More dangerous, he corrected silently.
The climb down was steep, and he would have to carry her. Graham had no idea how long he’d be able to do that.
He looked back to the girl.
He didn’t have any other choice.
Whatever circumstance had brought her to him, she was still in need of medical care, and however long ago it had been, Graham still held fast to his oath.
First do no harm.
Chapter Five
The ground beneath Keira was moving. It thumped along rhythmically like a conveyor belt made of nearly smooth terrain. It was soothing. Almost.
A sudden bump jarred her and sent her head reeling. Her eyes flew open, and the world was upside down. She realized it wasn’t the ground that was moving. It was her. Them.
The big man had her cradled in his arms, and he was traveling across the snowy ground at an alarming speed. She could see the bottom of his bearded chin. His neck was exposed and a sheen of sweat covered it. His breathing was a little heavy, but he seemed oblivious to her added weight.
“Excuse me?” Keira’s voice was far weaker than she wanted it to be, and if he heard her, he didn’t acknowledge it.
She struggled to right herself, the quick pace making it difficult for her to do more than lift her head. All she could see was sky.
She blinked, and the sky stayed. The expanse of it was so big above her that it was almost dizzying. No moon. No stars. Just a solid spread of grayness. Keira closed her eyes to block it out as she tried to orient herself.
The big, red jacket was still wrapped around her, cinched at the waist and tied at the throat. A scarf was wound tightly around her head, insulating her face as well as her skull. The Mountain Man had used the white fur to cover both her feet and her legs. She wasn’t in danger of freezing anymore, though the terrible cold she’d felt right before slipping into oblivion wasn’t completely gone.
She felt weak. Really weak. She sought something tangible to grasp at in her sea of straw-like thoughts.
Wrists tied together. Not that. Blood. No. The smoky, woodsy scent of the Mountain Man’s skin. Definitely not.
And at last she found something.
My phone. Yes.
She’d managed to grab it in her stumble across the snow. She’d shoved it into the coat pocket just seconds before the Mountain Man caught her and hoisted her over his shoulder, caveman-style.
Was it still there?
She desperately wanted to reach into the coat to find out.
But right that second, her hands—which were no longer bound together, she noted—were actually under his shirt, pressed into his nearly rock-hard chest. And there was no hope of drawing away with any chance of subtly. Her fingers fluttered nervously, and even though he didn’t react, Keira was sure the stranger’s pulse jumped with the movement.
Curiosity fueled her to see if she was correct.
She uncurled her fingers slowly and moved her palm up, just an inch. The big man’s heart was already working hard with exertion, but there was no mistaking the double beat as her hand came to rest on his sternum.
Oh.
Keira moved again, and this time she couldn’t tell what was more noticeable—his heartbeat, or hers. Because she was definitely reacting to the way his skin felt under her hand, and the tightening of his arms didn’t help, either. A lick of heat swept through her, and her light-headedness increased, too.
Focus on something else, she told herself. Think of Mom and Dad. Think of work and the kids who need you. Think of Drew.
But right that second, she couldn’t even quite recall what Drew looked like. When she tried, his features blurred away, and the rugged looks of the unnamed Mountain Man overtook her mind instead.
Ugh.
Keira was not the kind of girl who rebounded from the idea of a marriage-potential relationship into the arms of a grunting, hulking man straight out of a hunting magazine.
Well. Not figuratively anyway.
Because she was quite literally wrapped in his firm grip, her head pressed into the crook of his arm.
Just how long had the Mountain Man been carrying her? And to where?
“Hey,” she called, happy that her voice was a little louder.
But she still got no response. She tried again.
“Mountain Man?”
He didn’t slow.
“Hey!” This time, she said it as loudly as she could manage, and from the way his grip tightened on her, Keira was sure he’d heard her.
But he still didn’t acknowledge her directly.
Stubborn.
With a great deal of effort, she wiggled an arm free from inside the jacket, snaked it out and yanked on his beard.
He drew in a sharp breath, snarled and released her. Keira tumbled to the ground. Hard. Her back hit the snow, nearly knocking the wind out of her.
He looked down at her, regret in his gray eyes made visible by the moonlight behind him. Except then she opened her big fat mouth.
“You jerk! You dropped me!”
His expression tightened and he rolled his eyes.
Yeah, you think this is my fault, don’t you? Keira thought. Well, I didn’t ask for the car accident. Or for the damned moose.
“And I especially didn’t ask for you and the stupid beard,” she muttered.
He reached for her, concern evident on his face, and she shuffled backward along the snow.
“What?” Keira said with a head shake that made the world wobble. “You’re worried about me because I don’t want to be manhandled? I’ve got news for you. Non-forest-dwelling women have high expectations nowadays. No way are you getting those Sasquatch hands on me again. Not unless I ask you to.”
She colored as she realized how that sounded. And she strongly suspected that underneath that beard, he was trying to cover a sudden smile.
“Jerk,” she muttered again.
