by J. R. Ward
The pills.
How could Carter have forgotten the pills?
On her last visit home before her mother’s death, Carter had gone into the master bath, looking for something to calm her stomach. Opening the medicine cabinet, she’d stared in shock at the vials of prescription pills that lined the shelves, precisely arranged so that the labels faced outward. The names of the medications were alphabetized. One by one, she’d read the little black print on the bottles until her back hurt from leaning forward for so long. From codeine to Valium, they represented efforts to control anxiety and were a testament to the turmoil her mother struggled with. Instead of relief, however, they appeared only to have created a rousing chemical dependency.
An image of her mother in death’s cold hands blinded Carter. She saw beautiful skin, pale and flawless from years spent inside. Those stunning features, unmarred by time’s passage. The long brunette hair, lying against the hospital bed’s coarse white pillow.
She’d known bitter anger at that moment and, in the hours that followed, the emotion congealed into hatred for her father. As soon as he had arrived, she had hurled terrible words at him and he’d taken the onslaught with a silence that had enraged her further. When she’d stormed off, she’d taken his lack of response as confirmation of his heartlessness.
She contrasted his blank face then with the aching pain she’d seen earlier in the day, and she was struck by the difference. Had he changed in the intervening years? Or was he only now showing her what he was feeling?
Carter’s eyes drifted to the trail that led down the mountain. She thought of Nick and a stinging pain lanced through her chest. An image of him as they’d pulled up to his house the previous day came to mind. It had been just before her father had come out of the house. Nick had turned to her and smiled, his eyes warm and contented.
She realized that she missed him and pushed the feeling aside. What she missed, she told herself, was an illusion. Nothing more.
With a light touch, the first drop of rain fell on her hand and, when she looked up, others hit her cheeks. Getting off the rock, she took a last glance down at the lake and thought that tragedies were a lot like storms. They blew through people’s lives and sometimes, if they were bad enough, nothing ever looked the same again.
A gust of wind pushed at her and she turned away.
But things grew back, didn’t they? she mused. There was always some kind of healing.
By the time she got back to camp, the rain had stepped up its tempo and, after rechecking the tents and tarps, she went into hers and zipped up the flaps. Outside her shelter, the wind began to rage, and the thin nylon keeping her dry trembled in the gusts. She took off her wet fleece and lay down on her cot, feeling tired but restless. There was nothing to do except wait the storm out, and she was wondering whether she could get some sleep when she heard the first crack of lightning.
It hit somewhere close by. She knew because she heard the thunder immediately and could smell the sting of the hit in the air. The first fingers of fear tickled her spine.
The bolt had hit somewhere very close by.
Lightning flared again, turning the dark green of the tent into neon lime, and another snap and roll of thunder drowned out the sound of the rain. Great gusts of wind pushed against the mountain. Suddenly, with a mighty crack, she heard a whole tree fall.
It hit the ground right beside her tent.
Carter leapt off the cot, shaking from fright at the near miss, and put on her Windbreaker. As soon as she got outside, the hood she’d pulled up was ripped from her head by the wind. Rain, cold and invasive, trickled down her neck as she surveyed the damage. A massive pine had been struck by lightning, and the impact had cracked the trunk in half. The magnificent tree was lying on its side.
Its resting place: Papercut Central.
Carter groaned.
Fighting her way through the wind, she hoped the newest skeleton hadn’t been crushed. Her next worry was that the tarp, which had insulated the work area from the elements, could be a real danger. The heavy cloth, with its metal rings, was flapping around violently. Catching an edge without getting injured took several tries, but she managed to tie the loose end to the doomed tree. With it secured, she went searching through the damage.
When she found the skeleton’s container, she was partially relieved. It was dented badly but not crushed. Unfortunately, the seal had been broken and water was already beginning to get inside. Reaching between the branches, with rain dripping into her eyes, she grabbed one of the handles and pulled hard, but the container didn’t move. Trying again, she threw her whole weight into the effort but got nowhere.
Another lightning strike brought Carter’s head up in alarm. She thought for a moment about retreating back to her tent but the flimsy shelter offered only dryness, not any real protection. Anyway, the idea of sitting inside the nylon bubble while the world raged around her seemed more terrifying than being out in the storm. At least outside, she could see what was happening.
And she also had to keep the skeleton from drowning, she thought with gallows humor.
Heading over to the mess tent, she rifled through the supplies until she found a handsaw. Back at the tree, she put the blade against the smooth bark and pumped her arm until the branch she was working on fell even closer to the earth. She stretched her back and went to work on another one that was blocking the way.
Carter was drawing back the blade when the saw slipped and streaked across her left hand, which she’d been using to leverage her strength. Pulling back with a curse, she let the tool fall to the ground as she cradled the wound close to her chest.
It didn’t so much hurt as it burned and, at first, she thought she’d gotten away with a minor scratch. Then she noticed a dark trail snaking its way into her sleeve and knew she’d done more serious damage. Abandoning the skeleton project temporarily, she retrieved the first-aid kit from the mess area and returned to her tent.
