Men of courage

by Lori Foster

  A child, he thought grimly. What if it was a child?

  He hoped not, but with the mind-blowing wind, anything could have happened. There could have been an accident on the main road, someone could have been blown off of it, become completely lost.

  Well, hell. He couldn’t leave without finding out.

  Hero complex, he could hear Luke scoffing. But his brother was a fine one to talk. Luke had the king of hero complexes. Whether it came from practically raising themselves, or the fact that as a result, they preferred to be needed rather than needy, Matt had no idea. He didn’t care.

  But he couldn’t leave until he checked out the field.

  The windows on the back door rattled. Instead of stepping back, Matt headed directly for it. On a hook hung yellow rain gear that looked as if it might have been there since the First World War. The pants were too short and the poncho too wide, but it had a hood. A hood was good.

  Grabbing a spare poncho, as well, he opened the door. The wind nearly sucked the life right out of him. In fact, it sucked his body right off the porch. To balance himself, he took two running steps forward, and nearly plowed face-first into the wooden porch swing.

  He wrapped his arms around it and held on through the gust. As unbelievable as it was, in just the past few moments the winds had doubled. Tripled. The rain slashed across his vision, pelting him, stinging his face.

  Pulling the neck of his T-shirt up, he was able to at least cover his jaw. Holding on to the extra poncho, he let go of the swing and stepped off the porch. With the gale force hitting him in the chest, walking was nearly impossible, but he staggered forward.

  He couldn’t see any blue now. But someone was out there, he could feel it, and his instincts were rarely wrong. And if there was someone out there, they had to be in trouble.

  His ears were ringing and the stinging-cold rain hurt his eyes, but at least, thanks to his shirt over his mouth and nose, he could breathe. He was also thankful for the neglected field because he used the occasional bush and tree to propel him forward.

  With little to no visibility, he was wondering how he thought he was going to make his way back in when the flash of blue popped up again, much closer now.

  The unrelenting wind gusts helped propel him forward, practically lifting him off the ground, wanting to toss his body through the air as if he were nothing more than a rag doll.

  Having no choice but to run to keep his legs beneath him, he ended up far too close to the edge of the creek, which had turned itself into a wild, level-five rapid. Scanning the area, he found the blue. It was clinging to a small tree by the edge of the water, and it wasn’t a blanket.

  Not a truck.

  Not a child.

  But a woman.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Molly held on to the tree for dear life. Getting caught in a storm hadn’t been in her electronic organizer under Planned Activities For Today.

  But then again, Professor Molly Stanton usually forgot to enter anything into the contraption in the first place, so she couldn’t complain.

  How had this happened? All she’d wanted to do was to collect some soil from the edge of a natural creek for her students at the university. They were studying the effects of the past few storms on the land, and she’d been out in the field, thoroughly engaged in her work. So engaged, she’d missed the signs of a storm going bad.

  Nothing new. She’d been missing signs for some time now, including any signs of a personal life for herself. But work was so much more interesting than anything going on in her own life, so it’d been easy enough to bury herself in it.

  That had been before the winds had picked her up, body and clipboard and nearby resting bike, and as casual as she pleased, slammed her into the tree she now clung to.

  Stunned at first, she’d lain where she’d landed, dazed and utterly shocked at how much it had hurt to hit a tree. God only knew where her bike had ended up. With the velocity of the wind, it could be in Oklahoma by now.

  Actually, she should consider herself lucky. Two more feet and she’d have hit the creek, and certainly been swept away by the roaring water.

  Absentminded professor, she could hear her students saying. Noticing nothing but her studies again.

  Well, she noticed her surroundings now, thank you very much, only this time, those surroundings just might get her killed. She was wet, cold, and felt as if she’d been steamrolled.

  And she was out in the middle of nowhere, being pelted by the elements, all alone, with nothing but her trusty clipboard—

  Nope, not even her clipboard, she realized, patting the ground around her. Even that had blown away.

