The entire bed smelled like Tucker—a citrus, maybe lime, and she thought it was jasmine and just a hint of salt, like the ocean. She’d never taken the time to dissect how a man smelled, but decided this scent had to be her favorite.
Her feelings were as muddled as her brain, full of pain, fear, and yet that bit of hope. Tucker was her own personal hero. As she dreamed throughout the night, the bear would be chasing her and then Tucker would step in his path, standing as big and burly as the eight-foot bear in her memory. He was her protector.
The feelings of fear she’d associated with him when she saw the photos of those children were now muddled with gratitude and an attraction she couldn’t deny. James was always so polished in his suits with his fake-tanned skin and blond hair slicked back. He was definitely a dapper kind of handsome and she had thought she was attracted to him, but the raw masculinity that was Tucker Shaffer couldn’t be competed with.
Maryn wanted to climb out of this fog and find out more about the man. There had to be an explanation for what was written on the back of those photos and his reaction to her seeing them. She just knew it and maybe tomorrow she’d be awake enough and brave enough to chat with Tucker and he’d reveal everything she was dying to know. But for now whatever they’d injected into her arm was taking effect and sleep sounded wonderful.
After Braxton had given Maryn more morphine and Mama Porter had refreshed Tucker’s untouched drink around ten, he’d heard Brax and Mama Porter talking just outside the room.
“I’ve never seen him like this,” Mama Porter said.
“Do you think he cares for her?” Braxton asked. “I thought he might be past caring for anyone but the three of us.”
“A body can only hope something will crack his heart,” Mama Porter said.
Tuck ran a hand through his hair. It didn’t matter what he thought about the beautiful creature suffering in his bed. Maryn thought he was a monster and he doubted anything would change her mind.
Tucker looked down at her petite features and that cloud of blonde hair. She moaned and rolled to her side. Tucker wanted to stop her, but she rolled to her right side and that shouldn’t hurt her. The sheet slipped down to reveal the smooth skin of her shoulder. Tucker lifted the sheet and blanket back up to cover her, resisting the urge to touch that creamy skin. He didn’t want to stare at her in only her bra and intrude on her privacy. She seemed very… pure.
Maryn blinked and her blue eyes were dull but still very intriguing. “Tucker?” she croaked. She licked her lips. “I’m not dead?”
He grunted out a surprised laugh. “No, thank heavens.”
“The dog?”
“She’s doing okay too. They stitched her up and she’s running around in the garage tearing things apart and driving Braxton crazy. Her name is Max.” Tucker usually didn’t ramble on, but his relief at seeing her awake had him more excited than he’d been in a long time.
“Max.” She smiled, but it obviously took a lot of effort. “I’m glad he’s okay. Can I steal some water?”
Tucker laughed. “You can have all you want for free.” Grabbing a water bottle off the dresser he held it to her lips, squirting a little bit in at a time until she nodded slightly.
She gave him a faint smile, obviously still cloudy from the drugs. “I prayed pretty hard, and He sent me you…” Her voice trailed off, but he clearly heard her whisper, “You are my hero.”
Tuck swallowed hard, grateful she’d fallen asleep again and he didn’t have to reply to that comment. He used to think he was a hero and look where it had gotten him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be a hero anymore.
Maryn opened her eyes to see Tucker studying her from the chair next to her bed.
“You’re awake again?” he said, his voice pitching up in a happy tone.
This huge man with the piercing dark eyes kept surprising her. She needed to get to the bottom of his secrets and see what kind of man he really was. A stinking handsome and tough dude that was for sure.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked.
Maryn shook her head, but then nodded as she remembered James. He would probably come up here and storm the house if she didn’t report in. They usually talked several times a day and the last thing she’d said to him yesterday was that the guard dog was coming and then she’d hung up on him and silenced her phone. Not very nice. “I need to get a hold of my… publisher. He’ll be stressing out.”
“We haven’t been able to make calls until this morning. Do you know where your phone is?”
