A Hero to Hold

by Linda Castillo

  The cabin was exactly how she’d pictured it from the outside. Practical. Comfortable. A hint of male clutter without being messy. Clean, but not immaculate by any means. She looked around the living room for pictures or photographs or mementos, but found nothing. Either John didn’t have a family, or he chose not to be reminded of them.

  Grabbing her bag, she made her way down the hall toward the bedroom. A navy towel lay on the floor in the bathroom. In the room across the hall, a set of weights cluttered the floor next to a desk and leather chair. The larger bedroom was masculine, as well, with dark paneling, a geometric bedspread in hues of navy and cream, and a bookcase loaded with everything from the latest thriller to search-and-rescue emergency field medicine guides.

  “The first-aid kit is in the kitchen.”

  Hannah spun at the sound of his voice. John stood in the doorway, his arm braced against the jamb, watching her.

  The sight of him made her feel breathless. The thought of him getting close enough to look at her knees, of him putting his hands on her legs made her dizzy. Abruptly the room seemed too small for the both of them. “That’s not necessary.”

  He pointed in the general direction of her knees. “I hate to point this out to you, Red, but your knees are probably scraped.”

  She looked down at her knees in question, realized she’d been so distracted she’d forgotten about the fall. “Oh.”

  “I can’t stand to see unattended wounds.” Not waiting for a response, John turned and headed toward the kitchen. “Come on. I’ll fix you up.”

  Taking a deep breath, Hannah followed.

  The kitchen was as no-nonsense as the rest of the cabin. Pine cabinets lined the walls. A plate and a single mug drained neatly in the sink. The butcher-block counter held a set of knives. A navy dish towel was tossed haphazardly on the counter. A fifty-pound bag of high-quality dog food sat in the corner.

  John opened the cabinet above the sink and removed a first-aid kit. Setting the kit on the kitchen table, he pulled out a chair. “Have a seat.”

  “This really isn’t necessary.”

  “I’m a medic. It’s what I do. Humor me, okay?”

  She didn’t have a comeback for that, so she sank into the chair.

  “That glass of milk is for you,” he said.

  “Oh.” She picked up the glass, sipped. “Thanks.”

  He knelt in front of her and slipped her foot out of the too-large sandal. “We’ll need to get you some decent shoes in a couple of days.”

  “I tried some sneakers at the hospital, but my feet were swollen from the frostbite.”

  “The inflammation should go down in a day or two. Maybe even tomorrow.”

  Hannah knew she should say something, but the power of speech deserted her when he set her foot on his thigh and began to roll the hem of the scrub toward her knee. “H-how long have you been a medic?” she asked, trying to keep herself from noticing the gentle brush of his knuckles against her calf.

  “I’ve been with Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue for six years.”

  “Do you like that sort of work? I mean, jumping out of helicopters must be…stressful.”

  He shot her a cocky grin. “I’m an adrenaline freak, so it’s not stressful at all. I love it. But it’s not all exciting work, either. We get called out for bee stings. Lost dogs. Last summer we geared up and flew to a site only to realize a hiker had fallen and broken his pinkie finger.”

  “Oops.”

  “Buzz wanted to break the other one for good measure, but we talked him out of it.”

  “Is your boss always so surly?”

  “Ever since his divorce, the man’s had the personality of a rabid wolverine.”

  Hannah knew firsthand just how cutting the older man could be. “Is search-and-rescue work what you’ve always wanted to do?”

  “Well, when I was a kid, I wanted to be a cop,” he said.

  “What made you decide not to?”

  The shadow crossed John’s expression so quickly, she wasn’t sure she’d seen it at all. But she didn’t miss the tremor in his hand as he peeled the hem of her scrub pants over her knee.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said.

  “You didn’t.” Glancing up at her, he grimaced, then turned his attention back to her knee. “Hurt?”

  “Not too much.”

  “Liar. You’ve got a deep abrasion and a hell of a bruise. Those hurt.”

