by Sandra Brown
He brusquely threw the covers back. The fire shed meager light onto the bloody bandage. Expertly wielding the hunting knife, he cut through the knots he’d tied earlier and began unwinding the stained cloth. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it has every right to,” he said grimly as he gazed down at the wound. His expression wasn’t very encouraging.
While she held the flashlight for him, he soaked the gash with peroxide again and wrapped it in fresh bandaging. By the time he had finished, tears were stinging her eyes and her lips were blotchy from biting them, but she hadn’t cried out once. “Where’d you learn to bandage so well?”
“Nam.” His answer was curt, indicating that the subject was closed. “Here, take two more aspirin.” He passed her the bottle after shaking out two for himself. He hadn’t complained, but his head must have felt as though it were splitting in two. “And drink some more brandy. At least two swallows. I think that by morning, you’re going to need it.”
“Why?”
“Your leg. Tomorrow will probably be the worst day. After that, maybe it’ll start to get better.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
He said nothing; he didn’t have to.
With trembling hands, Rusty held the flask of brandy to her lips and took an occasional sip from it. Now that the dry kindling had caught, Cooper stacked more wood on the fire. But it wasn’t burning hot enough for him to take off his coat, which he surprised her by doing. He took off his boots, too, and told her to do the same. Then, making a bundle of the coats and boots, he stuffed them down between the furs.
“What’s that for?” Her feet were already getting cold. “If we sweat in our boots and it turns colder, we’ll get frostbite. Scoot over.”
She stared up at him apprehensively. “Huh?”
Sighing impatiently, he crawled in with her, forcing her to move over and allow him room beneath the pile of furs. Alarmed, Rusty exclaimed, “What are you doing?”
“Going to sleep. If you’ll shut up, that is.”
“Here?”
“Accommodations with separate beds were unavailable.”
“You can’t—”
“Relax, Miss... What was it again?”
“Carlson.”
“Yeah, Miss Carlson. Our combined body heat will help keep us warm.” He snuggled close to her and pulled the furs up over their heads, effectively cocooning them inside. “Turn on your side, away from me.”
“Go to hell.”
She could almost hear him mentally counting to ten. “Look, I don’t want to freeze. And I don’t look forward to digging another grave to bury you in, either, so just do as I say. Now.”
He must have been an officer in Vietnam, she thought petulantly as she rolled on to her side. He put his arm around her waist and drew her back against him, until they were lying together spoon fashion. She could scarcely breathe. “Is this really necessary?”
“Yes.”
“I won’t move away. There’s nowhere to go. You don’t have to keep your arm there.”
“You surprise me. I thought you’d like this.” He pressed against her stomach with the palm of his hand. “You’re a real looker. Don’t you expect men to get all hot and bothered when they’re around you?”
“Let go of me.”
“All that long hair, its unusual color.”
“Shut up!”
“You’re proud of your round little butt and perky tits, aren’t you? I’m sure most men find you irresistible. That copilot sure did. He was salivating after you like a Doberman over a bitch in heat, almost stumbling over his tongue.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He stroked her stomach. “Oh, yes, you do. You must have enjoyed stunning all those men on the plane into speechlessness when you climbed aboard with your fur collar pulled up, brushing against your flushed cheeks and sexy mouth.”
“Why are you doing this?” she sobbed.
He cursed and when he spoke again, his voice wasn’t lilting and teasing. It was weary. “So you’ll rest assured that I’m not going to take advantage of you during the night. Redheads have never been my preference. Besides, your body is still warm from your sugar daddy’s bed. All things considered, your virtue is safe with me.”
She sniffed back tears of humiliation. “You’re cruel and vulgar.”
He laughed. “Now you sound offended that I’m not tempted to rape you. Make up your mind. If you have a hankering for sex tonight, I can oblige you. My body isn’t as particular as my head. After all, it’s awfully dark in here. And you know what they say about cats in the dark. But personally, I prefer safer, more comfortable surroundings to screw in. So just go to sleep, will you?”
Rusty grit her teeth in outrage. She held her body rigid and put a barrier between them, if not physically, then mentally. She tried to ignore his body heat, which permeated her clothing, and his breath that drifted over her neck each time he exhaled, and the latent power in the thighs that conformed to the backs of hers. Gradually, and with the help of the brandy she’d drunk, she relaxed. Eventually she dozed.
It was her own moan that woke her up. Her leg was throbbing painfully.
“What is it?”
Cooper’s voice was gruff, but Rusty didn’t think it was because he’d been roused from a deep sleep. Intuitively she knew that he had been lying there awake. “Nothing.”
“Tell me. What’s the matter? Your leg?”
“Yes.”
“Is it bleeding again?”
“I don’t think so. It’s doesn’t feel wet. It just hurts.”
“Drink some more brandy.” He angled himself away from her and reached for the flask of brandy, which he’d brought into the fur cocoon with them.
“I’m already woozy.”
“Good. It’s working.” He poked her lips with the uncapped flask and tipped it forward. She either had to drink or drown.
The potent liquor burned a fiery path down her middle. At the very least, it took her mind off her painful wound for a few seconds. “Thanks.”
