by Karin Story
Unless he was in trouble himself.
Goosebumps sprang up on her legs and arms. What if he were a drug dealer? A gun runner? A member of the mob?
"Jesus, Rhodes," she muttered. "The poor guy was probably just mugged." After all, he didn't have any identification on him—no wallet, no jewelry, no watch—all things that would have been taken in a mugging.
Yes, but…a little voice in her mind said. Mugged in the middle of a torrential downpour? On sleepy, isolated Abbott Point where, aside from the school kids snitching Mrs. Hatcher's prize roses, the crime rate was exactly nil?
A thought occurred to her. She leaned over and grabbed his jeans and sweatshirt off the floor where they sat in a heap.
If he'd been mugged, then why was there no bullet hole in his jeans? And aside from where she'd cut his sweatshirt to get it off him, there were no rips in it from a knife.
Whatever had happened to him, he'd changed clothes before he wandered into her yard.
She studied his peaceful countenance, hoping it would give her some insight she'd missed. It didn't, of course. She'd have to wait until he woke up to find out. But that didn't stop the worry that continued to scratch at the edge of her mind.
With the back of her hand, she rubbed at the rough stubble on his pale, but strong and wholly masculine face, and compared it to the irony of his almost femininely long eyelashes. There was a gentleness about him in sleep that she suspected might not be there when he was fully awake.
Who was this man?
The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest was her only answer.
With a sigh, she rose to her feet. She hadn't gotten around to changing out of her wet running clothes. The fire kept things warm in here, but the skin under her Spandex leggings felt like it was going to mildew if she didn't get some air to it pretty soon. A hot shower would do wonders. Unfortunately, with no electricity, there was no hot water.
Giving the man one more glance, she went in search of the next best thing to a shower.
Sweatpants and a serious Diet Coke fix.
* * *
BANG!
Maris jolted, then burrowed deeper into the pillow.
In her dream she could hear the back gate again. But she'd latched it, hadn't she?
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sounds shot through her like an electric prod, and she vaulted upright.
Thunk. She fell out of bed and onto her butt on the hardwood floor. Blinking, trying to place her surroundings, she realized it wasn't the bed she'd fallen from. It was the couch. How'd she gotten into the living room?
BANG! BANG!
The sound was echoed each time by a matching throb in her head, and every muscle in her body clenched to the point of pain. "What in holy hell is going on?"
She staggered to her feet, trying to clear her sleep-fogged mind…
…and froze.
Not more than six feet from her crouched a half-naked, wild-eyed, golden god. The iron poker from the fireplace was clenched in his hand like a lethal weapon.
"Cr-ud." She was going to die.
His hard gaze bored into her, unwavering.
BANG!
"Damn it, Rhodes!" came a muffled roar from outside the front door, "If you don't open this door in five seconds, I'm breaking it down!"
She'd know that bellow anywhere. Jerry Spengler. But she didn't dare respond. Not with that iron poker—and conceivably, her death—only an arm's length away.
The stranger's piercing gaze burned into her for a moment longer, then swept to the door, then back to her. In the gray light of day, she could finally see details she'd missed last night. Like how dangerous those narrowed eyes really were. How the golden stubble on his face framed an unforgiving jaw. How the cuts and bruises covering his body only seemed to add to his powerful aura, rather than diminish it. How his broad shoulders rippled with muscle. How his flat stomach tapered down into his blue boxers that clung to him like a lover's embrace.
A resounding crack echoed through the house, as wood splintered.
The man grabbed her arm and pulled her behind him, putting himself between her and the ruckus. Then his head whipped toward the door, as did the fireplace iron.
Slowly, in shock that she hadn't just been killed but instead had been…what? Protected? she, too, turned to look.
Towering in the doorframe, at the height of six foot eight inches, wet red hair plastered against his head, gold wire-framed glasses fogged over from the cold, green Gore-Tex jacket dripping onto her grandmother's braided rug, stood Jerry Spengler.
