Reese fell face and chest forward onto the table with a loud groan. Jillian was slung into the chairs, but managed to catch hold of one before she tumbled to the floor. She scrambled up and ran to close the door, shoving hard against the fierce gusts shoving back. As soon as it clicked, she slammed the dead bolt across and raced back to Reese who was hugging the table, probably to keep from sliding into a heap on the floor.
She grabbed a chair and turned it at an angle. “Reese?”
He grunted.
“Can you roll to your right? I’ll hold the chair and you can slide into it and leave your leg straight in front of you.”
His answer was to shift his hands slowly around the table as he gradually did what she’d asked. Once he’d slid into the chair, he let his head drop back for a moment, his eyes tightly shut.
She leaned over him. “Reese?”
He opened one eye.
“What happened to your leg?”
“Alligator.”
“What?” It was the last thing she’d expected, and her voice rose several octaves in surprise. “Cleo’s halfway across the compound. Even in the storm, it wouldn’t make any sense for her to charge you—”
“Earlier. Caught me off guard. Snagged my thigh. Just before you tackled me.”
Jillian flashed back to the first time she’d seen him. Crouching in front of Cleo with a gun pointed down her throat. Was that why he’d pulled a gun on her? She’d gotten a hold of him?
“You mean you’ve been running around in this storm, dragging half my clothes and me over your shoulder with a huge gash in your thigh?”
He opened his other eye. “Wasn’t my idea.”
“But—”
He raised his hand to forestall her next question. “It wasn’t that bad.” He shifted slightly, winced, waited a moment, then went on. “Until the metal sheet slipped and the corner caught it.”
She gasped. “Ouch!” The reaction was automatic. “It’s a miracle you made it back to the porch.”
He shook his head. “The miracle is that I got the bloody thing on.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “If you have anything to secure that door, do it now before the wind blows it in.”
Jillian spun to the door, her eyes widening at the way it shuddered against its hinges as the storm pounded it even with the screened-in porch providing some protection.
She thought she’d have more time. Earlier, just before she’d gone outside to check on Cleo—only to find Reese holding the alligator at gunpoint—she’d heard the radio update stating they’d have at least ten hours. They’d predicted wrong.
Suddenly, everything overwhelmed her. The reality of the storm, Cleo facing it alone as she protected her eggs, and now Reese’s nasty wound. They all needed her attention.
Grabbing a battery lantern, she hurried to her office where she’d stashed the metal bars that slipped into brackets across the back door, counting her blessings that she’d spent the money to install the heavy-duty storm safeguards after witnessing the devastation of Hurricane Andrew.
Shutting out the instant-replay images the media had been showing at all hours ever since Hurricane Ivan was determined to be heading this way, she nonetheless cast an anxious look at the now-shuttered window. She’d hoped to do one last check on Cleo and had left her office window for last because it provided a direct view of the egg mound and the pond. The quick check she’d made just before Reese dragged her to the house would have to suffice. For now, Cleo was on her own.
She tugged the bars from her office and shoved them into the slots. After the last one slid into place, she leaned on the door and took a deep breath. The house was now as protected as it was going to get.
Which left Reese.
She turned back to face him. He’d shifted enough to line his leg up with the chair opposite him and looked as if he was about to lift it. “Don’t!” She moved quickly to his side. “You could aggravate the wound.”
“Aggravate? I’d say it’s pretty p.o.’d already.” He winced, then clenched his jaw as he reached forward for his calf.
“I’ll do it.” But he batted her hands away and with a loud groan, pulled his leg up and rested it on the seat of the chair in front of him. She quickly moved another one under his foot so his whole leg was supported.
“And you think I’m stubborn.”
“I know you’re stubborn,” he said as he leaned over to inspect the wound. “Bring the lantern closer.”
Swearing under her breath, she grabbed a second battery lantern from the box and carried them both to the table. “Move back so I can look.”
“It’s not that bad,” he pronounced, still bent over, pulling at the torn fabric. “The impact just sort of jolted me is all. I’ll be fine.” When she didn’t say anything, he looked up at her. “Got some thread and a needle?”
“You going to do that for yourself too?”
“You ever sewn up a man?”
Something in his expression made her wonder what he would answer if she’d been the one asking. “Birds, small mammals, and the occasional reptile,” she answered, determined not to be curious about Reese Braedon. “Don’t worry, I won’t notice the difference.”
“Very funny.”
Taking that comment for his assent, Jillian picked up one lantern. “I’ll be right back.”
After collecting supplies from the boxes she’d packed and stored in the coverted storage closet the day before, she hurried back to the kitchen.
Scrubbing her hands over the empty side of her double sink with some of the bottled water, she pulled on surgical gloves, then laid a sterile cloth on the table and quickly organized her supplies so she could easily reach them. “I’ll need you to hold the lantern up so I can see. If you feel the least bit woozy, tell me immediately so I can stop. Warn me if you have to move.”
