Men of courage

by Lori Foster

  “I can walk,” she tried to tell him, but he just pulled her a little closer and shook his head.

  She could feel his arm beneath the backs of her thighs. His other arm banded beneath her shoulder blades, his hand high on her side so that his fingers curled just below her breast.

  Such an intimate embrace and yet they were utter strangers. It was the oddest sensation, being held against a tall, strong, warm man she didn’t even know. Odd and… inexplicably arousing.

  Definitely, she’d hit her head too hard, she decided and, fighting dizziness, just closed her eyes and held on. Mmm, yeah, that was nice… she felt as if she was floating…

  Oh, his arms were wonderful. She thought about telling him so but it would be such an effort to make herself heard and she was tired, very tired.

  He stopped once to hitch her up and closer, and for the briefest, most heart-stopping of moments, her face slid to his. Jaw to jaw. His was slightly rough from a day’s growth of beard, and it made her shiver.

  Mistaking that for a chill, he made a noise deep in his throat and pulled her even closer. Ooh, that was nice, too, he had such warmth emanating from his body. She still had her eyes closed but she could feel the puff of his labored breathing against her cheek and knew with the slightest of movement, she could bring her mouth to his.

  That she even wanted to was a rather unwelcome reminder of how long it had been since she’d felt the touch of a man’s mouth to hers. “You’re hot,” she said without thinking. A common ailment of hers, talking without thinking.

  Another reason she didn’t have anyone in her life, she supposed.

  She felt his startled stare on her face and in spite of her freezing, she felt her face flush. “I mean… you have n-nice body heat.”

  “Uh… good,” he said, and she tried not to wince at what an idiot she was.

  And then suddenly she realized the rain was no longer hitting her face. Opening her eyes just as he set her down, any words she might have offered backed up in her throat when he slid an arm around her hips, careful not to touch her ribs, supporting her while he fought with a door.

  They stood in front of the magnificent old house she’d so admired whenever she’d driven through here. It was a three-story plantation style far past its glory days, but there was such a wealth of character and charm to it she never failed to stop and just stare. “This place is yours?”

  She didn’t think he’d heard her in the deafening noise of the storm, but he yelled back, “It is now.” He went back to concentrating on opening the door.

  She had a thousand questions. What was his name? What did he do for a living… ? How wonderful was it to live in this house?

  But the wind was brutal here beneath the covered porch, whipping through, creating a wind tunnel of flying debris and dirt, nearly knocking them both down. She could no longer control her shivering, nor hardly keep her eyes open, but she forced herself to watch as he wrestled the front door open.

  “Come on,” he yelled, pushing her in ahead of him, turning to fight it shut while she sank to the foyer’s cold tile.

  God, she was tired, so very tired. Leaning her head back against the wall, she tried to keep her eyes open as he strained with all his might to shut the door. But she couldn’t. The laws of gravity pulled her eyelids down against her will.

  What might have been a minute or an hour later, she felt him drop a blanket over her. Then his hands were on her face as he tipped it up.

  “Open your eyes,” he commanded. “I want to see your pupils.”

  She tried, she really did, but couldn’t he see she just wanted to sleep?

  Apparently not, as he simply pried one eye open, stared into it, then did the same with the other. His fingers probed the bump and cut on her head until she hissed at him.

  “I don’t think you’re concussed,” he finally said. “But you have a nasty bump and God knows how many other injuries. I’ll get you to the hospital. Wait here.”

  Before she could open her mouth, he was gone.

  Good. Giving in to the exhaustion, Molly tipped over on her good side. “Warm sand beneath me,” she whispered to herself, and tried to believe it. She was halfway there when he was back again—damn him—lightly shaking her.

  “We can’t get out.”

  She opened one eye to find him hunkered in front of her, still entirely covered in yellow except for his eyes, nose and mouth, which was even more grim now. “My car won’t start and there’s no one else around. Think you can make it to the storm basement?” He pulled off his hood and looked at her.