He stepped inside the door and she watched as the scene before him registered in his mind. Saw his normally ruddy face pale to a deathly shade. Saw his eyes snap with a flame of fury.
Before she could open her mouth to warn him to keep his temper in check before he got himself killed, he stabbed his glasses farther up on his nose and growled, "What the fuck is going on?"
"Don't move," the stranger said in a hoarse, deadly voice. He raised the fire poker in a clear threat.
"Jerry, listen to him and calm down. Just take it easy so no one gets hurt," Maris croaked.
"Who the hell are you?" Jerry demanded of the stranger.
"Who the hell are you?"
Tension pulsed off the two men in waves of territorial male pheromones. Then, like a pack of angry dogs uncaged, all hell broke loose.
Jerry rushed the stranger.
The stranger stepped backward to gain more leverage and bumped against the corner of the coffee table.
He lost his balance and Maris dodged around to steady him and keep him from tearing open all the wounds she'd so carefully cleaned and bandaged last night.
He dropped the fireplace poker.
Jerry launched a punch.
Maris and the man fell. His head cracked on the edge of the table with a sickening thud on the way down. But they were safely on the floor out of the way when Jerry's fist hit a Limoges vase on the piano. The vase fell to the hardwood and shattered.
It was followed by deafening silence.
Maris peeked out from under her arms that she'd put over her face moments before to protect herself from falling glass. She was lying on her back, half-pinned beneath the stranger's hard body.
Good God. What had just happened?
She stared up at the man, feeling a bit light-headed as if she were the one who'd hit her head.
His hair had dried overnight and it fell in sexy disarray across his forehead and down his neck. It was a lighter blond than she'd first thought, and had wheat-colored highlights in it. She noted again his firm jaw line, and surprisingly full and sensuous lips. And for the first time, she noticed wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. Laugh lines? Jesus, what kind of magic could this guy work if he smiled?
The weight of his body seemed to grow heavier and she wiggled a bit to keep his chest from pressing quite so intimately against her suddenly tingling breasts. But her movement only caused him to wince slightly from the pressure against his ribs, and settle his hips more snugly against hers.
"Oh!" she breathed, trying to pretend she didn't feel what she thought she was feeling, and that her body didn't betray its response.
She swallowed hard as the man's gaze slid over her face, her throat, and down to where her breasts sizzled against his chest through her thin T-shirt. Slowly, he lifted his head and made eye contact with her again. His eyes were a striking golden-brown color. Tiger eyes, she thought suddenly. They were fierce, yet hazy. She saw pain in their depths, along with something else that looked suspiciously like—
"You son of a bitch! Get off her!" Jerry shouted from somewhere above them. He came into her field of vision and grabbed for the man's arms.
Snapping back into reality, Maris pushed at the solid shoulders pinning her in place. The man seemed to lose energy as if it had been suctioned from him, and to her surprise, he eased off her and allowed her to slide out from under him.
She rose to her knees, still feeling the heat of the man's body where it had scorche
d hers, and held Jerry off with a hand and a glare. "Spengler! Back off. Can't you see he's badly hurt?"
Jerry opened his mouth to say something, then clamped it shut, then opened it again. "Get out of the way, Maris. I'm going to kill him."
"Oh, for God's sake. Instead of bellowing like a bull, help me get him back over here so he can lie down and be comfortable."
Jerry stood to his full height and stared down at her as if she'd lost her mind. "He was going to kill you—kill both of us—and now you want to make him comfortable?"
The man had collapsed onto his side on the floor, his eyes closed, as if he'd given his last hurrah and his body had shut down on him again. His breathing labored in his chest. Maris smoothed his hair and gazed at him in concern. A knot was forming at his hairline where he'd hit his head on the table, and a trickle of blood oozed out of it. "We need to get some ice on his head."
"Maris! What are you thinking?"