“Open your legs.”
“Pardon?”
“Open your legs.”
“How much brandy have you had, Mr. Landry?”
“Do it.”
“Why?”
“So I can get mine between them.”
Without giving her another chance to argue, he slid his hand between her thighs and raised her injured leg. He wedged his knees between hers, then gently lowered her right leg to rest on top of his. “There. Keeping it elevated will help relieve the pressure. It’ll also keep me from jostling it in the night.”
She was too flabbergasted to fall back to sleep immediately; too uncomfortably aware of his nearness. And there was something else keeping her awake: a nagging guilt.
“Cooper, did you know any of the other men?”
“Those on board the plane? No.”
“The men in the front two seats were brothers. While we were weighing our luggage, I heard them talking about getting their families together for Thanksgiving in a few weeks. They were going to show them the slides they’d taken this week.”
“Don’t think about it.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I can’t. I keep asking myself why I’m alive. Why was I allowed to live? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense,” he said bitterly. “That’s just the way it is. It was their time, that’s all. It’s over, forgotten.”
“Not forgotten.”
“Force it out of your mind.”
“Is that what you did?”
“Yes.”
She shuddered. “How can you be so unfeeling about another human life?”
“Practice.”
The word affected her like a hard slap on the cheek. It had been cruelly delivered to shut her up, and it did. But it didn’t stop her from thinking. She wondered how many of his buddies Cooper
had seen killed in Vietnam. Dozens? Scores? Hundreds? Still, she couldn’t imagine ever becoming inured to death.
She’d had practice dealing with it, but not to the extent that he apparently had. It wasn’t something she could block out, dismiss, by an act of will. When she thought about her losses, she still ached.
“My mother died of a stroke,” she told him quietly. “Her death was almost a relief. She would have been severely incapacitated. I had a week to prepare myself for it. But my brother’s death was sudden.” Cooper wouldn’t care to hear about any of this, but she wanted to talk about it.
“Brother?”
“Jeff. He was killed in a car wreck two years ago.”
“No other family?”
“Only my father.” She drew a gentle breath. “He was the man I was with at the lodge. The one I said goodbye to. Not a sugar daddy. Not a lover. My father.”
She waited for an apology, but it never came. If his body hadn’t been so tense, she might have thought he’d fallen asleep.
Finally he broke the silence by asking, “What is your father going to think when he’s notified about the crash?”
“Oh, my God!” Reflexively, she clutched Cooper’s hand where it still rested against her stomach. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
She could imagine her father’s despair when he heard the news. He’d lost his wife. Then his son. Now his daughter. He would be disconsolate. Rusty couldn’t bear to think of the suffering he would go through, the hell of uncertainty, of not knowing what had happened to her. Hopefully, as much for her father’s sake as her own, they would be rescued soon.
“The guy looked like a real mover and shaker to me,” Cooper said. “He’ll ride the authorities until we’re found.”
“You’re right. Father won’t give up until he knows what happened to me.”
Rusty was certain of that. Her father was a powerful man. He was dynamic and had both the talent and the means to get things done. His reputation and money could cut through miles of red tape. Knowing that he’d leave no stone unturned until she was rescued gave her an optimistic thread to cling to.
She was also surprised to discover that Cooper hadn’t been as withdrawn and impervious as he had appeared to be. Before they boarded the plane, he had kept to himself. He hadn’t mingled with the other passengers. But he’d noticed everything. Apparently her companion was an observant student of human nature.
Nature was having its way with him right now. While she’d been talking, Rusty became nervously aware of his sex snuggled solidly against her bottom. She blurted, “Are you married?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
“Involved?”
“Look, I get my share of sex, okay? And I know why you’re suddenly so curious. Believe me, I feel it too. But I can’t do anything to help it. Well, actually I can, but as we discussed earlier, that isn’t a very workable solution under the circumstances. The alternatives that come readily to mind would embarrass us both I’m afraid.”
Rusty’s cheeks grew hot and rosy. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“What?”
“Talk like that.”
“How?”
“You know. Dirty.”
“You just left a big game hunting lodge. Didn’t you intercept a few dirty jokes? Overhear some lewd comments? I thought you’d be used to bawdy language by now.”
“Well, I’m not. And for your information, I went on that hunting trip for my father’s sake. I didn’t particularly enjoy myself.”
“He forced you to go?”
“Of course not.”
“Coerced you to? In exchange for that fur coat, maybe?”
“No,” she grated with irritation. “The trip was my idea. I suggested that we take it together.”
“And you randomly chose the Northwest Territories? Why not Hawaii? Or St. Moritz? I can think of a thousand other places on the globe where you would have fit in better.”
Her sigh was an admission that he had her correctly pegged. On a big game hunt she was as out of place as a rusty nail in an operating room. “My father and brother always went hunting together. Four weeks every year. It was a family tradition.” Filled with remorse, she closed her eyes. “Father hadn’t been hunting since Jeff was killed. I thought the trip would be good for him. I insisted that he go. When he hesitated, I offered to go with him.”