  “Um…” She blinked, but yep, she was indeed seeing his entire head and face for the first time, and yep, she’d lost her ability to think. Short, dark hair clung to his scalp, and those startling blue eyes were full of worry. For her. And his mouth, good Lord, she’d already come to the conclusion it was made for sin.

  But it was frowning, that mouth, and waiting for an answer.

  “Um…” She was educated and highly intelligent. And registered an idiot by him revealing his face. Definitely too long since she’d been with a man. She promptly added that to her mental list of must-dos.

  “We can’t stay here,” he repeated. “The porch we just stood on? Gone. So is the back decking.” A spasm of emotion flickered across his face. “The roof is going to go next, and then we’re dust.”

  He was going to lose his house, this glorious house. “Oh, no,” she whispered, reaching out, putting her hands on his upper arms. “Isn’t there something we can do?”

  “Not unless you know Mother Nature personally.”

  He spoke lightly enough but she could see unsettled and complicated emotions in his gaze, and it made her heart tip on its side. “I’m so sorry—”

  He surged to his feet, apparently not wanting her pity. He bent to pull her back into his arms, but she held up a hand. “I can walk.”

  He had a backpack on his shoulders; he must have gotten that from his car. “Are you sure?” he asked, watching her very carefully.

  Was she sure? No. She wanted to whimper pathetically and crawl into bed for a week, but he’d been so strong, so gallant, when he had everything at stake. She couldn’t let him think her nothing more than a helpless little mouse. “I’m sure.”

  He took her hand in his. It was a big hand, warm and strong and sure. A stranger’s hand; one who’d risked his own life for her to be here. She stared at his fingers entwined with hers and felt an inexplicable lump in her throat. She’d make the most of this second chance. She would.

  But above them the roof groaned and creaked and made so much noise her conviction to do so wavered.

  “Come on,” he said, more urgently now, glancing up as he tugged her down a hallway, through a kitchen and to a back door. Before he opened it, he carefully tucked her against him. “Don’t let go.”

  Molly’s arm slid around his waist. He felt good and solid, and beneath the yellow poncho his big body radiated warmth.

  No, she wouldn’t be letting go.

  He opened the door. Whatever daylight there had been earlier had started to fade, reminding her it would be dark soon.

  She hated the dark.

  And though she’d already been in the storm, the force of it startled her anew, but he didn’t let her hesitate. With his arm around her, he propelled them right into it.

  Getting to the basement was yet another adventure. The woman huddled against him was shivering and injured. And also far too silent.

  In his experiences, women weren’t silent. “Almost there,” he shouted, heading them around to the side of the house, to the entrance to the storm basement. Once, when he’d been ten years old, Luke had locked him in, then promptly forgotten about him until his grandfather had come looking for him himself.

  It had been dark, damp and musty, but if Matt remembered correctly, also filled with supplies, and since he’d personally eaten the entire stash of candy bars only to puke them up, he was fairly certain he remembered correctly. He didn’t hold o
ut much hope that his grandfather had restocked, but at least he had his medical bag and a flashlight from his car.

  They’d be okay to ride out the storm, he figured, assuming he could treat her injuries here.

  But God help him if the storm lasted a few days because he was positive he couldn’t manage to be polite company for long, locked away with a woman who’d in all likelihood expect him to talk.

  The rain and wind hadn’t slowed any, and he had to sit her down to wrestle open the storm door. She looked small and defenseless, and when he turned back for her, she was sitting with her head on her knees, still and silent as the storm pelted her.

  Damn, but if that didn’t tear at him, when he really didn’t want to be torn at.

  What he did want should have been so simple. Maybe a damn day off without any pressure. Maybe not having to think. Maybe having someone tend to him for a change.

  Yeah, right.

  “Okay,” he said, and reached for her.

  With a surprised cry, she jerked back, then grimaced in pain from her quick movement.