She lurched to her feet and stood toe to toe with him. "I'm thinking that you're a doctor and instead of acting like an advertisement for testosterone dickhood, you might try remembering your Hippocratic oath. You know, the one that says you're supposed to save lives?"
Jerry's face turned a mottled combination of magenta and scarlet. "That was completely uncalled for. He was threatening you when I came in."
"No, he was trying to defend himself because he thought you were a threat to him." As she said the words, she knew in her gut they were true. The man hadn't wanted to hurt her. He'd pulled her behind him as if he wanted to protect her. And lying on top of her on the floor, his probing gaze had been anything but hostile.
"I was the threat?" Jerry's roar was louder than the clap of thunder that shook the house.
"Yes! You show up in the middle of a storm, pounding on the door like some kind of lynch mob, and scaring the bejesus out of us both. What did you expect? Look at him!"
She pointed at the man, whose face was lined with barely concealed agony. Once more he resembled a human man in pain rather than an avenging god. "I don't know what he's been through, but someone's hurt him badly. When you came tearing in here, he no doubt reacted on instinct."
Jerry's bluster lost some of its steam, and he stared at the figure on the floor. "Who is he?"
She draped a quilt over the man, and knelt next to him, dabbing at the blood on his head with a corner of a sheet. "Shh, it's going to be okay," she whispered softly to him, before turning back to Jerry. "I don't know. I found him out in the backyard last night. He's been unconscious most of the time."
"You found him in the backyard? What, like a lost damn puppy?" He shook his head and groaned. "Why didn't you call 911 to come get him?"
"I did. In case you hadn't noticed there's a storm raging outside. They didn't have any extra medical units to dispatch unless it was a life or death emergency." She brushed a hand through the man's thick hair again, letting her fingers linger against his temple, then brush down his cheek. When she glanced up, Jerry was glaring at her.
"What? What are you doing here anyway?" she snapped. "You worked all night, you should be home in bed." A quick glance at her watch showed it to be ten-thirty in the morning.
"I heard the road out here to the Point was covered with water and that the surf was high. I was worried about you." He sank onto the arm of the couch and rubbed his eyes under his glasses.
"Why didn't you just call?"
He leaned across the couch, grabbed the phone off the cradle, and held it up. She heard nothing but silence. "The phones are out. And I couldn't get through to your cell phone either."
"I keep it turned off when I'm home. How'd you get here if the road's underwater?"
"I drove in as far as I could, then hiked the rest of the way. Probably a mile and a half."
A pang of guilt for yelling at him crept through her. Being an emergency room doctor was never an easy job, but even after working all night, he'd come all the way out here. She sighed. "I'm sorry, Speng."
His jaw clenched. "You don't know who this man is?"
"No. He didn't have any identification on him. And so far he hasn't been awake enough to tell me his name."
"He looked pretty damn awake to me a few minutes ago."
"Help me. He's going to freeze lying on the bare wood floor like this. And I want to get some ice on his head."
"I don't like him staying here. He's dangerous."
"You don't know that he's dangerous. And until the storm passes there's no medical help. You said yourself you had to hike in here. So whether you like it or not, he's staying for the time being. Now help me, please." She stared at him, willing him to put aside his redheaded stubbornness for now.
With a loud sigh, he stood and came over to where she still knelt next to the man. "Do you want to move him back over there onto the blankets?"
"No, since you're here to help, I want to put him upstairs in my bedroom where he'll be more comfortable. I'll start a fire in the fireplace up there."
"Rhodes—!"
She held up a hand. "It's my house. I'll put him where I damn well please."
Jerry's glare would have singed the hair off anyone else, but Maris had known him since she was sixteen. She'd learned a long time ago that his bark was worse than his bite.
"Come on, Speng. Let's do it."
"Sure, now you want my help," he mumbled under his breath. "Testosterone dickhood, my ass."
* * *
He heard voices. Loud, angry. One masculine, one feminine.
