by Dani Harper
Fortunately, the connection the wolf had with Jillian had led him straight to her. James had caught her scent as he crested the hill, followed the wide swath of freshly broken brush leading down the ditch and into the creek. He spotted the truck when he was halfway down the slope, was relieved to see Jillian open the door. Then relief turned to horror as she stepped out into the water and slipped beneath it. He Changed as he leapt into the creek, splashed and skidded on his hands and knees in the dark icy water, while he felt around frantically for something, anything, he could grab.
With a start, James realized he was shaking almost as much as Jillian. He pulled her even closer, tucked her head under his chin and simply held on. Grateful he was sitting down, grateful to have her gathered in his lap and wrapped tight against him. Safe. He drew her scent into his lungs, again and again, each time holding it there, close to his heart. He listened to her breathing, listened to her heart beating, the rhythms of life, her life. He rubbed his cheek over her wet hair as powerful emotions shook him to the core. Dear God, he had been in time. He had been in time.
James radiated his Changeling body heat to warm her as much as he could. Finally, when their shaking had subsided and both of them were steadier, he relaxed his hold on her, but not before he brushed his lips over her brow, her head. The sudden taste and tang of blood jolted him, reminded him that Jillian might be alive but she needed more than affection to stay that way. “Keep this on, okay?” His jacket was wet but he wrapped it snugly around her just the same. At least it had some residual warmth in it, and it would keep the breeze off her until he found something drier. “I’ll be right back.”
He waded out to the truck. A check of the ignition revealed that the battery was dead. So was the radio. There was a cell phone on the floor but it was in pieces. James took a quick look around the cab for anything else useful, then made his way to the back of the truck. Here he had more luck. The canopy had kept the cargo dry, and he had no trouble finding matches and supplies, for which he blessed his brother’s name. There was no shortage of blankets and clothing either, the preparations of a vet who had made too many farm calls in bad weather.
There was dead willow along the bank and James worked fast to gather an armful and coax a fire into life. The flames gobbled the twigs and dried grass greedily, moved on to the larger bits of wood without a pause. He set a duffel bag on the ground beside Jillian and knelt to study her in the firelight. The orange glow should have lent color to her face but she was paper-white. Trickles of blood had emerged from her hairline, merged into a single rivulet that ran steadily down the side of her face. Her green eyes were wide, too wide, the pupils dilated even though she was looking straight at the flames. Not good, not good at all, he thought. “Take your clothes off.”
“What?” She looked startled.
James opened the bag and rifled through it. “You’ve got to get out of those wet things right now.”
“What for? Why can’t you just take me home?”
“I don’t have a vehicle with me, Jillian.” Please, God, don’t let her ask any questions. I can’t exactly say I ran here. He rushed on before she could say anything. “Your truck is out of commission, and we’re a hell of a long way from town. The radio’s out. I don’t have a cell phone, and yours is broken. We could be here a while, so you need to be warm and dry. Step one is to take off those wet clothes.”
As she opened her mouth to protest, James simply picked her up and placed her on her feet. Steadied her. “You don’t get a choice here, Jillian. You’re not thinking straight. Hypothermia is dangerous, and I’m betting you’ve got a concussion as well.”
He had removed his jacket from her shoulders, taken off her jacket and was starting on her shirt when her temper flared and she backed up a step, fists clenched.
“Don’t touch me.” Jillian flung the words at him like stones. “Just don’t. I don’t know what kind of privileges you think you have, but undressing me isn’t one of them.”
That momentary flicker in her eyes, anger mixed with something very like humiliation, cut him to the core. Guilt roughened his voice. “This isn’t the time, Jillian. You want to go a few rounds with me, fine, you can have all the free swings you want later. Right now we need to take care of you.”
“I can take care of myself just fine, thank you.”
