“Ornery but colorful,” he said.
“Shut up.” She grabbed two relatively clean socks, wrapping one around each hand to pad her palms. She thought about scraping together what was left of her clothes, but shrugged the idea aside. She’d do that after the rain stopped. “You’re on your own getting to the trees.” She scooted backward, keeping her attention focused over her shoulder.
No vulnerable lump, she. T.J. smiled, recalling her reaction to that description. He definitely stood corrected. Or would if standing was an option at the moment.
“You gonna lie there all day in the rain, Delahaye?”
T.J. chuckled and tested his shoulder. He’d wrenched it pretty good, but it was nothing a little rest wouldn’t take care of. His knee was a different story. One advantage to his size was his heavy bone mass. He was a hard man to break, but he was also a fast healer. In his line of work, that quality came in handy. Of course, the numerous members of the medical community who had worked on him over the last month and a half would not be happy that he’d taken a header down a mountain.
He turned toward Jenna, who was now leaning back against the biggest tree trunk in the stand. “Missing me already?” He focused on her responding scowl as he ungracefully crawled to her side. Once under the trees, he rolled to his back and attempted to relax each muscle.
After several moments she said, “You okay?”
“I’ve been better. About like you, I imagine.” He lifted his head. Her wet, dirty-sock-clad foot was directly in his line of vision. “Isn’t your foot cold?”
“I’m sure if I let myself think about it it will be.”
Ornery. “What the hell happened to your boot?”
“I took it off. My ankle was swollen. I intended to put it back on but—”
“We played leapfrog instead.” He tried to check out her ankle, but from his angle, he couldn’t see it. “I don’t suppose you put it in your bag, did you?”
She glared at him. “I don’t suppose I did.”
For some reason, her frown made him want to smile. He refused to give up on her. “Do you live out here somewhere?”
“Do you?”
He did smile this time, swallowing a groan as he shifted himself into an upright position. He leaned back against the tree and looked at her. Long strands of wet brown hair had been pulled from her braid and were wrapped across her neck and shoulders. A quick glance at her ankle proved the morning’s activities had taken a further toll. Given that his knee felt like someone was driving a hot poker through it, he knew she had to be feeling the same thing. Yet to look into her large brown doe eyes, he’d never know it. She was so serious—and so evasive.
Even wet, wounded, and wasted, his radar was fully functional. He considered it a blessing. It gave him something else to think about besides his own pain.
“You should probably elevate that ankle.” He shifted again so his thigh was near her foot.
“Don’t.”
He sighed. “It won’t hurt me,” he said, purposely misunderstanding her. “It’s my other leg that’s messed up.” He met her hard gaze. “Listen, I know we haven’t made a good team so far, but don’t let that stop you from doing what’s best for you.”
“What would be best for me is you leaving me alone.”
He didn’t so much as blink. “Either you move your ankle, or I will.”
Her gaze was unwavering, her foot unmoving.
He reached for her.
“Okay, okay. Don’t touch me.”
She carefully lifted her foot, then rested her calf on his thigh. The only signs that the movement had cost her were the tighter frown lines bracketing her mouth.
He looked back to her ankle. Her jeans covered the upper part, but he could still see that it had ballooned to easily twice its normal size. Even if she had her boot, she’d never get it on. “Did you twist it when you fell from the path?”
“Do you always ask so many questions?”
“Do you ever answer one?”
Now she sighed. “I hurt my ankle a while back. I pushed it a bit too hard today, and it gave out on me while I was circling that boulder. Happy?”
“Happy? No. Dry clothes, a nice hot breakfast, a ride to the airport, that would make me happy.”
“Airport? You have a flight scheduled for today?”
“Had.” Funny, he thought. It wasn’t until he’d mentioned it that he realized he really wasn’t sorry he’d missed it. He didn’t want Scottie and the rest of the Dirty Dozen team to worry, but other than that, he didn’t seem to care a whole lot.