The wall of blackness threatened to consume him again, but he fought to keep the cold, drowsy feeling at bay. Every time it happened, his gut clenched and he felt like he was going to puke.
The dark and cold ate into him.
His heart pounded against his ribs.
Pain knifed through him when he tried to breathe.
And his head…Christ it hurt. What had happened?
Then he remembered the surge of fear and anger that had sent him to his feet. Remembered watching the redheaded giant storm in with murder in his eyes. Remembered the warm body that saved him from breaking his fool neck when he fell.
He saw the startled look in the woman's eyes. Heard the soft intake of breath as she'd become aware of him lying on top of her. Felt the heat of her body sear into his, and the pebbling of her nipples against his chest.
He could also remember clearly the look of horrified shock she'd worn when he'd stood holding the fire poker.
What had he been thinking?
Survival. Every instinct in his body had demanded he protect first her, then himself.
Yet he didn't even know who she was. What had he been trying to protect them from? Not just the redheaded giant's belligerent tirade. It had been more than that.
Something dark. Dangerous.
His mind whirled wildly as images and thoughts spun by just out of his reach. He tried to slow it all down and bring it into focus. But the more he concentrated, the fuzzier everything got. A boiling anger began deep inside him.
And then he felt a gentle touch against his neck. He heard the voice close to his ear. Her voice. A comforting hand smoothed over his brow, and he thought of…
Who?
But try as he might, he couldn't bring the memory to mind.
Dark fingers of panic squeezed around his throat.
He tried to sit up, but the sledgehammer battering his skull dropped him back to the floor. "Son of a bitch!"
"Shh, try to relax. We're going to take you upstairs now. You'll be more comfortable," she said against his ear.
He opened his eyes and squinted against the dull gray light that only increased the pounding in his head. She…what had she said her name was? Mary? No, that wasn't quite right. Maris? Yeah, maybe. She bent over him, concentration etched into her smooth face. A small wisp of cinnamon-colored curl had escaped the loose knot on top of her head, and it lay gently against her cheek. She brushed it back with an air of irritation and he heard a faint tinkle as the crystals on her silver c
harm bracelet danced together.
The giant redhead stood at his other side, towering over him.
He tensed, ready to protect the woman from the huge man if he had to. The redhead's eyes were intense behind the wire-rimmed glasses he wore. His hair stood out in a great, colorful thatch against the austere white of the ceiling.
"Where am I? How long have I been here?" he heard himself croak.
"You're in my house at Abbott Point. This is Thursday morning," she told him. "I found you last night."
He stared at her, watching for any hint of malice. Her expression was almost tender. If she'd wanted to hurt him she could have done it while he was out cold.
"Let's get this over with," the giant said, interrupting his thoughts. The murderous glare was still there.
"I'm ready," she responded. Her lips formed a tight line of concentration, but her eyes seemed to twinkle.
"He's not touching me," he mumbled, staring at the giant, not trusting him for a moment.
"It's okay, he just wants to help."
"Bullshit," he managed to whisper.
He saw her turn and glare at the giant, who merely glared back.
Her gaze returned to him and gentled. "You just hang on. We'll have you in bed in a couple of minutes." Those mysterious deep-green eyes made promises he didn't understand.
What did these people want with him?
He had to get out of here.
Then the arms around him pulled. Pain exploded in his body. A black wave of unconsciousness swept over him.
Chapter 3
* * *
"I'm not leaving you alone here with him!"
Maris sighed and continued to scoop odd-shaped chocolate chip cookies out of the skillet on the Coleman stove and onto a paper towel to cool. The only time she ever baked was when she was stressed. She'd done a lot of it before Grandma Sophie had passed away.
For two years before her grandmother's death, she'd lived here with her, trying to make her as comfortable as possible as the cancer ate away at her fragile old body. All she'd wanted was to give Grandma Sophie a sense of love and family. But it had been two long years of old-fashioned rules, expectations, and blatant disapproval. Nothing she did could ever please the old woman
