* * *
Julia slowly awakened to the kind of ache that suggested she remain motionless while she decided which hurt worse, her head or backside or legs, only to gasp and try to sit up when she remembered why she hurt.
“Easy, you’re okay,” a deep, calming voice said as strong, gentle hands held her down. She opened her eyes to see Nicholas smiling at her. “Get your bearings before you sit up. You’re okay, Julia,” he repeated.
“No, I’m not. I was shot. Twice.” She looked around and gasped again. “I’m not in a hospital,” she said, struggling against his hold—only to go perfectly still when she realized she was . . . that there was nothing but air beneath her. “Wh-where am I?” she whispered, slowly bringing her gaze back to Nicholas—who was still smiling, still gently holding her down.
“You’re in my home,” he said, releasing her but leaving his hands hovering over her shoulders, “in my sleeping bag on the floor of my living room.”
Julia turned just her head to look at his . . . floor again and realized it was made of glass. Granted, it appeared to be really thick glass, but the entire end of his house was jutting out beyond a jagged ledge with nothing but air beneath it for over a hundred feet. Add to that an entire two-story wall of windows, as well as the front third of each of the side walls also being nothing but glass, and Julia felt like she was literally floating.
Wait; instead of being blown away by his home, wasn’t she supposed to be bleeding to death? “Um, did I tell you I was shot? Twice?” Finally finding the nerve to touch the side of her head, she pulled her hand away and looked at the dried red flakes on her fingers, then held them out to him. “S-see, that’s blood.”
“No, it’s paint,” he said quietly, turning away and reaching for something beside her. She heard water dripping, like he was wringing out a cloth. “You were shot with a red paintball. Twice,” he said with a grin.
“Why?” she snapped, deciding she needed to be angry so he wouldn’t know how embarrassed she was that she’d fainted from . . . blood loss.
She wasn’t sure, but she thought one side of his mouth twitched, like he was fighting a grin. “We were practicing,” he said, as if that explained everything.
“Practicing what, shooting innocent people in the head with paintballs?”
Yup, that was definitely a grin trying to escape. “No, practicing how not to get ourselves shot.” All hints of amusement vanished. “I’m sorry, Julia. Micah mistook you for another one of my men, as he wasn’t expecting anyone but the four of us to be in those woods this morning.”
Julia turned her head to look out at Bottomless so he wouldn’t see what she thought of being mistaken for one of his men.
He gently clasped her chin and turned her back to face him. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Do you have a headache? And your . . . backside?” He let a small grin escape. “I know how much those tiny paintballs sting.”
“N-no, I’m okay. In fact,” she said, pulling her chin free and trying to sit up again, “I feel so well, I think I’ll go home.”
His hand returned to her shoulder, but to help her sit up rather than hold her down, and then to steady her when she suddenly swayed. “Easy,” he murmured. “You were run ragged by the time I found you.”
“No, I’m dizzy because I’m dangling over a cliff,” she growled, closing her eyes to see if that helped.
“Sorry,” he said with a chuckle as he dropped the wet rag onto her lap. “Don’t panic, I’m only going to pull you back.”
Julia snapped open her eyes when she suddenly felt herself moving and grabbed his shoulder as he slowly dragged his sleeping bag—with her still in it—toward the center of the room, not stopping until she was over solid . . . rock. Okay, that was slightly better. At least now she didn’t feel like she was about to fall hundreds of feet. She picked up the cloth and held it to her face so he wouldn’t see her cheeks were about to blister, and didn’t lower it again until she felt more than heard him stand up. He walked over to where she’d been sitting and picked up a . . .
Julia lifted the cloth to her nose and sniffed when she realized he was using what looked like a cat litter box for a wash basin. Okay, the cloth smelled of balsam, but she wasn’t reassured enough to wash her face with it, so she gingerly started rubbing her head where she’d been shot . . . by a paintball.
Wait; hadn’t her hair been braided?