“Well, if you had someplace to go, why in the hell didn’t you go back and send help when I asked you? You could have made your flight, and I’d be off this mountain by now. Don’t you have any common sense?”
“I’ve always thought I had a fair share. Until I ran into you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Very bad pun.”
“I hadn’t intended to do more than watch one last sunrise this morning. I was on my way back, in fact, when I found your bra.” He smiled at her scowl. He was beginning to like it. At least it was a more interesting reaction than anger. Or fear. “Anyway, maybe I wasn’t in as much of a hurry to get back as I thought.” He didn’t mention his internal radar. He doubted she’d be impressed. “I decided to follow your trail. But you didn’t leave any more lingerie crumbs, and it was getting late, so I’d decided to turn back. That’s when I heard you scream.” He shifted against the trunk and the ache in his shoulder began to ease. “Believe it or not, I’m trained to know better. But I couldn’t leave you on the side of the mountain to face this storm alone.”
Emotion flashed through her eyes, but before he could tag it, it was gone. “You’re trained? No backpack, no supplies, no rope? What are you trained to do?”
T.J. shifted to face her. “I rescue people.” It was worth the dagger of pain. She laughed.
FOUR
Jenna’s laughter died quickly. “You really do think you’re Paul Bunyan.” It was obviously not the first time someone had made the comparison. She, of all people, should have been more sensitive to that. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.”
“Not a problem. There’s worse things than being compared to a legendary hero.”
Jenna didn’t know what else to say. He was staring up at the trees. The rain had almost stopped, only a scattering of droplets made it through the high branches. He wasn’t angry, but he wasn’t smiling either. Something was wrong. Until now the man’s face had been grooved in a permanent grin.
She told herself to be thankful for the quiet, to be thankful that he’d stopped questioning her. She didn’t want to talk about herself. She had an even harder time admitting to need. She’d had months of it, and right now she wanted only to need herself. But despite his annoying good-spiritedness, she didn’t want him to shut her out.
“You said you hadn’t been back to Oregon in twenty years. That’s a long time.” She waited a beat, but he didn’t look surprised at her first foray into polite conversation. In fact, he didn’t look at her at all. “What brought you back?”
He didn’t answer. She’d begun to think he was paying her back for her own refusal to talk, when he said, “I got injured and I had to pick a place to rehab when I got out of the hospital.” He paused a moment, long enough for her to admit to herself that she really wanted to know the rest.
“I work out of Colorado,” he said. “Oregon was on the list of available rehab locations, so I figured, why not?”
“You were at Paradise Canyon?”
He looked over at her. “Yes. You know the place?”
She grimaced. “Inside and out.”
“Ah, another happy Canyon camper. What were you in for? The ankle?”
She looked down at the ground. How had they ended up talking about her again? “I don’t remember seeing you.”
“My ‘incarceration’ was brief, only a few weeks. It’s a big place. I guess we were on different schedules.”
�
�Apparently.” Steering the subject firmly back to him, she said, “So, you heading back to Colorado to rescue more people?”
“As soon as I complete this mission.” He grinned. It made his eyes twinkle. He really looked the quintessential gentle giant. But she hadn’t forgotten the steel in his black velvet voice when he’d bullied her into propping up her foot on his thigh. Her ankle did feel better. At least the pain had settled into a low, steady throb. She found her gaze wandering to his legs. His thigh was tree-trunk huge and just as hard. The rain had molded the denim to his legs, outlining wide, strong-looking calves. Her soggy sock-clad ankle looked almost delicate in comparison.
The very idea made her smile.
“Hey, don’t count me out yet,” he said, misunderstanding. “I may look down—” She arched her brow. His grin widened. “Okay, so I am down, but I’m very resourceful.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll take my chances and rely on myself.” He didn’t say anything, but his smile faded as he continued to study her. Hers faded too, but she didn’t look away.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you.”