  “I guess that’ll teach me to dive onto somebody’s icy lawn the next time bullets start flying.”

  “Let’s just count our blessings that it wasn’t worse.” His jaw flexed. “I’ll clean it and apply some antibiotic. You’ll be good as new in a day or two.”

  She watched as he removed a cotton ball from the kit and saturated it with antiseptic. Then with those doctor’s hands, he held her calf and pressed the cotton to the wound. The sting was sharp and instantaneous.

  “Yow.”

  “Sorry.”

  She bit her lip against the sting. “So what did you do before you started with the search-and-rescue outfit?”

  “I was a paramedic in Denver.”

  “That’s how you met Angela Pearl?”

  “Yep. She was my first transport.”

  “What happened?”

  After removing the cotton ball, John opened a tube of ointment. “My partner and I were called out to a domestic. She was in bad shape when we got there. Broken nose. A couple of broken ribs.”

  “Her husband?”

  “Yeah. He cried like a baby the whole time the cops were arresting him. The spineless worm.”

  “That’s very sad.”

  “I don’t have any sympathy for men who hit women. The cops had been called out to their apartment a dozen times. The warning signs were there. But no one did anything.” Something dark and angry flashed in the cool blue depths of his eyes. “We thought we were going to lose her that first night.”

  The words put a lump in Hannah’s throat. “Things worked out for Angela.”

  “She was smart—and very lucky. We kept in touch. She became somewhat of an advocate after that. I’d see her every so often at the hospital. She took some social work courses at the community college. Got a license from the city. Then she opened her shelter.”

  “She’s making a difference.”

  “She’s found her calling. She’s incredibly committed. I admire her.” He shot Hannah a canny look. “It takes guts to walk away from something like that.”

  The statement made her think of her own bruises and the dark mystery surrounding them. She didn’t relish the thought of being trapped in an abusive relationship. She couldn’t believe she would do that to herself. Certainly not while carrying an innocent unborn child.

  After applying the ointment with a cotton swab, John withdrew a gauze bandage from the first-aid kit and set it against the abrasion.

  Hannah watched his hands move expertly over her skin, mesmerized by the smooth efficiency with which he worked.

  “You never answered my question,” she said after a moment.

  “Yeah?” He looked up from his work. “What question is that?”

  “You mentioned you wanted to be a police officer. I think you would have been good at it. What made you decide not to?”

  * * *

  John’s hand quivered slightly as he pressed the first-aid tape to the gauze. It had been a long time since he’d thought of why he wasn’t a cop, even longer since he’d discussed it with anyone. The topic still had the power to eat a hole in his gut. “Let’s just say I make a better medic than police officer and leave it at that,” he said.

  “Raw area?”

  “Off-limits.”

  “Oh.” She made a show of brushing at a smudge on her scrubs. “Sorry.”

  He saw the question in her eyes, but he wasn’t going to elaborate. The biggest failure of his life wasn’t a topic he liked to discuss. He wasn’t going to lie about it, but he sure as hell didn’t want to analyze it over milk
and cookies, either. The last thing he wanted to discuss with this woman were the secrets he’d left back in Philly—and the one that had brought it all rushing back to him five years ago right here in Colorado.

  Shoving thoughts of the past aside, he secured the last strip of tape and put it back in the first-aid kit. He’d been so intent on the bandaging—and dodging her much-too-perceptive questions—he’d barely noticed the softness of her flesh beneath his fingertips. When he finally looked down and saw her calf cradled in his hand, he swallowed hard.

  Her skin was soft against his palm, the muscle rounded and firm. He wasn’t sure why he’d noticed something like that at a moment like this. He’d bandaged hundreds of arms and legs over the years. But as he felt the blood pool in an area he didn’t want to think about, he couldn’t deny this particular patient had the most incredible legs he’d ever laid eyes on.

  “That should keep it from getting infected. Bandage can come off tomorrow.” Clearing the cobwebs out of his throat, he unrolled her hem then eased her leg aside, praying she didn’t notice the state she’d left him in. Oh, yeah, it was going to be a long night.