What she saw in the dim light of her gas lamp made her stomach sink. The cut was deep and long, running through the valley between her thumb and forefinger. Tentatively, she wiggled the fingers and was relieved to find there didn’t appear to be any tendon damage. Still, it seemed far more serious than what a Band-Aid could handle.
Picking up some bottled water, she leaned out of the tent to clean the wound and then doused the gaping cut with hydrogen peroxide, swearing as it stung. As soon as she wrapped her hand, she found a ski mitten to keep the bandages dry and went back out for the skeleton.
This time working with the saw was harder. Without a counterforce to pull and push against, the job was next to impossible, but she persevered until the limb was severed. She was bending down to try to pull out the container when she heard a new noise cut through the wind and rain. Busy with her work, she ignored the sound and continued struggling to free the skeleton from its trap.
When a hand grabbed her arm from behind, she screamed.
17
“WHAT THE hell are you doing!” Nick yelled over the din of the storm. As lightning sliced through the sky, she saw his face was tight with rage.
Carter was momentarily stunned that he’d come all the way up the mountain in the lashing rain and wind. And then the hurt and anger returned.
“Let go of me!” She wrenched her arm free.
“We’re getting off this mountain—now!”
“I’m not going anywhere with you!” she hollered back.
She reached down for the container but he grabbed her arm again, his eyes focusing on the ski mitten. To distract him, she gave him an order. “Can you pull this out?”
“What?” he shouted.
She pointed at the container. “Pull! It needs to go under cover.”
Scowling, he wrenched the skeleton’s case free and gave her a pointed look.
Carter glowered but started walking. When they got to her tent, she held back the flap as he stepped in. She hesitated before following him, trying to think of the fastest way t
o get him off the mountain. She peered inside and saw a determined look on his face.
This was going to be a long argument, she thought.
As soon as she stepped out of the rain and started zipping up the flap, he began shouting again.
“Don’t bother closing this thing up! We’re not staying!”
“You mean, you’re not staying!” She shrugged off her coat.
“Do you want to get killed up here?”
“I’m just fine,” she yelled. “And I sure don’t need you to try and take care of me.”
Her defiant answer seemed to infuriate him even more. His jaw muscles clenched. “You know that tree over there? The one lying on the ground? That could have landed on you!”
“Well, it didn’t. Now, leave me the hell alone!”
“You’re coming with me!”
“No, I’m not!” She didn’t care if she was in the path of a tornado.
“Yes, you are!”
Carter crossed her arms and stuck out her chin. “What are you going to do, carry me down? Because that’s the only way I’m going anywhere with you.”
Nick seemed ready to launch another offensive when he suddenly calmed down.
“What did you do to your hand?” He was looking back and forth between the open medical box and the ski mitten.
“It’s nothing.” She put her arm behind her back.
“Let me see it.”
“No.” Carter took a step away before remembering there was nowhere to go.
Nick reached forward, clamping a hold on her free arm.
“Stop manhandling me.” She yanked back hard. His grip was like iron.
“If there’s nothing wrong, then show me,” he said darkly.
She wanted to fight him off but she was beginning to worry about the cut herself. It had started to throb badly. She also had the sense she was fighting a losing battle. His face held the kind of determination that had no doubt crushed any opposition he’d ever faced.
When she reluctantly removed the glove, she saw that a red spot had come through the bandage.
Nick’s eyes became grim. “What happened?”
“I cut it with the saw,” she admitted.
“How badly?”
“Not bad.”
“Then why is it still bleeding?” She didn’t have a good answer for that one. “Let me see it.”
Gingerly, she removed the bandages. When the wound was exposed, more lightning flooded the sky. As the flash of light hit his face, she saw real concern mixed in with his frustration.
“We need to get you to a doctor.”
“I don’t want your opinion,” she countered, desperate to push him away. His anger she could handle but his concern threatened to overwhelm her.
“Carter, let me help you.”
“No, thanks.” She began wrapping the bandages back up. “Knowing my luck with you, they’d end up amputating the whole damn arm if you’re involved. Now, if you’ll just get out of my way, I can start rescuing all of the things getting soaked out there.”
“You’re behaving like a child.”
“So maybe you should just teach me a lesson and make me fend for myself. How’s that sound?”
Nick swore loudly. “Why can’t you let me take care of you?”
Eyes clashing with his, she could barely speak through her clenched teeth. “There is nothing wrong with protecting yourself from people who hurt you. Sensible folks would see that as a sign of healthy self-preservation.”
“You’ve got all the answers, haven’t you?” he said bitterly. “You know just what everyone is thinking and feeling and all of their motivations.”
“No, I just know a bastard when I see one.”
Nick stared at her for a long time and she waited for him to toss some scathing comment back.
Instead, he just calmly opened the flap and left without a word. As he zipped her in, she felt something surprisingly close to contrition.
Which was nuts.
How dared he make her feel guilty? she thought, starting to pace in the cramped space. He was the one who’d hurt her, not the other way around. The man had no right to make her feel like he was in some way injured.