  Oh, boy, wasn’t this a fine mess. Given the way her vision kept fading and the pain radiating through her body, she’d definitely done it this time. Even as she thought it, the wind somehow managed to kick up another notch and she could feel her body being pulled away from the tree.

  Panicked, she wrapped her arms around the trunk that had knocked her so silly only a moment before. But when she pressed up against it, little black spots danced in front of her eyes. Crying out, she fell back to the ground.

  On the one hand, she’d located the pain center. It was in her ribs.

  On the other hand, she was still breathing— mostly water and wind—but breathing was good. Alive was good. She decided right then and there to make more of being alive the moment she got herself out of this mess.

  Assuming she got herself out of it.

  Her teeth were clicking together so hard, her jaw ached. Her head felt as if it might fall right off. The driving rain made seeing more than a few inches in front of her impossible.

  But she really wanted to live. She wanted a life.

  “I’ll get a cat,” she yelled into Mother Nature’s face. “I’ll join a bowling league.” Just don’t let me die.

  Again the wind threatened to pick her up and toss her into the water, so she crawled back to the tree, the only stationary thing around her, and carefully, very carefully, plastered herself to it. Whimpering a bit pathetically, she put her cheek to the trunk and closed her eyes.

  “I’m on a beach,” she whispered, heart pumping as she felt the tree sway. “In the Bahamas. It’s ninety degrees.” Oh, yes, that worked. She was sitting in a chair facing the calm, quiet surf—

  A terrible crack nearly split her eardrum, dissipating the beach image in a heartbeat. The crack came from her tree, which now swayed violently, assuring her it was only a matter of time before it was ripped the rest of the way from its roots, leaving her with nothing solid to cling to.

  This was bad, very bad. “Sand beneath my toes,” she whispered desperately, but it didn’t work now. Nothing could take her away from her horrid reality.

  She had no idea how long she sat there, huddled to the loosening tree, doing her damnedest to pretend she really was on some fab beach vacation, when something made her open her eyes.

  A face appeared in front of hers, so suddenly that she let out a cry of surprise and shrank back against the trunk that had become her entire life.

  Fear was as insidious as the pain invading her body. Sometime between hitting the tree and bathing on a beach, her thoughts had become fuzzy, but one thing remained clear: she was going to die.

  The monster’s face swimming in front of her was surrounded by yellow.

  Yellow plastic.

  Wait. She blinked the rain out of her eyes and tried to focus. No. Not a monster. A man. A man who was completely covered in rain gear, only his eyes showing. Those eyes were midnight-blue and leveled right on her.

  Her fear didn’t ease. How could it? No one knew where she was. Why? Because she’d reduced her world to just work, damn it. No one would even know she was missing until she didn’t show up for classes tomorrow.

  By then she’d be fish bait.

  The man in yellow lifted a hand and pulled something away from his face, revealing his mouth, which made her realize his mouth was moving.

  Funny, she couldn’t h
ear his voice.

  In fact, she couldn’t hear anything. She shook her head—big mistake as her dizziness turned to nausea—but nope, still no hearing. Given the way the trees around her were still straining, and the clear and obvious rain still drumming down, it was the oddest thing.

  The man hunkered down in front of her, his mouth still moving. It was a grim-looking mouth, and not a particularly happy-looking face, but wow, his eyes were the most unusual shade of blue she’d ever seen. They mesmerized her, those eyes, and she locked her gaze on them, wondering if she’d died and this was her guardian angel.

  Yes. And he was going to take her to heaven.

  No. An angel wouldn’t look so fierce, so intense, nor be so big. She could tell he was well over six foot, though with his huge, bulky rain gear she couldn’t discern anything else about his physique. In any case, he was far too big for an angel. And anyway, an angel would be smiling. He’d have a soft voice, a sweet, kind—

  “Give me your hand,” he said, his voice rough and serrated suddenly breaking through the silence.

