Search and Rescue by April Wilson

Chapter 18

Killian Devereaux

Hannah’s one stubborn young woman. She hates that I’m waiting on her, and fetching and carrying, but I don’t mind. In fact, I’m kinda enjoying it. Just wait until I help her get into bed—that’ll be interesting. As for the sleeping arrangements—yeah, the sofa’s too small for me, but I’ll get over it. I imagine it won’t be long before she suggests that we share the bed—platonically, of course. She’s very pragmatic.

At least then I won’t rate below the dog.

She’s quiet while I do the dishes and clean up the kitchen. I’m just glad she’s not over here insisting on helping. When I’m done, I dry my hands on a kitchen towel and whistle for the dog, who jumps up from his bed by the hearth and comes right to me.

It’s dark outside, so I grab the heavy metal flashlight hanging on a hook by the door, just in case. It wouldn’t do for me to lose her pet in the dark. Scout heads out the door and down the steps, and I follow him out, leaving the door ajar so I can hear Hannah if she needs me.

“Last call, pal,” I tell the dog. “Go do your business.”

Scout races across the yard, finds a nice tree at the edge of the clearing, and lifts his leg. When he’s done, he starts to meander into the woods, but I whistle for him to come back. “Time to come inside, you lucky dog. You get to sleep in your mistress’s bed.”

Scout runs back into the cabin, but I linger on the porch a short while longer, doing a visual sweep of the clearing around the cabin and listening for any sounds that shouldn’t be there. But I don’t hear anything other than the wind rustling the tree branches, insects calling to each other, and an owl hooting off in the distance.

When I step back inside the cabin, the sofa is empty. Hannah’s gone. So’s the dog. For a moment, my heart stops. There’s no other door, so unless someone came in through a back window— “Hannah!”

“In the bathroom.”

Jesus. I suck in a deep breath. “Don’t do that to me, woman,” I mutter beneath my breath as I head down the hall toward the bathroom.

“Did you say something?” she asks, her voice garbled.

The bathroom door is open, and she’s standing at the sink brushing her teeth, her crutches propped against the wall. Hannah’s leaning against the counter, while Scout sits beside her, gazing up with pure adoration. I can certainly relate.

“You should have waited for me,” I say, trying to sound like I didn’t almost just have a heart attack. My gaze locks on her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Even though her face is marred by scratches and a cut from her ordeal, she still takes my breath away. She’s perfect—like the girl next door. Smart, funny, big brown eyes, an expressive mouth that’s quick to smile and quick to backtalk, and shiny hair the color of sable that reaches just past her shoulders when it’s hanging loose. And when it’s up in a ponytail, like it usually is, all I can think about is grabbing hold of it and—fuck.

Don’t even go there.

Hannah’s everything I’d want in a woman—loyal, strong, family-oriented, resilient, courageous, funny. She’s able to hold her own and not afraid to push back.

“Killian, relax,” she mumbles around her toothbrush. “I can manage.”

This woman’s going to be the death of me. “Fine, but next time wait for me. You could have fallen and hurt yourself.”

She gives me the stink eye. “I fell nearly twenty feet into a ravine. I think I’d survive taking a tumble in my own house.”

I shrug begrudgingly, as she does have a point. “Maybe. There’s no need to take chances.”

Hannah spits in the sink, rinses her mouth, and wipes her face on a tissue. Pivoting to face me, she leans against the cabinet for support. She stands there eying me expectantly, her brows shooting up. Finally, exasperated, she looks pointedly at the toilet. “Do you mind? I need to go.”

“Do you need help?” Of course I’m just kidding. I know she doesn’t want that kind of help from me.

“I think I can do it myself.”

“Sure thing.” I step outside the bathroom and close the door.

A few minutes later, I hear the toilet flush, the faucet runs, and then the door opens. Ignoring me, Hannah swings herself out into the hallway, managing the crutches much better now as she propels herself the few feet to the bedroom. I follow her inside the room.

She grimaces as she sinks down on the bed and lets out a heavy sigh.

“Be careful not to overdo it,” I warn her.

She rolls her eyes at me. “Gee, thanks, Mom.”

I try not to laugh but fail miserably. Why does she make everything so fun? Even teasing her—getting her riled up—is fun. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

She lifts her good foot in the air. “Actually, yes, there is something. Unfasten my boot, please?”

I catch her boot in one hand and unbuckle it with the other. Then I tug it off and set it on the floor. “Anything else?”

She falls back on the bed with a weary groan. Begrudgingly, she says, “I think I’ll need your help getting my pants off.” She’s still wearing the red-plaid flannel bottoms that Maggie brought to the hospital.

I approach the bed like I might approach a female mountain lion, wary of getting scratched or bit. I’m as pragmatic as I can be as I grab the elastic waistband of her pants and work them over her hips. She’s wearing pale blue cotton bikini underwear, which I do my best to ignore. I motion toward her upper half. “What about the rest of it?” She’s still got a long-sleeved shirt on and, presumably, a bra.

“Oh, right.” She holds her hand out to me. “Help me sit up?”

