustion, thoughts of Jordie had been hitting her all day, reopening the wound she’d thought long closed.
It had to be McAllister’s constant presence that brought the memories back. Not only that, but he was confusing the hell out of her. He wasn’t turning out to be anything like she’d thought. She couldn’t help but ask the question: If he hadn’t been indirectly involved in Jordie’s death, would she have still disliked him so much?
She was beginning to think that without her preconceived beliefs of the colonel’s character, he probably would have been someone she highly respected. More than that, he may have been someone she really liked. She was wavering, wondering if it was really fair to the colonel to still be holding so much antagonism toward him after nearly a decade. But nothing would change the fact that if not for Colonel McAllister, her brother might still be alive.
The old heartache kept pushing upward, until her throat went tight and her eyes started stinging. Using the sleeve of her jacket to blot the tears as they fell, she thanked God that everyone was asleep and there was no one to witness her little meltdown. She’d hoped to never have a day where she got dragged so low again.
Trying to smother the sadness only prolonged it, so she took a moment to completely embrace and accept the grief of missing her brother, making the tears come faster and her breath catch. After that, it was easier to swallow down the last of the sorrow, leaving her able to breathe more easily. Until he’d died, Jordie had been the only one she could depend on to be there for her without question, even though as they’d gotten older, their roles had reversed somewhat and she’d taken to looking out for him.
Their parents had owned a small business, and while it had kept a roof over their heads and p
ut food on the table, it’d never been very successful and what little time they’d spent with their parents had been tainted by her mom and dad constantly fighting. In the end, it’d been easier for Jordie and her to only rely on each other.
Jordie wouldn’t want her to grieve over him for the rest of her life. Yet, when she had a particularly bad day, she still almost picked up her comm to call him. But those days were getting fewer and far between. Maybe in another decade, she’d stop having them altogether.
The two hours of her watch time went by surprisingly fast, and when she got to her feet gingerly to go wake Seb, her ankle wasn’t as sore as she’d expected.
She shook Seb’s shoulder, and he woke quickly, obviously not in a deep slumber. As he sat up and rubbed his eyes, she returned to her pack where her bedroll was laid out and scooted herself in.
Though the ground wasn’t anywhere near comfortable, she was so exhausted she instantly fell asleep, made easier by the fact she didn’t have to wake again until morning. Her last thought before going under into the relaxing darkness was thankfulness McAllister had given her first watch.
Unfortunately, the sadness she’d tried to shove down ambushed her in her dreams.
She was back on her home world, on an impossibly bright sunny day, standing above Jordie’s grave, the pain in her chest like what she imagined having a heart attack must be.
This wasn’t just a dream, this was the day of his funeral. Everyone had left, even her parents. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave the place he’d been buried. As if walking away would make it final.
She’d wrapped her arms around herself and sobbed until her head ached and her whole body was exhausted from the unending cascade of grief tearing through her.
Someone touched her shoulder. The touch became a solid grip, bringing comfort, telling her she wasn’t alone. Blind with tears, she turned into his chest, a swell of relief lifting and washing through her as his arms had closed around her.
He held her tight, like he’d never let her go again. Like he’d be there for her no matter what happened. Like he was the piece that had been missing. Something to fill the emptiness. Someone who would soothe and temper the ache when it got too much.
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