  When he straightened, she was looking right at him with those striking eyes. The power of her gaze stopped his brain cold. The space between them seemed to shrink. Awareness of her close proximity, of her scent washed over him. He knew he should step away, give himself some breathing room, but his legs refused to obey the command.

  “I was wondering,” she began, “why did you come back tonight? I mean, after you left the shelter?”

  The truth hovered on the tip of his tongue, but John swallowed it, knowing it wouldn’t do either of them any good for him to acknowledge what he could no longer deny. That something had clicked between them up on the mountain, that he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head, that she was in danger and he couldn’t bear the thought of the bastard getting his hands on her. Or that every time he thought of that kiss, his blood heated, and all he could think about was one more taste of her sweet mouth.

  “I didn’t like the idea of you spending the night in a shelter. Not after what happened with the SUV.” It was a half-truth, but it would have to do for now.

  Hannah worried her lower lip. “What do you make of all this?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Do you think the SUV incident is related to…what happened to me up on the mountain? What happened back at Angela Pearl’s?”

  “I think that’s something we’ve got to consider at this point.” John watched her hand settle protectively over her abdomen and felt the need to protect flare within him. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he said.

  He hadn’t meant to say it; the last thing he wanted to do was take on the role of protector. He wasn’t sure he was qualified. Not after Philly. Not after what had happened to Rhonda.

  Her gaze met his, and in the depths of her eyes he recognized the first vestiges of a fragile trust he didn’t deserve.

  “Thank—” She jumped in midsentence when a scratch sounded at the back door.

  John laughed outright. “Sorry, Red. That’s Honeybear’s way of letting us know he’s ready to come it.”

  Rising, he strode to the door and flipped on the rear porch light. Honeybear sat on the step, wagging his tail, looking happy and impatient at once. Normally John would have opened the door and let the dog inside without so much as a second thought. Tonight he found his eyes scanning the shadows of the wooded area beyond. He’d never been uneasy living miles away from his nearest neighbor. But tonight the thought made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

  He hated to think of Hannah being in trouble. She was genuine and warm and more alive than any woman he’d ever known. She was brave in the face of danger. Hopeful in the face of crushing odds. Then there was the matter of her pretty eyes and all that red hair. The combination completely undid him.

  Somehow she’d managed to tumble the wall he’d so carefully erected. She’d trespassed into territory he normally kept off-limits, managed to touch him despite his efforts to keep her at a distance. John figured the only question that remained was what the hell he was going to do about it.

  As much as he didn’t want it to happen, he’d stepped into the role of protector. The irony left a bitter taste at the back of his throat. He wondered how she would react if she knew about Philly. If she knew he was no better than the man who’d put those bruises on her.

  Sighing, he opened the door. Honeybear bounded inside with a rush of cold air and a flurry of snow. John turned in time to see Hannah stoop and scratch Honeybear behind his floppy ear.

  “I think he likes me,” she said.

  “He’s just using you to get his ear scratched.”

  She laughed, a musical sound that made his heart stutter in his chest. Even with the bruise on her cheek, dressed in an oversize sweatshirt and shapeless hospital scrubs, she was undoubtedly one of the most attractive women he’d ever laid eyes on. That she was standing in his kitchen, playing with his dog and laughing made John realize that for all his intentions, he wasn’t doing a very good job at keeping this impersonal.

  “Tonight,” she began, “when we were in Angela Pearl’s kitchen, and that woman with the bruised face came down, you seemed…upset.”

  An alarm trilled in the back of his head. That he was so transparent annoyed him. That she’d hit a sore spot dead on put his back up. “What do you expect? The woman had just had her face pounded in by some scumbag. That ticks me off.”

  “Oh, well, I just thought maybe you knew her or—”

  “I don’t.”

  She cast him a startled look. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “You didn’t upset me.” He stared at her, aware that his hackles were up, all too aware that she’d noticed. “Look, I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”

  “Oh. Of course.” She straightened.