He didn’t want to fight with her. He raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture, praying he wasn’t making a mistake. “Suit yourself. But if you’re not peeled out of those soggy clothes in five minutes, I’ll do it whether you want me to or not.” He meant it. Her eyes flashed but her anger was a bonus—it would keep her adrenaline up, and God knew she needed it. “You’ve almost died once tonight, doc, and I’m not about to let you try for twice.” He yanked out a big flannel shirt, some jeans, and a wool blanket, and placed them on top of the bag for her. He pulled out an outfit for himself and stalked to the other side of the fire, keeping his back turned to give her some privacy. Besides, if he didn’t look at her, maybe he could concentrate. He had to keep trying to contact Connor or some other member of the Pack. It was a long shot, literally, to succeed at mind speech over such a distance. But there was little traffic on this road, even less at this time of night, and it was miles to the nearest farm to get help. True, he could Change again and cover the distance on four feet, but he would have to leave Jillian alone—and that he didn’t dare do.
Suddenly he felt a connection. It was odd—as if his mental call were a fish and someone was reeling it in. That someone couldn’t be a Changeling, the energy was different. Birkie!
Chapter Twenty-four
Jillian kept an eye on James. At first it was to guard the privacy she’d insisted on, but unexpectedly she found herself staring. The campfire glow highlighted his powerful build, the angles of his face. Even naked, he looked like a warrior, and it annoyed her that she found that so appealing, that it played on some sensitive primal nerve within her. That she flat-out wanted him. . . .
She forced herself to look away then. How could she still want James Macleod after he’d slept with her, then ditched her? It’s just a physical thing, she told herself sternly, a knee-jerk reaction she had no control over. But who knew the desire would be so strong? And worse, that her heart would be tangled up in it as well? Because here it was three weeks later, and she was still missing him. They hadn’t even dated, didn’t even have a relationship to speak of, and yet she missed him constantly. And just as constantly she told herself that it was silly infatuation, that she needed to get out more, she needed to meet more people, she needed a hobby, she needed to date more. She watched James zipping up his jeans on the other side of the fire and wished she had the nerve to walk over and unzip them. Her core clenched hard. See, she told herself. Just plain old physical attraction. So why did her heart feel like it had a hole in it?
“I must have hit my head,” she muttered under her breath. After all, her head did hurt an awful lot. So did everything else, for that matter. Jillian’s stomach muscles were sore inside and out from retching up water, and her ribs felt bruised from trying to expel the fluid from her lungs. There was a bright fiery pain starting to make itself known in her arm, her hands. James had said she was under the truck. That was ridiculous. She didn’t remember getting out of the truck. And where did all the water come from? There were headlights, lots of lights, blinding her . . . but she found she could remember nothing else.
She forgot all about James then too. Her hands were numb and sore at the same time—which she couldn’t understand—and her body was cold and awkward. Except her arm, which was on fire. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably as she fought with wet fabric. She cursed the buttons as they defied her efforts. Her anger gave way to frustration, and then nearly to tears. She couldn’t think, she was so damned tired, and her fingers would not obey her. Jillian was only mildly surprised when her legs suddenly gave out. Barely noticed when strong arms caught her before she hit the ground.
“I think I must have s
lipped,” she murmured. Something was fluttering at her cheek, patting it lightly. She tried to brush it away but her arm hurt.
“Come on, doc, I know you’re tired but you need to stay awake for a while. Wake up for me, Jillian.”
“Quit it. Go away,” she moaned and turned her head away, but a large hand cupped her cheek.
“Jillian! Wake up now.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Her voice was raspy. She tried to sit up and a tight groan of pain escaped her.
“Easy there, doc. You passed out. My fault. I didn’t realize how bad you were hurt.” Gently James helped her into a more upright position. “Just take it easy for a few minutes, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” She was too tired and sore to argue, too confused to think. It all took energy, and she didn’t seem to have any. Jillian let herself lean back against him, was surprised that his body heat seemed to be flowing right into her. There was a fire at her feet, but there was almost as much warmth radiating from James. In spite of all the pains that were competing for her attention, she felt almost cozy in this big Viking’s lap.