“I undid your braid,” he said when he saw her gather her tangled hair in her fist. He set the basin of soapy water down beside her. “I was worried it might be pulling on the bump on your head.” He crouched down and grinned at her again. “The braid was mostly undone and full of leaves and twigs,” he said, gesturing at the small mess of forest matter littering the floor hanging out over the cliff. “I’m afraid I may have created more tangles in the process.”
He’d run his fingers through her hair? While she’d been unconscious?
Oh, she hoped this was a really bad dream.
Julia lifted the cloth back to her face, not caring if it was soaked in cat pee. She really, really needed to get out of here, preferably while she still had some dignity left. For crying out loud, had he carried her all the way here? His house must be at least a couple of miles from where she’d been collecting pinecones; wouldn’t it have taken him at least a couple of hours to carry her that—
“Oh no,” she said with a gasp. “I’m late for work!” Julia tried to get up, but was stopped by one of his big strong hands again.
“No, you’re not. I called Bev and told her you wouldn’t be in today.”
She reared away. “You called Beverly? But she’s going to wonder why you . . . Why I didn’t . . . You called her?”
“She won’t think it strange the director of security made the call, since I told her you’d had a small accident.”
Julia found the cloth and started to lift it to her face again, but Nicholas pulled it away, sloshed it in the basin—turning the water red—then wrung it out and handed it back to her. She immediately pressed it against her face again even as she wondered where he bought his soap, because it smelled an awful lot like Regan’s goat soap.
“Are you thirsty?” he asked as she heard him straighten and walk away.
She lowered the cloth, realizing she was pretty thirsty. “Yes, thank you,” she said, only to flinch when something brushed up against her.
Big Cat folded itself around her as it rubbed its head against her raised arm, then settled the front half of its body down on her apparently too-small lap and curled its claws into the sleeping bag covering her thighs. Its two buddies made an appearance, the smaller eerie gray one—its eyes even more orange in the sunlight—deciding the indent in the sleeping bag between her calves looked like a really nice spot for a nap, into which it settled and started purring. White Cat—that Big Cat and Small Cat had brought along the second time they’d broken into the apartment—was apparently content to use the end of the bag for a bed and one of her feet for a pillow.
Julia flinched again, this time with a gasp, when two more cats—a delicate-looking spotted one and an everyday gray tabby—sauntered over as quiet as . . . cats, sat down on the glass floor at the very edge of the cliff, and stared unblinking at her.
Nicholas had five cats?
With the cloth still poised inches from her face, Julia slowly looked around to see if any others might be lurking nearby, and realized there wasn’t any furniture—which likely explained why she was a cat magnet, since she was occupying the only soft spot in the entire house. Which was also probably why they kept breaking into what they still considered their apartment, ending up on her and Trisha’s beds.
Five cats. Nicholas must own stock in several lint roller companies, she decided, as she’d never seen so much as a single cat hair on his clothes. Julia sighed and ran the cloth over her face again, guessing the man was only a chick magnet.
She heard an approaching chuckle. “I see you’ve met some of my friends,” the devil himself said as he c
rouched down beside her.
Julia lowered the cloth to find him holding a tumbler—which looked exactly like the two in her cupboard—filled nearly to the brim with water. “Some?” she repeated, taking the water and looking around again. “There’s more?”
“One more—Gilgamesh. Gilly must be out hunting.” Nicholas took the cloth from her, then used it to gesture at the tumbler in her other hand. “Drink, before your muscles start cramping from dehydration.”
Julia dutifully took a sip because she really didn’t want anything else to hurt. “Um . . . so you guys were running through the woods this morning trying to shoot one another with paintballs?” she asked, just before taking another sip of water, because she really was very thirsty.
He nodded as he sat down on the floor beside her, which apparently was the signal for the other two cats to walk over and curl up on his lap. He grinned at her. “Tom told me he’s looking forward to that part of his training, as he can’t imagine getting paid to engage in a sport he used to pay money to play. Apparently there’s a paintball course a few miles south of Turtleback Station that he and some of his high school classmates used to frequent.”