She knelt on the floor beside him and plucked at the ragged edges of his jeans. The tear in the fabric was about five inches long. Peeling it back, she allowed a small sigh of relief as she saw that the wound was shorter by about two inches. Still, it looked deep and definitely needed cleaning. And stitching.
She reached up for the scissors but he beat her to them.
“I’m not helpless here. Tell me what you want and I’ll hand it to you.”
“I want you to follow directions.”
“You’re one to talk about following directions.”
The man was aggravation personified. So why did she have the sudden, strange urge to smile? Ignoring the possibility that she was actually enjoying their verbal sparring, Jillian avoided looking directly at him as she took the scissors, then deftly slit the denim, elongating the tear.
“Be careful, Doc, those are my only pants.”
She looked up at him, not bothering to hide her smile. “That’s a shame, because I have to cut them off to get the wound cleansed properly.” She bent back to her task. “And I’m not a doctor.”
“You’re not cutting off my—What did you say?”
She glanced back up, her tone and expression serious. “I’m not a doctor. I’m a wildlife rehabilitator with some basic medical skills.” When he didn’t immediately grab the scissors away from her, she went back to work, then paused to look up at him again before cutting further. “Would you rather take them off?”
Jillian prayed he’d say no. Somehow she was certain she’d only embarrass herself more with this man if she was forced to kneel over his bare thigh with only his underwear as a barrier between her eyes and his … She gulped. She doubted plain white cotton would look utilitarian on him. And there was always the chance he didn’t wear any. Dear Lord.
“Just don’t cut them off altogether.” His voice was rough, but not angry like she’d become accustomed to.
Had he seen something of her thoughts in her eyes? She bent her head and went back to work on his jeans. No, she thought as she slit the fabric crossways at the top and bottom of the tear. If he had, surely he wouldn’t have passed on the chance to torment her with it.
“What’s that?”
“It’s to numb the skin.”
“I’d rather have a drink.”
Something in his tone was too flat, too gruff. Even for Reese. She looked up at him, careful to keep her expression one of solemn understanding. Her voice didn’t quite match it. “Afraid of needles, are we? If you want, you can close your eyes. It will only sting a little.”
He didn’t respond right away. Something about the way he set his jaw … “You aren’t going to faint or anything?”
“Not bloody likely.”
She quickly shifted her focus back to his wound. The words had been quick, harsh, and certain. So why was she fighting another smile? Other than his understandable wariness of Cleo, she hadn’t seen even a trace of vulnerability in him. Quite the opposite.
Jillian absently smoothed the flaps of denim over his thigh, noticing now for some odd reason how hard the muscle was under her fingers. Waist like a tree, thighs like a rock.
And her mind was obviously turning to sap.
With a quick breath for renewed determination, she squared her shoulders and reached for the needle. “Just keep a stiff upper lip and this will be over before you know it.”
“You keep rubbing my leg like that and that’s not all—Ouch! Dammit, that—Ouch!” He swore under his breath, then said in a steely voice, “You enjoy feeling up your patients before you stab them?”
She carefully laid the syringe down and picked up the antiseptic again. “It might interest you to know that the last critter I worked on had four legs when she came in.”
She doused the swab in the clear solution then lifted her head, looking him straight in the eyes. “When I got done, she had only three.”
All his sins were being revisited on him in the form of one small, irritating female, Reese decided as he watched Jillian thread a funny-looking curved needle.
And Lord knows, the list wasn’t a short one.
“This won’t take long.” Jillian didn’t look up at him as she spoke.
He watched as she poked the needle into his skin. The small numbed area of his thigh wouldn’t reduce his effectiveness completely if something were to happen, but nonetheless, he wished she hadn’t done it. He’d certainly put up with far worse than being stitched up without benefit of anesthetic.
Reese was used to being in control. Complete, total control. His former career had demanded it at the most basic level, sometimes to the point of making him feel imprisoned by its dictates. His current career reflected the freedom of it, now that complete control was his own choice, both personal and professional.
“How did you come to be a rehabilitator?”
The sudden intrusion of his raspy voice into the continual noise of the storm surprised him as much as it did her. He told himself he’d only asked as a means to take his mind off the storm and the small operation being performed on his thigh. Not out of any real curiosity.
She looked up, studying him warily for a moment, then turned back to tying off neat, precise little black knots in his torn flesh.
“My father was a professor,” she said after several seconds passed. “He taught a variety of things, but oceanography was his passion. He died when I was fairly young, but I’d already adopted his love of the ocean. Eventually I became more interested in the creatures that inhabited the water and the surrounding area. I took courses in marine biology, zoology, and several other related subjects. I eventually got involved with a group that specialized in helping birds caught in oil spills. I spent some time up in Alaska after the Valdez spill.”
“That’s a long way from the Gulf Coast.”
If Reese hadn’t been studying the narrow lines of her shoulders so closely, he would have missed the slight tightening of the muscles, the stiffening of her spine, even in her curved position. Sore subject? Which part?