After I pull her into a sitting position, she attempts to reach behind her back and up beneath her shirt to unfasten her bra, but she winces in pain. “Ow.” She drops her arms and leans forward. “I can’t reach the clasp. Do you mind? Just unfasten my bra and let the straps slip down my arms. I ’ll sleep in the T-shirt.”

“Sure,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant, as if the girl I’m crazy about didn’t just ask me to remove her bra. I pull up the back of her shirt and focus on undoing the clasp. I make a pointed effort not to catch a glimpse of her breasts. Instead, I focus on the bandage on her arm. “Now would be a good time for me to check your sutures.”

While she sits there with her T-shirt draped in front of her, covering her bare breasts, I grab the first-aid kit and quickly change the bandage on her arm. “The stitches look good. No redness or swelling.”

When that’s done, I help her slip both arms back into the sleeves of her shirt, and she lies back. After I cover her with the sheet and comforter, Scout jumps up on the mattress, circles a spot at the foot of the bed, then curls up like a fox with his nose tucked beneath his tail.

Lucky bastard. He gets to sleep in the bed.

I check the lock on her bedroom window to make sure it’s secure. “If you need anything in the night, just holler. I’ll hear you.”

“I will, thanks.”

“Anything else, before I go?”

“Would you turn off the light on your way out, please? Oh, and there are sheets and blankets in the hallway linen closet. And a couple of extra pillows. Help yourself.”

I nod. “Don’t—”

“Yeah, I know—don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” She sounds far from convinced. “Good luck fitting your six-foot-two frame on a five-foot-ten sofa.”

“Actually, I’m six-three, but who’s counting? And how do you know exactly how long the sofa is?”

“Because I’m five-eight, and I can stretch out on it with a couple inches to spare. That’s how I know.”

I chuckle as I turn off the light. “Goodnight, Hannah.” Then I pull her door closed.

I take my pack into the bathroom with me and set out my toiletries—toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo, razor and shaving cream. I don’t know where I’m going to store this stuff. It’s a tiny room with hardly any storage.

I open the top of three cabinet drawers and find it filled with Hannah’s stuff—lotions, hair ties, hairbrushes, and make-up. I open the middle drawer and get an eyeful of tampons and pads. Okay next. The bottom drawer is empty except for a blow-dryer. It looks like this one will have to do.

I grab a quick shower, then dress in the last pair of clean boxer-briefs I brought with me. Looks like I’ll be doing laundry in the morning. After I brush my teeth, I head to the living room.

I add wood to the stove and stoke the fire, hoping it will last most of the night. Probably not. I’d love a cold beer—I’ve been wanting one all day—but I can’t drink when I’m on duty, and technically, I’m now on duty twenty-four-seven.

After checking the locks on the door and all the windows, I find the spare bedding right where she said it would be and make up the sofa. I figure if I sleep on my side and draw my knees up, it just might work.

It takes me a while to find a suitable sleeping configuration. And once I’m halfway comfortable and just starting to doze off, I hear a loud thump and a muffled cry, followed by a string of curse words that would impress even mygrandpapa.

What the hell?

I jump off the couch and turn toward the hallway just as Hannah comes swinging her way into the living room. She’s wearing just that T-shirt, and her long, gorgeous legs are bare.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, trying not to stare at all that skin. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” She huffs in irritation. “This is stupid, Killian. You take the bed. I’ll sleep out here.”

I can’t help smiling. “It’s cute that you think you need to worry about my sleeping comfort.” I head over to her, ignoring the fact that I’m wearing even less than she is. I’m especially ignoring the fact that her gaze is locked onto my body. Her eyes widen as they skim my bare chest, moving slowly down my abs to finally rest on my damned cock, which is taking this opportunity to make its presence known. I sigh. A man can only take so much. “Please go back to bed.”

“I’m serious, Killian. We should trade—”

I stalk over to her, swing her up in my arms—ignoring the clatter of the crutches as they hit the wood floor—and carry her back to her bed. I lay her down, cover her up, and scowl down at her. “Not another peep out of you, jeune femme. Bon soir.”

…young lady. Good night.

I turn to leave, but she grabs my hand. “Wait.”

I turn back to face her. “What?”

“At least share this bed with me. I’m not going to be able to sleep knowing you’re out there trying to cram yourself onto that sofa. Be practical, please.”

She nods to the empty side of the bed and pulls the covers down. “There’s plenty of room, and we’re two grown adults. We can share the damn bed.”

As I contemplate her offer, I come to the conclusion that I’d be an idiot to turn it down. One, at least she’ll stay in bed and be less likely to hurt herself getting up; and two, I’m a selfish bastard.

Yeah, I want in her bed.

Even if it’s just to sleep.

“Fine,” I say as I walk around to the other side of the bed. I slide beneath the bedding and lie on my back, staring up at the ceiling with my hands clasped on my belly. Immediately, I realize this wasn’t such a bright idea after all. I’m only inches away from her, and she’s practically naked. My cock hardens even more. “Goodnight, Hannah.”

She sighs. “Goodnight.”

I feel the warm, comforting weight of the dog’s head on my ankle as he settles down for the night.