“We’re even, then.” Here it comes, she thought. The inevitable my-you’re-so-strong-you’re-so-big-you’re-so … so Amazon. She’d lost track of how many times she’d suffered through these “Jenna the Giant” conversations. It had been a long while since she’d let them get to her. She was surprised at how disappointed she felt. Maybe because he was larger than life, too, she thought he’d be different.
“Look at it this way,” she said, her tone more defensive than she’d intended. “At least I won’t ever ask you to get something off the top shelf for me.”
His laugh surprised her. “I wasn’t talking about your height, short stuff. I can’t say for sure since we’ve spent most of our limited acquaintance lying down, but judging from our earlier position in the ravine, I’d say I’ve got a good half foot on you.”
Jenna swallowed hard. She remembered exactly what he’d felt like beneath her—hard, powerful, and big. She flashed to the thought of what it would be like to lie beneath him, to feel his body pin hers down, to feel his strong arms move around her, to nuzzle her face in that too-broad-to-be-real chest.
Heat from a long-ignored source flickered to life deep inside her. It felt too good, and she was too cold and wet and miserable to snuff it out.
It wasn’t until she reached his smiling face and twinkling eyes that she realized she’d been visually cataloging his entire body—and with a look that no doubt said she was ready to place her order.
This time the rush of heat centered in her cheeks. Every man who had ever caught her attention had always come up short—literally. Sometimes she tried to ignore it, but most times it was impossible to get past the mental stumbling block.
It occurred to her that this time, for the first time, that wasn’t the case.
Rallying back, she said, “Short stuff?”
“Hey, don’t take it too hard. You can’t always be queen of the mountain.”
His comment was so ironic and unexpected, Jenna laughed. “I never strived to be queen of anything. As for mountains, I’d say this one conquered us, not the other way around.” She stared at him for a moment. “You really have a warped view.”
“Must be all the thin air I breathe.”
She chuckled even as she shook her head. “I never thought I’d actually laugh at dumb tall jokes.” She looked up to the sky. “Jenna King, you’ve finally hit bottom.”
“No, we did that about a half hour ago.”
It was his straight face that set her off. “Enough,” she finally said, pressing her sides as she continued to laugh.
She leaned back against the tree when he laid his head on the ground. She was wet, hurt, stranded, with little hope of rescue. So why was she almost enjoying herself? She frowned.
“I don’t buy it,” he said.
Startled, she looked at him. Realizing he couldn’t have read her mind, she asked, “Don’t buy what?”
“That you have no royal aspirations.”
“What are you talking about?” Maybe he really had hit his head. Then it sank in. “Oh, being queen you mean.” She snorted. “Trust me, my goal in life has never been to be the center of attention. At six-two it isn’t easy to blend in, but I’ve done a damn good job of it.”
He looked at her. “You? Blend in? I don’t think so. And before you get all defensive on me, I’m not talking about your height. I wasn’t before either. When I said I’d never met anyone like you, I was referring to character, not physical attributes.” He glanced down at himself. “I’d be the last person to comment on size.”
Knowing she shouldn’t but too curious not to, she asked, “What’s so unique about my character?”
“You’re probably the most stubborn, determined person I’ve ever met. And if you knew the crew I work with, you’d realize that’s really saying something.”
“I’d rather not know what,” she said dryly.
“I meant that as a compliment.”
“Compliment? Gee, stop now, you’ll swell my head. And I’m swollen enough, thank you.”
He chuckled, then winced. She straightened and started to shift her ankle off of him, but he lifted a hand. “No, don’t move it.”
Her response was automatic. “How badly are you hurt? You banged yourself up pretty good. Did you check for cuts?”
“I don’t feel anything warm or sticky. I think the cold and the rain has closed whatever scrapes I do have.”
“You should let me take a look. I’m not a nurse, but I am trained to—” Jenna froze. Her automatic reaction was far from reassuring. What was she doing?