  “Just me,” he said lightly while his heart kicked hard. She had no idea who he was, but at least his voice seemed to soothe her because her shoulders relaxed a bit when he stroked a hand down her wet hair.

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  “It’s okay. Come on, now.”

  She made a gallant effort, despite her obvious exhaustion. He wondered why that got to him because as a doctor, he considered himself fairly jaded against such things.

  He was a man who did his absolute best in the best of environments—that being the hospital— and then after the crisis, moved on.

  But he wasn’t at his best now, not even close. If something happened to this woman here, with him, he didn’t think he’d be able to be so blase about it.

  That disturbed him. Deeply.

  He must be far more tired than he’d thought. A good enough reason right there to get the hell out of this storm, to get as far away from this oddly touching female as humanly possible.

  As soon as humanly possible.

  The storm nearly blew them away as he guided her into the dark, dank basement. He was chilleq straight to the bone, and knew she had to be, too Exhaustion made movement difficult, but he was already thinking about how he could get them both out of here and to the hospital as he flipped on the flashlight and turned back to the door, just as the wind slammed it shut on his face. Shutting them both inside.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When the storm door slammed, Molly was very grateful her rescuer had already turned on his flashlight. She’d always had a fear of the dark, and though for the most part she’d outgrown it, she could feel her chest tightening at the thought of being shut away down here for an extended period of time.

  How long could this really last? she wondered, looking around her a bit frantically, already feeling a bit closed in. Added to that was the fact her body had gone alien on her, starting to shake so violently her teeth chattered.

  “Hey. Hey, it’s okay.”

  She blinked his face into view. He’d shed his poncho and held her shoulders in his big, capable hands, peering intensely into her face, making her realize she’d let out a pathetically needy little whimper.

  “Here, it’s shock. Take this.” Holding out a muscular arm lightly dusted with dark hair, he handed her the flashlight. Then he gripped the blanket she’d been clutching around her and spread it open to look at her body.

  She knew her gauzy skirt and shirt had been a bad idea. Dry, they’d created an easy-to-wear, lightweight, flexible garment she could do anything in, from go to the beach to an elegant dinner.

  Not that she had an invitation from anyone to go to an elegant dinner.

  Wet, however, the skirt and blouse had become a different garment entirely. Wet, it had become as sheer as lace. Wet, it clung to her every curve and nuance. Wet, it left next to nothing to the imagination.

  Her trembling increased, though she had no idea if it was from being frozen solid or from her being very aware of him looking at her.

  Without a word, he put his hands very gently on her face, probing the bump and gash over her eye, wincing when she hissed out a breath. “Dizzy?” he asked, his breath puffing her hair.

  Yeah, but she had the feeling it was his proximity and nothing more.

  He tipped her face to his and waited until she spoke. “A little,” she admitted.

  “Nauseous?”

  “When I move too fast.”

  His hands slid to her waist. “I’ve been worried about these.” His voice was low and a little gruff as he traced her ribs with his fingers until he came to the spot that made her suck in her breath hard.

  “Not cracked, I don’t think,” he said, eyes furrowed with concentration as he touched her so intimately.

  With his head bent, his face very close to her, his hair brushed her breasts. The touch caused some sort of electrical malfunction in her every sensory nerve, shooting a bolt of lightning right between her legs.

  Then he lifted that head and locked his gaze on hers. “I can wrap them, that will make it easier to move around.” While he said this, he left his hands on her. As though they belonged there. She could barely take a breath and it had nothing, nothing at all to do with her aches and pains.

  “You’re cold. Before we get you out of your wet things, what else hurts?”

  Before we get her out of her wet things? That brought reality back pretty quickly, and she blinked. “I—”

  When the violent shiver racked her, he swore and rescued the flashlight before she dropped it and it broke, then pulled the blanket, wet on the outside but still dry on the inside, closer around her. “Okay, one thing at a time.” Rising to his feet, he nearly hit his head on the ceiling. With a low oath, he hunched over a little, looking around them.