He crossed his arms over his wide chest and gave her an expectant, eyes-narrowed glare. Silently daring her to stand up on her own.
“Yeah, I will,” Keira snapped.
She pushed both hands to the ground and came to her feet. Rocks dug into her skin. Ice bit at her toes. And worse than that, her head was spinning again.
There was no way she was going to be able to walk more than a few feet. But there was also no way she was going to admit it to the smug Mountain Man.
And sure enough, his expression definitely said, You need me.
No way was she giving in to that. No matter how true it might be.
Keira straightened her body, grimacing as pain shot through her pretty much everywhere. In particular, her thigh burned, and she had to resist an urge to lift the jacket and have a closer look. Instead, she made herself meet the Mountain Man’s stare.
“Where to?” she asked through gritted teeth.
He shrugged, then pointed to the black horizon.
“Great!” Keira said cheerily.
She had no idea what she was looking at. Or for. Vaguely, she thought again that she should probably ask him what he intended to do with her. But she was feeling rather stubborn, and the longer she was on her feet, the foggier her head was getting.
The Mountain Man stood still, watching her as she took two agonizing steps. He probably would’ve watched her take even more, except he didn’t get a chance to. Because the world swayed, and Keira was unexpectedly on her rear end, staring up at the sky, transfixed by the few stars that managed to shine through the snowy sky.
Apparently, her little nap in the Mountain Man’s arm hadn’t done much of anything to renew her energy.
And now he was standing in front of her with that frown growing deeper with each heartbeat.
As he stared, Keira did begin to feel warm. But it
had nothing to do with the weather or the accident, or anything at all that she could pinpoint.
Except maybe just...him.
Keira swallowed a sudden thickness in her throat and forced herself to look away.
Immediately she wished she hadn’t, because the first thing that her eyes found was the fabric that had been wrapped around her thigh. When she’d struggled futilely to escape, it had slipped off and fallen into the snow. Keira frowned at it. It had been a light color, grayish or tan, it was hard to say which. But now it was dark.
Blood.
Instinctively, she knew that’s what it was. And not just any blood. Her blood. Lots of it.
She brought her slightly floppy arm up so she could feel her leg.
Yep. It was damp and sticky. No wonder she was so woozy. And no wonder the Mountain Man had been in such a hurry.
She sat there for a long second, then sighed in defeat.
“Hey, um, Mountain Man?”
He raised an eyebrow and looked down at her.
“So, yeah,” she said. “I’ve decided we’re not going to get very much farther if you stop carrying me.”
His brow furrowed for one moment, then a wry chuckle escaped from his lips, and he plucked her from the ground as if she weighed nothing. But he only carried her for another minute. She looked at the run-down cabin that appeared before them. It screamed “horror movie.”
They’d reached their destination.
Chapter Six
Graham could read Keira’s expression perfectly as she looked from him to the wooden house.
Seriously? it said. You’re taking me in there, and you expect me to go without a fuss?
If he’d felt inclined to speak, he would’ve replied, “Actually, I don’t expect you to do anything without a fuss.”
Instead he just shrugged, which made her emerald eyes narrow suspiciously. She went back to assessing the single-story structure with its rough shingle roof and its wide porch hung with ancient wind chimes. And likely found it lacking.
For the first time since he’d moved in semipermanently, he wished it was a more impressive abode.
The outside was purposefully left in disrepair, meant to deter anyone who saw it from wanting to enter.
He moved up the stairs, but as he reached the threshold, Keira’s hand shot out, and Graham was too startled to realize what she was reaching for before it was too late. Her fingers closed on the well-worn sign. It was handcrafted by Graham’s great-grandfather almost a century earlier when he’d built the cabin as a hunting outpost. Graham had meant to remove the handmade plate a long time ago.
“Calloway?” she said as she ran her fingers over the barely discernible lettering, then wriggled a bit so she could look at him. “That’s you?”
She eyed him with patient curiosity, and a battle waged inside Graham’s head. The last name wasn’t an entirely common one, but it clearly hadn’t sparked any recognition in her.
Given time, would she make the connection between him and the crime attached to the surname? If she did, would she simply chalk it up to coincidence, or would she investigate further?
In the end, Graham took a leap of faith and nodded tightly.
“Calloway,” she repeated thoughtfully and added, “Is that a first name or last name?”
Graham tensed, but after a second, she smiled—the first genuine one Graham had seen since he found her—and he relaxed again. Her teeth were even, but not perfect, and the grin transformed her face. She went from porcelain perfection to devilish beauty.
“Or are you one of those people who just has the one name?” she teased. “Like the Cher of the survivalist world?”
Graham rolled his eyes, loosened one of his arms, tore the sign from its chain and tossed it with perfect aim into a wood bin on the porch. Then he carried her up to the door, turned the knob and let them into the cabin.
The heavy curtains ensured that it was almost dark inside, but Graham kept his modified woodstove on low, even when he wasn’t in the cabin. As a result, the air was an ambient temperature. The only light—not much more than a dim glow—came from the same stove. At that moment, it highlighted the Spartan decor.