“How come you hired Tom as a security guard?” she asked, staring down at the tumbler in her hand. “I mean, I love that he doesn’t have to work at the mill anymore, and he’s really proud and everything.” She looked up. “But I don’t understand why you sought Tom out. He’s not exactly big and burly, like most of your security guards.”
“Because I was impressed by his actions Saturday.”
“You were impressed he got knocked out cold?”
“He tried, Julia. Tom ran upstairs to confront a drunken man nearly twice his size, even knowing that man was armed with a double-edged felling ax. And that told me he’s someone I want on my team.” Nicholas grinned again. “I was almost tempted to offer you a position as well.”
Julia took a sip of water, uncertain if she’d just been complimented or insulted.
“You needn’t worry,” he continued. “Two months from now your brother won’t be the one leaving an altercation with a concussion.”
She frowned. “How does running around in the woods shooting one another with paintballs teach a guy how not to get knocked out cold in a fistfight?”
“Our war games are only a small part of our training,” he said as he absently stroked the ecstatically purring, bronze-spotted cat on his lap—which sounded in stereo, as the gray cat wedged between Julia’s calves was also purring. “Tom will also learn how to defuse a situation,” he continued, “before it becomes an altercation.”
Big Cat was starting to get a little heavy on her thighs, making Julia realize her legs were going to sleep. Then again, maybe it was the paintball-size bruise on her backside that was making everything below her waist numb.
Had Nicholas really carried her all the way here?
Did she dare ask?
“Um . . . what about the two guys who shot me?” she asked instead. She actually smiled. “Can I borrow one of your paintball guns and take some free shots at them—without them wearing any protective gear?” But then she frowned again. “Come to think of it, I don’t remember them wearing much of anything despite it being frosty out. Not even goggles. Aren’t you afraid somebody will lose an eye or something?”
“I believe that’s the motivation not to get shot.” He sighed when she refused to return his grin. “We’re not playing a game, Julia; we’re training. Ducking paintballs keeps us sharp.” He turned away and dipped the cloth into the soapy water again. “As for letting you take some free shots at them, I’m afraid that when Olivia finds out what happened today, they’ll both likely be dismissed.”
“Are you serious?” she whispered.
He said nothing, merely wringing out the cloth.
“But it was a stupid mistake, and I wasn’t really hurt.” She shook her head. “I won’t be responsible for their getting fired.”
“You could just as easily have been a resort guest.”
“We’re not telling Olivia,” she growled. “It’s half my fault for not wearing blaze orange in the woods in November.” She gestured angrily when he merely looked at her, his expression unreadable. “Make them do a hundred push-ups every day for a month or something.” She snatched the cloth away from him and pressed it to her cheeks. “Because if you tell Olivia, I swear I’ll deny it ever happened,” she said from the safety of the cloth—not stupid enough to threaten to call him a liar to his face.
And she wasn’t quite brave enough to peek, either, when he remained silent for so long that she actually flinched when he stood up and said, “Works for me.”
She lowered the cloth when she heard him walk away, and blew out a silent sigh of relief. She might want to pepper those two guys with stinging paintballs, but she really couldn’t live with herself if they got fired.
Julia stared out the windows that made it appear as if she were in an airplane. Who built their home hanging out over a cliff, anyway? Didn’t Nicholas know this area had earthquakes? Jeesh, the house would careen down the mountain like an Olympic bobsled if it ever shook loose—likely with its owner in it.
Had he really carried her all the way here? Heaven help her, she’d probably drooled all over his T-shirt—that she couldn’t help notice clung to his muscles like a second skin. Julia pressed the cloth back to her cheeks, wondering if she couldn’t have embarrassed herself any more ignobly.
And just when had she turned into a walking disaster?
Oh, that’s right; it had all started when she’d come face-to-chest with a man who turned women—divorcées in particular—into chicks. Except she apparently turned into a walking disaster whenever she got within ten feet of Mr. Magnet.