  The voice of sin personified. Oh, no! She wasn’t going to heaven, she was going to h-e-double-hockey-sticks—

  “Damn it, that tree is going to give and you’re going to end up in the creek!” Dropping his out-stretched hand he moved in closer, towering over her, and put his hands on her body.

  Okay, she wasn’t dead, because as he gripped her waist, his fingers hitting her ribs, pain shot through her like a knife. It overrode her exhaustion and fear and confusion, and, reacting, she plowed an elbow into his belly.

  Had she wondered about his physique? Well, he wasn’t fat, her elbow nearly bounced off the rock-hard surface of his midsection. Still, the wind was on her side and, propelled by both, he fell backward.

  At the same moment, with an ear-splitting crack, the trunk of her tree split. As luck would have it, the half she held on to ripped free.

  The next thing she knew, she was hanging over the roaring creek, her fingers digging into a branch that seemed far too fragile for her weight. “Ohmigod. Ohmigod.”

  “Hold on!” The man leaped to his feet, wavered for a moment when a gust hit him full in the chest. Then, without an apparent care for his own safety, he waded into the rushing water, his gaze intent on hers. “I’m coming!”

  He was coming. Good. That was good.

  Except her branch cracked again. And before she could open her mouth to let out a scream, the thing gave, crashing it and her into the tumultuous, wild water below.

  She vanished before Matt’s very eyes. Horrified, he shouted after her, eyes glued to the water as he surged forward, nearly losing footing himself.

  The branch she’d been holding rushed away, and he backed up and out of the water so he could run downstream, keeping the branch in sight because she had to be close. She had to be. He couldn’t have lost her.

  Though she had short, curly blond hair that should have stuck out in the dark, dim world around him, he didn’t see her, and his stomach dropped. “Come on, come on,” he prayed as he ran along as best he could, tripping over his own frozen feet, the wind making breathing all but impossible.

  Finally, a very long moment later, he caught sight of her and nearly fell to his knees in gratitude. She’d grabbed on to a pile of debris at the edge of the rushing creek, about a hundred yards down from where she’d fallen in. Her hold seemed tenuous, as she was being whipped by the driving rain and wind, not to mention being pummeled by the rising water.

  “Hang on,” he yelled, cupping his mouth to make the sound of his voice travel farther, his pulse kicking up a notch when whatever it was she gripped for dear life slipped and she nearly lost her hold.

  Amazingly enough, she lifted her head and landed her moss-green eyes right on him. Her pupils were dilated, her breathing rough. She had blood oozing from a cut on her head and God only knew how many other injuries. He had no idea how long she could hold on, but he wasn’t going to lose her now.

  She wasn’t quite close enough that he could stay on the edge and reach her. Of course not. So he stepped into the creek again, the icy water hitting his knees and sucking the air from his lungs. By the time he made his way closer the water was at his thighs, threatening to carry them both downstream.

  The debris she clung to looked to be a stack of wood. Could have been a boat, a shed, anything, but whatever it was, it had almost completely broken up. The power of the water was beyond comprehension, and if she let go, she’d be broken up, as well.

  Then the entire pile slipped. Icy fear had him diving toward her. “No!”

  With a scream, she whipped her head his way just as the debris broke entirely free of the shore.

  “Here!” he shouted. Digging his feet into the sand beneath him, he reached out at the same time she reached toward him.

  By some miracle he snagged her wrist, latching on to her with a death grip stronger than a vise. “Got you!”

  For one long, horrifying second the wind and water fought him for her, but with the most utter determination he’d ever seen she battled the current and managed to lift her other arm, which he also grabbed.

  Hauling her to him, he took a step backward, toward the shore behind them.

  Twice he lost his footing and they nearly went down, but then he was sitting with hard, wet ground beneath him, cradling her in his lap.