Maryn closed her eyes, remembering. “It was in the pocket of my jacket. Did you throw away all my clothes?” How embarrassing that she was next to naked under these blankets. Who had been checking her out? At least she had on a favorite red and white swirled bra with decent coverage of essentials.
“They cut them off you, but I don’t think there was a phone. It must’ve fallen out in the snow. Do you know your publisher’s number?”
“No. It’s programmed in my phone.”
“Johnson can find it. He works with the PR people who set up the interview. We’ll get a message to your editor.”
“Thanks.” Her eyelids were starting to droop. “That would be perfect if you’d just call The Rising Star and let them know what happened. Tell them to let James know I’m okay.”
“Sure.”
“Oh, and Tucker,” she forced herself to stay awake. “I need to know something.”
“Yes.” He glanced down at her, so concerned and protective. She licked her lips and said, “What brand of cologne do you wear? It’s killing me.”
Tucker chuckled. He brushed some hair from her face and she trembled in response. “Giorgio Armani. Mama Porter gave me a bottle for Christmas one year and I liked it, so I kept buying it.”
“It blends perfectly with your chemistry. I mean, you smell perfect and I want to keep smelling it. I mean.” Maryn closed her eyes and sank into the pillows. “I am drugged and exhausted, forget everything I said.”
Tucker laughed and pulled the covers up, brushing his hand along her shoulder. Maryn knew she had some kind of diagnosable complex where you fall for your rescuer, but if he smelled and looked this good and was filthy rich to boot, who could blame her? The girls from Camp Wallakee would be proud she was interested in a billionaire and Alyssa would be shocked. She fell asleep with a smile on her face.
Braxton reported to the doctor that Maryn had awakened and didn’t show any signs of a concussion or spinal injury. Tucker smiled. Unless rambling on about how he smelled perfect counted as confusion. The doctor instructed that if she felt good enough and the plows had been able to clear the roads of the snow that had piled up and was still continuing to fall, they should bring her into the medical center in West Yellowstone tomorrow. Braxton came and checked her stitches, applying more antibacterial cream, and then covering them back up with clean gauze.
Maryn stirred and muttered, “How crappy do they look?”
“You’re actually looking really good, ma’am. I’m grateful they weren’t deeper. Is your pain manageable?”
“Sure, if you’re a sado-masochist.”
Braxton gave a grunt that almost sounded like a laugh. Maryn didn’t respond again, so she must’ve fallen back to sleep. “She’s an interesting one, isn’t she?” Braxton said.
“Sure, if you’re into gorgeous, funny, blonde reporters,” Tuck said then instantly regretted his words as Braxton arched an eyebrow. He could’ve sworn that Maryn smiled.
Braxton packed up his supplies, nodded to Tucker then left the room. Tucker settled in to wait for Maryn to awaken again. It was slow going. The morphine must’ve worn off in the early afternoon because she started moaning a bit more and then she opened her eyes, focused on Tucker and whispered, “It hurts.”
Tucker was tempted to give her more of Braxton’s contraband morphine. “The doctor wanted us to ease you off the morphine and try something else. Are you allergic to any pain meds?”
“No.”
“Okay, let’s try the stronger of the two then.” He took the cup with the OxyContin in it, grateful it was also a smaller pill. Now the trouble was to get her vertical enough to swallow a pill.
She pushed with her arm to try to lift herself up and cried out.
“Wait,” Tucker begged. He hurried to the bed and held on to her uninjured right side and lifted her up just enough before handing her first the pill and then the water bottle.
She swallowed it quickly and he settled her back onto her side. “Thank you.”
The blanket had slipped down, revealing a very nice shape and a red and white swirled bra. How had Tucker not noticed that last night? He looked away. “Can I… adjust anything to make you more comfortable?”
“Um.” She glanced down and then lifted the sheet back over her abdomen. “I need to use the bathroom and it would be heaven to get out of these pants. They feel like they’re sewn to my butt.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. She phrased things in a way that was so uniquely Maryn. “Okay. I’ll get Mama Porter and we’ll get you to the bathroom then she can help you… take care of stuff. Johnson brought your bag from your car.”