Those warm and cozy feelings were short-lived as the Viking proceeded to inspect her scalp. “Ow, dammit!”
“Got a couple of cuts here that might need stitches. You’re bleeding quite a bit, but head wounds always do. My younger brother Devlin cut his head open when we were little and I thought he was going to die, there was so much blood everywhere. Scared me. But two stitches were all it needed. He turned around and walloped me with a stick not twenty minutes later so I needed three stitches myself. Luckily Mom was pretty good at it.”
“You are not going to stitch—” Jillian fought with the blanket to get an arm free. Although her temper lent her a few drops of adrenaline, the blanket nearly won. She was surprised to find her right arm bandaged and splinted from palm to elbow, surprised too to find her hands battered and bleeding, knuckles and nails fairly singing with pain. Was even more startled to find she was naked under the blanket. “Where the hell are my clothes, you goddamn pervert? I’m sure I told you not to touch me.”
“You certainly did, so I guess your short-term memory’s intact. Saves me from having to ask you what day it is and all that shit. Maybe the concussion isn’t too bad.”
“I don’t have a concussion. And I want my clothes back, right now.” She wrenched her head away from his probing fingers. “You’re not stitching anything.”
“Settle down before you hurt yourself more. I wouldn’t think of taking a needle and thread to you, doc. Connor’s got plenty of adhesive closures in the first-aid kit.”
She struggled anyway. “I don’t care. Just let go of me. I want my clothes and I want you to leave me alone.” She’d made it out of his lap, trying to clutch the blanket around her with her battered fingers and stand up at the same time. If only she wasn’t so damn dizzy. Suddenly James was in front of her, his powerful hands on her shoulders. Jillian’s temper flared, thinking he was trying to restrain her. Then a glimmer of sense kicked in, and she realized he was actually holding her up.
“Easy there, doc. You almost passed out again.”
“I did not.” She said it without heat however. She didn’t have the energy left to argue and breathe at the same time.
“Jesus Murphy, woman,” he muttered and steadied her as she sat heavily on the ground. James grabbed a corner of the blanket and tucked it more firmly around her. He sat back on his heels and waited until she glared up at him. “Look, Jillian, help’s coming, but it’s going to take a while for it to get here. I know I’m not your first choice of rescuer right now, but you’re stuck with me. You’re mad as hell, and you’ve got damn good reason to be, but now isn’t the time to fight about it. You’re injured.”
“I’m fine.”
“That so? Guess I splinted your wrist for nothing then. And what about this?” He pressed his finger on her left collarbone, and she yelped in spite of herself.
“That hurt, you bastard.”
“It ought to. You’re purple from chin to shoulder on that side. I’d be surprised if it’s not broken too. You get into a fight with someone?”
“No, why—ow!” She tried to swat his hand away from where he was carefully poking at her cheekbone.
“I’m certain your face was a different shape when I last saw you. I’d say there’s some swelling going on here. Definitely a lot of bruising.”
“Goddamn air bag went off in the truck,” she muttered, wishing he’d stop staring at her.
His eyebrows shot up. “The air bag did that? I thought they were supposed to protect people, not beat them up.” James reached for the top of her head then, and she flinched before he’d even made contact. He withdrew his hand without touching her. “Okay, enough with the show and tell. I was just going to point out that your head’s cut in at least two different places, possibly three. Worse than that, I have to say I don’t like the way you’re coherent one minute and confused the next. You’re a doctor for God’s sake. You know you’re injured. At the very least we need to stop the bleeding. Now will you please let me help you?”
She frowned. Wavered. “What about my clothes?”
“I’ll get you some clothes, doc, I promise. Truce?”