  They were in a room larger than she’d thought at first. It had been finished, with shelves lining one wall. Plastic storage bins lined those shelves. Along the other wall was a narrow cot, bare of bedding, but it looked so inviting she nearly whimpered again. There was yet another door, and when he noticed her looking, he said, “Toilet.”

  Well, thank God for small favors.

  He started pulling down boxes, muttering to himself until he found what he was looking for— candles, which he set on the floor and lit with quick precision. While the wind and rain continued to rage above them, he dove into another box and came up with blankets, which he spread over the narrow cot.

  Above them came a large crash and he winced. “Hopefully not the roof,” he said to her frightened upward gaze.

  He said this lightly but he didn’t fool her, not when his eyes were filled with things she imagined he didn’t want her to see. Regret. Worry.

  “It’ll hold,” she said, wanting it to be so for him.

  He lifted a shoulder, then came back for her. He pulled the wet blanket off and Molly to her feet. Holding on to her when she wavered, he said, “You’re going to have to lose the wet clothes.”

  Uh… pretty much over her dead body. Just because he was gorgeous and had the sensual touch she’d been craving didn’t mean—

  “Here. They’re my grandfather’s, from God knows which decade, but they’ll keep you warm.” He thrust a bundle into her hands and steered her toward the bathroom, which was barely big enough for one person to stand in. There was no power so he took a candle and set it on the back of the small commode, which was the only other thing in the room. He eyeballed her shivering body with unease. “Do you need help?”

  Okay, so she’d only imagined the heat in his eyes a few moments ago. Understandable, really, as she’d hit the tree pretty hard. Plus she’d been thinking of how to change her life, which meant maybe having sex more than once every few years. “I’ll be okay.” Behind her back she gripped the door handle because in spite of her bravado, she really did feel dizzy.

  “I don’t think—”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He didn’t look convi
nced but he didn’t press. “Call if you need me.”

  After she shut the door, she promptly sat on the closed toilet and put her head between her knees, but that seemed to make the vertigo worse so she sat back up. Her shivering had increased and she knew he was right. She had to get out of her wet things.

  No problem. With shaking fingers she unbuttoned her blouse while she listened to the storm ravage the house above her. But for the quick thinking and compassion of the man outside the bathroom door, she could still be out in that weather, injured. Or worse.

  Peeling the blouse away from her cold, clammy skin seemed to drain whatever energy she had left. She debated whether to lose her bra, but it was soaked through and uncomfortable. It took another moment of fumbling before she managed to unhook it.

  “You okay?” came a very male voice at the door, startling her so that she fell right off the seat.

  The door flew open so fast the candle went out, which was just as well really, because she was stuck face-first between the wall and commode, with no top on and her wet skirt falling over her head.

  She heard swearing, then squinted her eyes as the flashlight flickered over her. She tried to put herself back on a nice, warm sandy beach, but she couldn’t do it. Not when she knew exactly how she looked hanging upside down. Half-naked.

  Not to mention she was quite sure her head was going to fall off.

  “Jesus.” Big, warm hands snagged her hips and tugged. Uprighted her. Now she had one of those hands low on her belly, the other curled around her back to just beneath her bare breast. In fact, the way she’d slouched over, that breast was pretty much resting against his fingers. The realization made her sit straight up, which shot an arrow of pain right through her ribs.

  “Sit still,” he demanded when she let out a soft cry. “What the hell were you doing?”

  “T-tr—” It was the oddest thing, her teeth chattered so wildly she couldn’t talk, and when she tried to cross her arms over her chest, she popped him in the nose.

  “Damn it.” And then she was back in his arms, her own pinned to her sides. Above them the storm berated the house with such strength the place shook, while right here, he berated her, as well. “You could have bumped your head again. Or upgraded your bruised ribs to broken. What were you thinking?”