Having already decided he wasn’t going to allow himself to get involved, he let it drop. It took a moment or two longer for him to erase the resurfacing image of the photo he’d found in her drawer. And yet, as hard as he tried, he couldn’t seem to find anything else in the small room to focus on. His gaze remained stubbornly on the small woman kneeling at his feet, tending to him with gentle hands.
“I had a contact with the Fish and Wildlife Department,” she said after another silent moment. “When I came back to Florida, I worked for several of the coastal area refuges. I started taking in some injured animals on my own, mostly brought to me by neighbors who knew my background.”
She paused as she tied off another knot. “After a while vacationers as well as locals brought injured animals and reptiles they’d found. My success rate of reintroducing them back into their original habitat was good enough that the word spread. I kept adding pens and eventually renovated the old garage to use as a clinic. It wasn’t much later that I decided to start a small full-time operation here.” She tied off another knot. “Two more and we’re done.”
Her voice while relating her background had been matter-of-fact. So why did he get the feeling it had cost her more than she’d ever let on to talk about it so casually? And if so, why hadn’t she just told him to mind his own business?
There were a lot of holes in her story. Where the money came from to run her rehab service. Why she’d jumped from marine life to birds and reptiles. Why she’d gone to Alaska. Why she’d come back. Where her feud with her mother figured into all of that.
And why in the hell after all his internal lectures on not getting involved, he still wanted to find out. He’d been hired to keep her from killing herself in the storm, not to dig up dirt on her past.
“Reptiles?” he asked casually, forcing his gaze away from her bent head and back to his surroundings.
He caught her looking up at him out of the corner of his eye, but pretended not to notice. Then she smiled and he found himself turning toward it, naturally, like a plant does to the sun. It … warmed him somehow.
Strange. Until that moment, he’d never realized he was cold. Not skin cold, surface cold. Soul cold.
Her soft voice shook him from the disquieting thought.
“I get asked that a lot. No one thinks it’s strange to want to save a bird or sea mammal. But tell someone you’ve worked to save lizards and snakes and they wonder why you bother.” Her soft smile turned rueful as she dipped her head back to finishing up her task. “I never could figure the reasoning for that. They’re all living things.”
“There’s a whole side of humanity who barely respects death, Jillian. Much less life.”
His quietly spoken words brought her head snapping back up. Gray eyes full of questions he had no intention of answering stared up at him. But the curiosity wasn’t the morbid type he found in some women’s expressions when he let something of his past slip out. Neither was it the carnal response he’d found some women had when they discovered a man had been intimate with danger. And death.
No. What he saw was far more unsettling. What he saw was … understanding.
The wind chose that moment to send something crashing into the side of the house. He didn’t so much as flinch. Jillian jumped. All but the hand holding the needle.
She looked away and quickly tied off the last knot, then began bandaging the neatly stitched wound. She had excellent concentration. A skill he readily admired. He imagined it was as crucial at times in her profession as it was in his. Or had been anyway.
Now his life was blessedly quiet, the tension level kept at a minimum since he controlled what sort of work he did. Most times the jobs he took didn’t require a tenth of the skills he’d spent all of his adult years honing. It was a facet of his new life he’d expected to enjoy.
After all, he’d more than earned the right not to worry. Not to spend every waking minute wonderi
ng if others would die if he made the wrong move, made the wrong decision.
So why was he sitting there, savoring the rush of adrenaline being pumped into his veins? The rush of knowing that, this time, his goal would not be easily accomplished? The rush of knowing that he was going to be challenged?
As Jillian stood and efficiently began gathering up her supplies, Reese found his attention drawn to her again. He openly eyed her dark cropped-off hair, her plain face, devoid of any makeup, her clothes, baggy on her boyish frame even when damp, her callused hands with nails trimmed down almost to the quick.
She wrapped up the small pile she’d made in the sterile cloth, then glanced up, with a look that said she knew he’d been watching her. Assessing her.
“Would you like that drink now? The Novocain will wear off soon.” Her voice was even, still soft. But her gray eyes were flat.
“No.” He felt the cold emptiness yawning open again deep inside him and wished he could risk the warmth the alcohol would bring. “Make it three aspirin. Extra strength.”
She simply nodded and left the kitchen.
Reese stared through the empty doorway for a long moment, wondering why her shift in mood bothered him. Wishing like hell he’d stop feeling like he should apologize.
He turned his attention to his leg. He probed around the bandaged area, then cautiously shifted his leg to the floor. Despite the local, his thigh throbbed, more heated than painful. But he knew that would change shortly and decided it was better to get a handle on his limitations now rather than wait until a crisis forced him to.
Using his shoulder and arm muscles, he levered himself to a stand, then paused, waiting for gravity to do its number on his blood flow. The rush of pain wasn’t intolerable. Good. He’d ask Jillian if she could spare a broom handle or something he could use for support. In the meantime, he hopped over to the counter and began taking the lanterns and flashlights out of the box, checking to make sure each worked.
Wild Rain Page 4