She expected murmurs of sympathy and understanding—perhaps even whispered praise for her unselfish and noble gesture. Instead all she heard from him was a grumpy “Be quiet, will you? I’m trying to get some sleep.”
“Stop it, Rusty.”
Her brother’s voice echoed through her dream. They were wrestling, as only brothers and sisters who either hate each other intensely or love each other intensely can. With Jeff and her, the latter had been true. They were barely a year apart in age. From the time Rusty took her first steps, they had been bosom buddies and playmates. Much to their father’s delight and their mother’s aggravation, they had often engaged in rowdy hand-to-hand combat and always came up laughing.
But there was no levity in Jeff’s voice now as he clasped her wrists and anchored them to the floor on either side of her head. “Stop it, now.” He shook her slightly. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t stop flailing around.”
She came awake and opened her eyes. It wasn’t Jeffs well-remembered, well-loved face she stared into, but the man’s. The Loner’s. She was glad he was alive, but she didn’t like him very much. What was his name? Oh, yes, Cooper. Cooper...? Cooper something. Or something Cooper.
“Lie still,” he commanded her.
She stopped thrashing. The air was cold on her exposed skin, and she realized that she’d kicked off all the furs he’d piled over them for the night. On his knees, he was straddling her chest and bending over her. Her wrists were stapled behind her head by his hard fingers.
“Get off me.”
“Are you all right now?”
She nodded. She was as all right as a woman could be upon waking up to find a man the size and shape of Cooper Landry—that was it, Landry—straddling her with thighs that rose like columns above her, coming together... She averted her eyes from that mouth-drying juncture. “Please,” she gasped. “I’m fine.”
He eased himself off her. She sucked in frigidly cold air that hurt her lungs. But God, it felt good against her hot face. It felt good for only a second. Then she shivered with a chill and her teeth started clicking together. Cooper’s brows were drawn together worriedly. Or crossly. She couldn’t tell. He was either concerned or annoyed.
“You’re burning up with fever,” he told her bluntly. “I left the bed to build up the fire. You were delirious and started shouting for somebody called Jeff.”
“My brother.” Her shudders were convulsive. She pulled one of the furs around her.
It hadn’t rained or drizzled anymore during the night. She could actually see flames and glowing coals beneath the sticks Cooper had added to the fire. The flames were so hot they burned her eyeballs until they hurt.
No, impossible. That must be the fever.
Leaving the fur covering her upper body alone, Cooper lifted the lower half of it off her leg. Once again he painstakingly unwrapped the bandage and stared down at the open wound. Rusty stared at him.
Finally he looked at her, his mouth set in a bleak line. “I won’t try to fool you. It’s bad. Infected. There’s a bottle of antibiotics in the first-aid kit. I was saving them in case this happened, but I’m not sure they’ll be adequate to take care of it.”
She swallowed with difficulty. Even her feverish brain could assimilate what he was telling her. Raising herself to her elbows, she looked down at her leg. She wanted to gag. On either side of the deep gash, the skin was raised and puckered with infection. Flopping back down, she drew in shallow, rapid breaths. She wet her lips, ineffectually because the fever was making her mouth drier than it had been before. “I could get gangrene and di
e, couldn’t I?”
He forced a half smile. “Not yet. We’ve got to do what we can to prevent that.”
“Like cut it off?”
“God, you’re morbid. What I had in mind was lancing out the pus and then closing the gash with stitches.”
Her face turned ashen. “That sounds morbid enough.”
“Not as bad as cauterizing it. Which it might come to.” Her face went as colorless as chalk. “But, for right now, let’s put some stitches in. Don’t look relieved,” he said, frowning deeply, “it’s gonna hurt like hell.”
She stared into the depths of his eyes. Strange as it was, rocky as their beginning had been, she trusted him. “Do whatever you have to do.”
He nodded brusquely, then went to work. First he withdrew a pair of her silk long johns from the sweater cum backpack. “I’m glad you wear silk undies.” She smiled waveringly at his mild joke as he began to unravel the casing of the waistband.
“We’ll use these threads for the sutures.” He nodded down toward the silver flask. “Better start on that brandy. Use it to swallow one of those penicillin tablets. You’re not allergic to it, are you? Good,” he said when she shook her head. “Sip the brandy steadily. Don’t stop until you’re good and drunk. But don’t drink all of it. I’ll have to sterilize the threads and bathe the gash with it.”
She wasn’t anesthetized nearly enough when he bent over her leg. The hunting knife, which he’d sterilized in the fire, was held poised in readiness over the infected wound. “Ready?” She nodded. “Try to keep still.” She nodded again. “And don’t fight unconsciousness. We’d both be better off if you passed out.”
The first tiny puncture he made into the red, puffy skin caused her to cry out and yank her leg back. “No, Rusty! You’ve got to lie still.”
It was an agonizing process and seemed to go on forever. He meticulously lanced the areas that needed it. When he doused the entire wound with brandy, Rusty screamed. After that, the stitches didn’t seem so bad. He used the sewing needle from the matchbook kit they’d brought with them. After soaking individual threads in brandy, he drew them through her skin and tied them, firmly pulling the edges of the wound together.