“That’s crack-a-lackin. Thank you.”
He ran to the panel on the wall, and depressed the button for the kitchen. “Mama, she’s awake and needs help using the bathroom.” He couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice. Maryn was fully awake and using her funny expressions. She was going to be okay. Maybe he’d get a chance to talk to her soon. If he begged her forgiveness would it ever come? His heart sank. He couldn’t forgive himself for Afghanistan so what made him think she could forgive him? And she was a reporter. Of course she’d want to know all about the photographs or make up her own story based on incomplete data.
Mama Porter huffed into the room, obviously having run up the stairs. All this drama was giving her more exercise than she’d had in years. “Oh, darling girl, you’re awake.”
Maryn smiled at her. “I think sleep hurt less. Wanna knock me out again?”
Tucker grinned, but sobered quickly, he hated her being in pain.
“Oh, I’ll bet you’re hurting, but you’re going to heal up just fine. Now let’s get you up and into the bathroom. I can’t believe you’ve waited this long to go.”
“I’ve got the bladder of a camel,” Maryn said.
Tucker laughed.
Mama Porter shook her head, smiling. “Well, I guess that’s a good thing. Now Tuck, lift her up, gently, gently.”
Tucker placed his hands under Maryn’s armpits and along her upper back, careful to avoid looking at or touching anything he shouldn’t, and easily lifted her onto her feet. She grimaced but said, “Thank you. That hurt a lot less than me trying to strain.”
He held onto her arm on one side and Mama Porter braced her on the other. They made it into his master bath and the women went into the private toilet. Tucker hurried back to the bedroom and grabbed her bag. He opened it to find her something more comfortable to wear, but blushed when he pulled out a pair of bright blue, silky underwear. This woman certainly liked color. Closing the bag, he set it on the counter and hurried out of the bathroom. He shut the door and waited on the other side. He’d go in if they needed him, but he didn’t want to make Maryn, or himself, uncomfortable. Her bra wasn’t any more revealing than many swimsuits he’d seen, but he hadn’t been around a beautiful woman in a while. That had to account for his awkwardness.
Maryn let out some obvious squeaks of pain, but Mama Porter’s soothing voice came through and he found himself grateful Maryn was so small and Mama was so solid. He listened as water ran and counted the seconds until he could help somehow.
“Tuck,” Mama called out.
Tucker opened the door and found Maryn dressed in a pair of pink and green plaid pajama bottoms and a loose-fitted green tank top. Her face was washed clean of the makeup smudges and Mama was securing her long hair in a ponytail. She looked fresh and gorgeous.
“I think we’ve worn her out,” Mama Porter said. “Can you lift her without touching her stitches?”
“I’m not a complete wuss. I can crawl back to the bed,” Maryn said, tilting her chin up.
Tucker crossed the bathroom in three long strides and looked down at her. “I never tell Mama no,” he said, liking how small she was next to him. The desire to protect a woman, other than Mama Porter, had never been this strong.
Maryn arched her delicate eyebrows. “I wouldn’t want to strain any of those muscles.”
Tucker chuckled out loud. “Because you probably weigh all of a hundred pounds.”
“A hundred and fifteen thank you very much. I work hard for this body.” She lifted her left arm like she was going to flex it, but cried out, her smooth face contorted in pain. The movement must’ve tugged at the stitches. “Remind me to use my right side next time.”
Tucker felt her pain like it was his own. How could he have done this to her? He came around to her right side and placed one arm under her shoulders, thankful the gashes were down low. Tucking the other arm underneath her thighs, he easily swung her off the ground and close to his body. She rested her head against his chest. He knew it was probably because she was exhausted, but the sweetness of her movement had all kinds of protective urges firing through him.