Caring.
No. Uh-uh. She couldn’t afford to care. Not even superficially. That was the only sure way she knew of to avoid ever again having to face the consequences. One lesson life—or more to the point, death—had taught her was that there were always consequences to caring. And they were always negative.
She quickly recovered. “It wouldn’t do any good. There isn’t anything to clean them out with anyway.”
“You’re trained to what, Jenna? What do you do that’s not being a nurse?” His tone was casual. His expression was anything but.
She told herself to remember that. He might be big and friendly, but he was no overgrown puppy dog. So what was he? How had he gotten injured? What crew did he work for? She tamped down her curiosity. Curiosity led to questions, questions led to sharing, sharing led to friendship, and friendship meant caring. And she knew somewhere deep down in a resolutely unexplored part of her soul that she could care about this man.
“I don’t do anything,” she said, proud of the steel thread she’d managed to keep in her voice.
He didn’t even pause. “Sure you do. For one thing, you hike.”
Was he making small talk? She didn’t think so. For an affable sort, he had a remarkable ability to focus. And right now he was intently focused on her. “I obviously don’t hike well.”
“On the contrary, I’d bet you have quite a bit of experience.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she forced a smile, though it was a dry one. “What gave me away? My high-tech backpack or my rappelling capabilities?” Too late she realized she’d handed him an even more dangerous topic.
“Actually I was referring to the way you handled the situation. You didn’t panic. You maneuvered up that rocky ravine with a bum ankle without so much as a groan.”
Jenna sighed inwardly in relief. He’d overlooked the backpack. “I didn’t see where I had a choice. Trust me, on the inside I was swearing like a sailor. Some people appear calmer in certain situations. Like you. You even joked about it.”
“Some people use humor to deflect fear,” he responded.
The glint in his eye and the reappearance of his dimples told her he was teasing. “Oh yeah, I’m sure you were terrified.”
The glint hardened a bit. “Size and fear aren’t always mutually exclusive.”
“Must hurt your ankle like hell,” he shot back.
She fell silent, confused by the nuances of his personality that she hadn’t anticipated. The emotions he unleashed in her confused her even more, emotions she’d just as soon keep buried. Deeply buried.
“You ever been afraid, Jenna? I mean truly terrified?”
His question took her off guard. Without warning, horrific images invaded her mind. In a wave of heat and color, a voracious wall of fire roared toward her, consuming ground cover, trees—her crew. She squeezed her eyes shut, but it kept coming. She put her hands over her ears, but it did nothing to block out the incredible whooshing roar. Nor did it silence the screams of her men.
T.J. watched as what little color there was in her damp cheeks washed swiftly out, leaving her dangerously pale. “Jenna, I’m sorry. Jenna.” She’d closed her eyes and covered her ears. She didn’t hear him. “Jenna!”
Dear God, what had he made her recall? He’d had no way of knowing he’d trigger something horrific, but there was no doubt that he had. His knee argued against his moving, but he didn’t care. Careful not to dislodge her ankle from his thigh, he slid closer and touched her arm. His shoulder ached, but he ignored it. He couldn’t let her endure this agony alone one second longer.
He took hold of her forearm and gently tugged. “Jenna. Jenna, listen to me. Listen!” The sudden vehement order had the desired effect. Her head shot up and she stared at him, unseeing. He cupped her cheek and turned her head until her eyes were aimed right at his. “Look at me,” he directed in the same “do it now” tone of command. “Look at me.” Slowly her focus shifted outward. “You’re okay,” he said, his voice calmer but still laced with steel. “There is no danger here. You’re safe.” She finally looked at him, and what he saw in that unguarded moment broke his heart.
Something had terrorized her beyond the endurance of her defenses and continued to ravage her still. He already knew her to be a proud, strong woman. He didn’t want to imagine what it had taken to reduce her to this state.
Light My Fire: A Loveswept Classic Romance Page 4