Julia dropped the cloth when he suddenly spoke from right beside her, having walked up as quietly as his cats. “I started the downstairs shower running and hung one of my shirts on the door for you. There’s a washer and dryer in the closet, so you might as well wash your clothes while you’re at it.”
For as much as she was . . . enjoying herself, that was definitely her cue to leave. “I’ll take a shower at my apartment.”
“Seeing the mess you made of my bed,” he said, his sky-blue eyes crinkling with his grin, “I prefer you clean up before getting in my truck.”
“I’ll come back and wash your truck and your sleeping bag,” she growled, pushing back the edge of the bag—effectively dislodging Big Cat with it—then sliding her legs from under Small Cat and slowly getting to her feet. “Better yet, make the guys who shot me wash them,” she muttered, forcing herself not to rub her backside as she walked on numb legs toward what looked like an outside door as five cats rushed to get there ahead of her—only to have Nicholas beat all of them.
“Are you always this stubborn, Julia?” he asked, folding his arms on his chest.
“Are you always this bossy, Nicholas?”
“Yes. A shower will soothe the sting, and you need to get some heat on your muscles soon. Because if you think a paintball hurts, wait until your legs cramp up.”
Well, the man probably did know something about preventing muscles from cramping, seeing as how he owned some pretty impressive ones. And honestly, she really just wanted to have herself a good cry, and a hot steamy shower was a pretty private place for something like that, wasn’t it? Because she was fairly certain that once she was all cried out, she’d be able to walk home without looking like a walking disaster.
Well, except for the bright red splat of paint on her butt.
* * *
Nicholas watched Julia silently turn away and walk through the kitchen and down the short hall, surprised she’d given in without a fight. He dropped his gaze to see his cats staring after her until the bathroom door closed, after which they stared up at him. “I agree,” he said softly. “The lady does look lovely in our new home.”
Nicholas went into the kitchen with a sigh of relief, pleased that Julia hadn’t wanted his men to get in trouble.
He opened the fridge and grinned at the notion that she truly wasn’t afraid of him, remembering how she’d boldly threatened to call him a liar if he told Olivia what had happened this morning. And she obviously liked his cats, inviting them to use her for a bed—including Sol, the heavy lug.
“Still, you better not make pests of yourselves to her,” he told the small herd gathered at his feet to also peer in the fridge. He took out the fixings for an omelet, then closed the door and looked down with a threatening glare. “And our deal also applies to Julia; I’d better not see any cat hair clinging to her, either.”
Bastet immediately gave one of her soft chirps of agreement, Ajax stared up at him blankly, Eos tilted her head and blinked her round orange eyes, and Snowball rubbed up against his leg. Solomon, apparently not the least bit impressed by the threat, merely walked down the hall and sat facing the bathroom door.
Nicholas placed everything on the counter and went to work making Julia a large, nutritious omelet, deciding his pursuit was finally moving in the right direction. Despite its rocky beginning, he felt this morning had actually turned out well, as they appeared to have had a lovely conversation about . . .
Not about much of anything, he decided with a frown. Well, except for their short discussion about his hiring her brother, a little longer talk about not telling Olivia what had happened, and Julia apparently not being impressed that his house was hanging off a cliff. They’d discussed that amazing feat of engineering, hadn’t they?
Nicholas set the large pan on the induction burner to start heating up. No, he guessed they hadn’t had a conversation after all, as he didn’t know any more about Julia than he had before. Well, except that she liked his cats—especially Sol—he thought with a grin as he broke eggs into a bowl.
But then Nicholas frowned as he pulled a fork out of a drawer, wondering why Julia had answered his invitation to go looking for pinecones across the fiord with a note of her own politely declining. Not asking her in person had been Rana’s idea, who had explained that, instead of putting a woman on the spot, giving her a chance to think about a fun day of boating and walking in the woods usually ended with an invitation being accepted.
The Heart of a Hero Page 11