The walk back to the bed was much too short. He gently laid her on her right side and then bent down close. Her eyes were fastened on his face. They’d been so blue earlier but now in the green tank top they looked almost an aqua green.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
She shook her head. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“If I wouldn’t have scared you… or if I’d gotten there sooner.”
She touched his cheek with her soft fingers. The warmth of her hand shot through him. He covered her hand with his own.
“You’re a hero, Tucker Shaffer, and don’t you dare think any differently.”
Tucker turned her hand over and kissed her palm then set it down. Her cheeks flushed and he was certain he’d never seen anything more beautiful.
“Now,” Mama Porter said behind them. “Does any food sound good to you, my dear?”
Tucker’s stomach grumbled and Maryn laughed, a delightful sound that lightened Tucker’s very existence. “I think Tucker should scarf down a pig or maybe a cow, but I’m happy to just have some more water.”
“What about some broth and juice?”
“I could try that.”
“I’ll bring up food for both of you.” Mama hurried out of the room and they were left staring at each other.
“So what do we do now?”
“Um, let you rest and heal?”
“No. I’m talking about all the questions I have that you are going to answer.”
Tuck’s chest tightened. She was beautiful and innocent and… still a reporter. “Barely awake from a traumatic accident and already wanting to get my dirt?”
Maryn studied him with those bluish-green eyes. “I want to know about you. Not for an article. I would never exploit you because you’re my personal hero and because… I’ve never been more intrigued by a man.”
Tucker leaned toward her, barely resisting touching the smooth skin of her cheek. “I’m no hero, Maryn. I’m…” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I reacted the way I did and scared you.”
“Thank you. I can trust that you won’t do it again and you can trust me enough to talk to me.”
He leaned back in his chair, not sure what to think. He liked that she’d moved on so quickly from his terrifying behavior yesterday, but could he share personal things with this woman? Would she sell his secrets for her own success or was she truly intrigued by him? Maryn seemed very genuine, but it could be an act to get him to spill.
“Trust is hard for me,” he whispered.
“I can see that. You’ve surrounded yourself with the three people you trust and you shut everyone else out. Why Tucker? Why shut out the world?”
He shrugged and clas
ped his hands together, studying a scar on his right thumb. One of the few scars that wasn’t from Afghanistan but from childhood—one of his foster brothers had dared him to climb a barbed wire fence and it hadn’t turned out well. “The world’s a scary place, Maryn Howe.”
She laughed, that tinkling sound that he wanted to hear the rest of his life. “I can’t imagine a tough Army veteran being afraid of anything. You just stood in front of a grizzly bear and protected me.” She shivered as she said the words grizzly bear.
Tuck’s head jerked up. “How’d you know I was an Army veteran?”
“I’m good at research.” She paused then whispered, “I’ll sign a statement that I will only paint you in a good light, will not reveal anything you don’t want me to reveal, and will share the article with you before publication so you can approve it. If I fail on any of those things you can sue me. I have an adorable green Volkswagen bug and a closet full of clothes and shoes that many women would give up their eyelashes for.”
Tucker laughed. “You want me to trust you and spill all of my secrets then you’ll make me look like a hero for your article?” Truly though, what could she print that would be any worse than what had already happened? She knew about the pictures. It was probably less risky to answer her questions and hope she could somehow forgive him and maybe even learn to like him a little bit.
She licked her lips and focused on him. “It’s not about the article, Tucker. I won’t even write if it you don’t want me to. I don’t care if James fires me. It’s about you… and me.”
Tucker looked at her, wondering how much of what she was saying was induced by medication or gratitude that he’d saved her from the bear. “You’re a blunt one, aren’t you?”
“I have been accused of that a time or two.”
“Can you call me Tuck?”
“Tuck,” she breathed out his name and Tucker realized if she hadn’t been injured he would’ve pulled her into his arms and tasted those rosebud lips. His stomach did a weird lurch and his palms started sweating as she stared into his eyes and didn’t look away.
The Feisty One: A Billionaire Bride Pact Romance Page 6