  John hadn’t meant for his words to come out so harshly. But he couldn’t risk her getting the wrong idea about him. He wasn’t a hero—not by a long shot. Hell, the way he saw it, he barely qualified as a nice guy. The sooner she got that through her head, the better. He figured he’d be saving them both a lot of grief in the long run if he put a stop to whatever was happening between them before it solidified into a problem he might actually have to deal with.

  CHAPTER 9

  The moon splashed silver light on the snow, showing her the way through the trees and boulders. Branches tugged at her clothes and slashed at her face like tiny knives. The ice and protruding rocks cut her feet with ruthless efficiency. Around her, the wind howled like a vengeful ghost.

  Hannah ran as she had never run before. Arms outstretched, she covered the ground with reckless speed. Animal sounds tore from deep inside her. Panic and terror pooled at the back of her throat.

  He was going to kill her.

  She knew that as surely as she felt the life-sustaining heat draining from her body. As surely as she felt the life force of the tiny life growing inside her. As surely as the cold and exhaustion zapped the last of her strength.

  Behind her, the glare of headlights sliced through the darkness. She looked over her shoulder, saw the vehicle less than a dozen feet away. Closing in on her, a relentless predator in the throes of a kill.

  “No!” she screamed into the darkness.

  She turned to run, but a heavy hand bit into her shoulder. Her scream was cut short when his fingers closed around her throat. She lashed out with her hands and feet, but he didn’t relinquish his death grip. The blow that followed stunned her, sent her sprawling into the snow like a rag doll. Pain and dread exploded inside her. She scrambled to her feet, heard the whoosh of air as he grabbed for her.

  “No! I won’t let you—”

  “Hannah. Easy, honey. It’s John. I’m here.”

  Strong hands pressed her down. She could still feel the crushing pain of his fingers on her throat. Terror raged inside her like an angry beast. She lashed out with her feet. Once. Twice. A fleet
ing sense of satisfaction flitted through her when her left heel connected with something solid.

  “Ouch! Dammit. Cut it out.”

  “Let go of me!”

  “It’s me. Hannah! Stop struggling.”

  The familiarity of the voice stopped her. Gentle hands touched her, soothed away the terror. She opened her eyes. John leaned over her, his face suffused with sharp-edged concern. “It was only a dream,” he said.

  “Oh, God,” she choked. “He was going to…”

  “It’s okay. You’re all right. Take a deep breath for me, okay?”

  She sucked in a shaky breath, felt the terror take a final jab at her. “I need to sit up.”

  Wordlessly he released her shoulders and moved to sit beside her on the bed. Never taking his eyes from hers, he scrubbed a hand over his face. “You scared the devil out of me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay.” He studied her for a moment. “Are you all right?”

  “No. I mean, yes. But—” Her voice broke. “I’m alive. Sometimes after those dreams I just…can’t believe I’m alive.”

  “You’re very much alive. And you’re safe. Just give yourself a minute to calm down.”

  A helpless laugh squeezed from her throat. “I promised myself I wasn’t going to let these flashbacks scare me so much. I was going to use them to remember. But this one… It was so real. I just couldn’t…think. It’s like I was there, and I knew I was going to die.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know. I—” Letting out a calming breath, she glanced around the room. The window was closed. Yellow light bled in from the hall. Nothing had changed. Nothing lurked in the shadows.

  Still Hannah shivered. “It was so real. I mean, he was here. I felt him…touching me. He…” Remembering the feel of his hands around her throat, she touched her neck.

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know.” Frustration clawed at her when she couldn’t give him an answer. “The man who…hurt me. The man I know. He was here.”

  “Stay put.”

  Her heart scrambled wildly in her chest when John rose and stalked to the window. Parting the curtains, he checked the lock, then turned to her. “There’s no one here, Red. The doors downstairs are locked. Honeybear would have barked if he’d heard something. You had a nightmare. That’s all.”