She nodded and the sudden movement made her head throb viciously. She could see the sense in what James had said—a hot trickle down the side of her face told her she was bleeding—but she dared not let any truce continue for one minute longer than necessary. She needed to be mad, needed her anger. Various parts of her body throbbed with pain—but it was nothing compared to the growing pain in her heart. She couldn’t explain to James that to be so close to him, able to see him and feel him and touch him, was turning into slow torture. She wouldn’t tell him how much he had hurt her, what a disappointment it was to know that he didn’t want her.
“I’m going to put some butterfly closures on these cuts, just to stop the bleeding until we can turn you over to a professional. Okay?”
“Okay. Don’t forget my clothes.”
“I won’t forget.” James knelt beside her and began gently blotting the cuts on her head with gauze. “These are bleeding pretty freely, but there’s a lot of gunk in your hair.”
“Gunk? Is that a technical term?”
“Debris. Flotsam. Leaves and mud plus God only knows what kind of bacteria live in that creek. There’s a lot of runoff right now from rain in the hills, and that means the water is full of all kinds of garbage from upstream. You don’t need some damn infection on top of everything else, so I’d like to use some peroxide here. Okay with you?”
“Hey, I’m already a blonde so it can’t hurt.” Tilting her head back made her horribly dizzy, and Jillian was grateful for the steady supporting hand that cupped the back of her neck. She stifled a groan as the cold stinging liquid fizzed on her scalp.
James continued to work on the area until he was satisfied the adhesive closures would stick. Once he’d patched up her scalp, he turned his attention to her hands. She held them out in front of her, prepared to be stoic again. But a loud yelp escaped her when he poured the peroxide over her cuts and scrapes.
“Sorry, doc.”
“My head didn’t hurt like this,” she hissed through gritted teeth. Her hands trembled as the fiery liquid bubbled and foamed, but she kept them outstretched so James could work on them.
“Your head just had a couple of cuts. It wasn’t scraped all to hell.” His touch was light as he bandaged the worst of the damage. He paid particular attention to carefully wrapping the ends of her fingers that had split nails. “We don’t want you to snag these on anything or they’re going to hurt a lot more.”
“I don’t understand what happened to my hands. I don’t remember them being in this condition.” She’d always kept her nails trimmed as short as possible. How could they possibly have gotten so horribly broken?
James finished another fingertip, started wrapping the next. “I imagine you did this on the underside of the truck.”
> “The truck? I—omigod.” For a horrifying moment she was under the water again, struggling in the icy darkness with the unyielding thing that held her under. Terrified as she tried to claw her way through it—
“Stay with me, doc.”
“What?” The nightmare dissolved, and she was sitting on the ground, dry ground. There was a fire at her back and a Viking was putting things into a first-aid box. The box looked ridiculously tiny next to his big hands, but his movements were competent and sure. Then the Viking looked at her with blue, blue eyes. He frowned and gripped her chin with his fingers, forcing her to pay attention.
“Jillian, you’re scaring the hell out of me. Breathe.”
Startled, she complied. Breathed in and out several times until her head cleared. And relaxed a little as she surveyed her wrist, her fingers. Although she was a medical professional, Jillian hated being doctored herself. But she had to admit, grudgingly, that this man was pretty good at it. “I’m surprised you’re not a veterinarian like Connor,” she blurted at last.
“Me? Too much of a farmer at heart. I’d rather raise animals than patch them up all day long. But you end up having to learn some of this stuff because a vet’s not always handy. Neither is a doctor.”
“Well, thanks for patching me up. And I guess I should thank you for not letting me drown.”
“I’m just glad I was in time.”
He got up, rather abruptly she thought, and checked the fire. As if he suddenly didn’t want to look at her. Jillian felt her face heat and pain stabbed her heart again. She sighed and tried to change the subject. “How did you get all the way out here, anyway? You said you didn’t have a car.”
James didn’t answer. Just as she decided to repeat the question, he knelt by the duffle bag and started rifling through it. “I promised you some clothes, doc. Let’s see what we can do.”