The furniture was limited to a set of rough-hewn chairs and a matching table, and Graham’s own lumpy bed. He carted the girl across the room and deposited her on the latter. She tried to stand, but Graham pushed her back down and shot her a warning glare before he slipped to the other side of the room.
He wasn’t doing anything else until he’d given her a more thorough look-over and tended to the mess of a wound on her leg.
Whether she likes it or not.
He dampened a clean cloth, then set some water to boil. He refused to think about anything but the immediate tasks at hand, and once he had the pot on the stove, he moved back to the bed.
As he seated himself beside her, she crossed her arms over her chest, and her mouth set in a frown. Graham ignored her expression, raising the cloth to her face. She snatched it from his hand.
“I can do it,” she told him, but there was no bite in her words—just exhaustion.
Graham watched as she wiped away the grime left behind from sleeping in a hole and several hours of being carried through the woods. He was unreasonably pleased when she handed the cloth back and he saw that she only had the tiniest of abrasions on her otherwise perfect face.
Perfect face? Calm your raging manhood, Graham, he growled at himself. It’s clearly been far too long since you’ve seen a woman. And her prettiness is not your focus anyway. Her health is what’s important. She needs to heal so you can get on with meeting up with Dave.
He stood up stiffly, filled a tin mug with spices and pressed juice, topped it with the now-boiling water, then added a generous helping of his homemade booze. It wasn’t as good as a painkiller or a sedative, but even if either had been available, he doubted she’d take one from him.
In moments, Graham was back at her side, offering her the steaming liquid. She eyed it suspiciously and didn’t reach for it.
“I don’t think so,” she said.
Graham rolled his eyes, then grabbed the mug and took a pointed swig. Even the small mouthful warmed his throat as he swallowed.
He offered it to her again.
She still sniffed the drink, and Graham had to cover a smile.
“Fine,” she muttered. “I guess you’re not trying to poison me.”
At last, she relented and took first one cautious sip, then another.
Satisfied that she was going to drink it, Graham slipped away again. He banged through the cupboards until he found each item he thought he might need and placed them on a tray. None of it was ideal—he didn’t even seem to own a Band-Aid—but it would have to do.
Once he had everything ready, he opted to get changed. His clothes were dirty, and in some places soaked with the girl’s blood. All of it risked contamination, and the last thing he wanted was to give her an infection.
Graham shot a quick glance in her direction. She was still engrossed in sipping the spiked drink, so Graham dropped his pants and stepped into a fresh pair of jeans instead. Then he stripped off his damp shirt and doused his hands and forearms with soap and some of the boiled water, then rinsed the suds off into a metal pot.
When he turned back to the girl again, the tin mug was at her side, and her eyes were fixed on him. They were wide, their striking shade of green dancing against the fairness of her skin. The orange firelight glinted off her hair, adding otherwise invisible hints of gold to the red.
Another bolt of electric attraction shot through Graham’s blood.
Damn.
She really was beautiful.
Without meaning to, he let his gaze travel the length of her body. The white fur that had been covering her legs had slipped to the
floor, leaving her calves bare. She still wore Graham’s big, red jacket, but it didn’t cover anything past midthigh. She tried to tug it down, but when one side lowered, the other rose, and after a second she gave up. It didn’t help at all that he knew she had nothing but panties on underneath the coat.
Even from where Graham stood, he could see two spots of pink bloom in her cheeks. The added color in her fair skin did nothing to dampen his desire.
Double damn.
He forced himself to turn away and take a breath, rearranging the items on his tray until he was sure he could trust himself to get closer to her. He had to count to twenty to normalize his breathing, and even when he was done, he wasn’t sure he was completely in control.
As he turned back, she looked as if she was bracing herself for an attack, and Graham couldn’t say he blamed her. He felt unusually animalistic as he took careful, measured steps toward her. When he sat down, he made sure to leave a few inches between their knees.
Graham balanced the tray of makeshift first aid supplies between them and took her horrified expression in stride.
He met her eyes and raised a questioning eyebrow.
“What? You’re going to start requesting my permission now?” she asked.
Graham didn’t cover his eye roll at all. He let her have it full force. Then he tipped the tray in her direction and waited as she inventoried the items there.
A white square of fabric he was going to use as a bandage. A mini airplane-serving size of vodka that would double as a disinfectant. A homemade, gelatinous salve Graham had created for treating the occasional burn. A punch-out package of antibiotics labelled Penicillin in bold letters and, finally, a hooked needle, threaded with fishing line.
Graham had to admit that the last thing glinted ominously in the dim light, but the rest was pretty innocuous.
Though clearly the girl didn’t think so.
“Hell. No,” she said.
She pushed the tray away and took a long pull of cider. Then she moved to set the mug down, but Graham closed his hand around hers, and he forced her fingers to stay wrapped around the handle. He tipped the mug to her lips. She swallowed the last of the cider, and he gave her an approving nod.
Trusting a Stranger Page 4