She went back and forth a couple more times.
Cursing a blue streak, she wrenched open the flap, intent on catching up to him on the trail and telling him how unfair it was for him—
Carter halted as soon as she stepped outside.
In the midst of the storm’s fury, Nick was in the middle of Papercut Central, hip deep in the debris, picking up her printer. When he turned and saw her, he showed no surprise. He marched by without a word and went over to Buddy’s tent. He came out empty-handed and went back to the fallen tree.
Carter’s righteous anger disappeared. His hair was plastered against his skull, he must have been soaking wet under his thin Windbreaker, and yet he just continued working.
As he returned to the ruins, she stepped in to help him. Her hand rendered her all but useless so she acted as a scout, searching out things that needed rescuing, which he would then remove to safety.
When the work was done, Carter didn’t know how to thank him, wasn’t sure what to do next.
Their eyes met through the sheets of rain and rushing wind.
When there was another crack of lightning close by, he grabbed her arm and they hustled into her tent.
Once they were inside, she forced herself to look him in the eye and say, “Thank you.”
He nodded. There was an awkward silence as she waited for him to go.
“So I guess you’ll be leaving now?” She glanced meaningfully at the zippered flap.
“What gave you that idea?”
As she stared at him in disbelief, he started taking off his jacket and looking around for a place to sit.
Panic flared in her chest. She didn’t want to spend the rest of the night with him in her tent. Couldn’t possibly. “But I thought you were leaving…”
“That so?”
“But you were angry and…”
He shook some of the rain out of his hair. “I’m going nowhere. Unless you have in mind a drier, more reasonable place to spend the night? You could end our misery right now, just by agreeing to come down to the house with me.”
His eyes were utterly calm, with a vast reserve of determination behind them, and Carter lost the will to fight. Maybe it was simple exhaustion. Maybe it was the injury. Maybe she was just sick and tired of being on an emotional Tilt-A-Whirl.
“Okay,” she said in a low, resigned voice. “Suit yourself.”
As her teeth began to chatter from the cold, she knew she had to get rid of her wet layers of clothing. Moving cautiously, so as not to bump her hand or inadvertently touch him in the confined space, she took off her Windbreaker and her soggy fleece.
But that didn’t go far enough. Her jeans were soaked and her T-shirt was a transparent sheet against her body. She was trying to think of a solution that didn’t involve her changing in front of him when she noticed Nick had fallen still. She looked over at him and realized why.
His eyes, hot and piercing, were focused on her nipples, which were peaked and straining against the wet cotton of her shirt. When she caught what he was looking at, she flushed and turned away. Grabbing a dry sweatshirt, she was about to put it over her head when he spoke in a low and husky voice.
“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s just going to get soaked from your shirt.” He opened up the tent and the wind rushed in. “Holler when you’re done changing.”
After he disappeared, the hunger on his face lingered in her mind and she felt heat pool in her stomach. She was sorely tempted to pull him back inside and press her lips against his.
But that just wasn’t going to happen, she resolved. If she’d learned anything over the past twenty-four hours, it was that the cost of having him was too high.
Pushing aside memories of them making love, Carter began to strip while trying not to hurt her hand. When the T-shirt was off, she
shrugged on a dry one and reached for the top of her blue jeans.
Button fly.
Cursing, she tried to manipulate the fastenings but couldn’t make them work. Repeated attempts yielded no success and, aware that Nick was getting soaked, she finally gave up and called him back in.
“What’s the matter?” he said, looking at her wet pants.
“Nothing,” she muttered as she put on the sweatshirt.
“The last time you said that, you were hiding a bandaged hand.”
Her eyes flashed at him. “Why are you being so nosy?”
“Because you’re being so evasive.” He took off his jacket and began to unbutton his shirt.
“What are you doing?” Alarm sharpened her voice.
“Getting out of these clothes. I’m all for protecting your virtue but not at the expense of getting pneumonia.” He looked over at her as he peeled the shirt from his body.
Gritting her teeth, Carter tried to ignore him. She sat on the cot and examined her fingernails with determination. As she heard his shirt hit the floor in a wet flap, then the sound of his pants being peeled off his legs, she remembered every part of his body. The feel of his tight stomach, the way his legs were hard and strong. It seemed a cruel fate to still be so attracted to him.
“You got any man-sized clothes around here?”
Now, there was an idea. Getting him covered was really appealing.
She leapt up from the cot, not caring if she had to wrap him up in the damn sleeping bag.
Going over to the duffel bags, she pulled out the biggest T-shirt she had and an oversized Irish knit sweater. Tossing them blindly across the tent, she rummaged around until she found a pair of pink drawstring hospital scrubs that she used as pajama bottoms.
When it seemed safe to, she risked a glance and couldn’t help but laugh out loud. He looked ridiculous. The scrubs, which covered her feet when she wore them, ended in the middle of his calves. The shirt and sweater, both of which hung loosely on her, ended north of his belly button. He looked like a bad cross-dresser.