  For another long moment they stayed just like that, panting, gasping… holding on for dear life while the storm continued to beat on them with sharp, stinging, torrential rain and a wind so strong he could hardly take a breath.

  Knowing she was injured, and knowing he had no idea how badly, he kept his hands light on her, but it was difficult because he had the oddest urge to haul her close and hug her tight.

  He, who never had the urge to cling and hug anyone tight. Not that he didn’t like women. He loved women. Tall, short, thin, chunky, dark, light… he didn’t care, he loved them all to such a degree Luke often called him a hound dog, but in his life women had their place and priority.

  They were more important than say, going grocery shopping, but not as important as work or sleep. Not particularly flattering, but there it was.

  If there’d been a woman who mattered lately, she’d been a patient. A case. When he’d healed her, he’d moved on.

  He had no doubt this woman needed his medical skills, but holding her soggy, wet, cold body against his, he wasn’t exactly thinking like a doctor. He couldn’t help it, whatever the hell she wore was thin and filmy and had long ago plastered itself to her very petite, very nicely curved body.

  A body he had against his. A body he’d slid his hands over several times now. A body—

  Lifting her head, she looked into his eyes. “I’ve been wondering… are you from heaven or hell?” she asked before her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Okay, yes, Molly was confused. But damn it, she wasn’t that confused. She knew the huge, fierce-looking man holding her wasn’t from heaven or hell, she knew she hadn’t left good old planet earth yet, so why had she asked him such a thing?

  It must be the bump she could feeling growing on her head. Or her need to change her life.

  But she’d been living this way, this careful, staid way, for so long. It came from being an only child of divorced parents. From being moved around a lot because of her mother’s career. From wanting nothing more than security and stability.

  But suddenly the two big S’s weren’t enough.

  The man’s hands, gentle but firm, started to glide over her body, and though she was greatly weakened, she lifted her hands to smack his away, until she realized he was checking her for broken bones.

  Closing her eyes against the dizziness, she realized she couldn’t hear a thing again except for a funny ringing in her ears and the wild wind.

  In fact, with her eyes closed, she could go back to the beach fantasy now… a nice, warm beach—

  But then his strong, probing ringers made the
ir way to her ribs, and she nearly jerked out of her own skin.

  “Shh,” he said in her ear, his voice still low and rough. A small part of her foggy brain marveled at his voice cutting through the ringing. “I have to make sure…”

  She had a moment to feel as if her entire world shrank to that stabbing pain before she realized she was back in his arms, cradled against his chest in a way that made her feel small and defenseless. Cared for.

  How long had it been since she’d allowed someone to care for her? Hmm… she’d never let anyone care for her.

  Then they were moving. Or maybe just her head was still spinning, she had no idea. “I hope heaven is warmer than this,” she said on a sigh.

  “Hey, stop it. You’re not dead yet.” He hunched over her, putting his mouth close to her ear so she could hear him. He was protecting her from the rain and wind with his own body, she realized, and something sort of warm and fuzzy happened inside her belly.

  Much as she was a millennium woman who could take care of herself—which she’d always told herself was important—it was nice to know he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her.

  Anything else, that is. “Thank you.” She opened her eyes. “For saving me. And I know I’m not dead. I’d just hoped I was having a nightmare.” Had she really thought his eyes cold? They crackled with life now. “But if I was just dreaming, you’d be in a bathing suit. We’re at the beach,” she said when he shot her a look of concern. “It’s a distraction technique.”

  His mouth pulled into a frown.

  “I’m okay,” she told him. “Really.”

  “We’ll see.” He was breathless, and fighting his way over the rough ground. Around them the wind kicked it up a notch higher, if that was even possible, and Molly figured he should be grateful she’d eaten those two donuts this morning. She’d done her part to anchor them, that’s for certain.

  Still, the going wasn’t easy; he struggled to put each foot forward. She could feel the muscles in his arms and chest strain against the wind and rain with every passing second.