Search and Rescue by April Wilson
Chapter 19
Hannah McIntyre
Killian’s presence in my bed is electrifying, and I can’t sleep. It’s like there’s an electro-magnetic field crackling between us, and my skin is covered in goosebumps. With a groan, Scout stretches out between us. He’s clearly in heaven. Me, not so much. This is more like torture.
And it’s not just my awareness of his proximity that’s keeping me awake. My ankle is killing me. As the night rolls on, the discomfort worsens to the point that I have to work at hiding it so I don’t disturb Killian. I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe carefully, in and out, as I try to distract myself from thinking about the pain.
“Hannah.”
Shit! I guess I wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding it. “Yeah?”
“How about we prop your ankle up on a pillow? That might help.”
“Okay,” I gasp. “It’s worth a try.”
Killian sits up. “I’ll grab one of the spares from the sofa.” He gets out of bed as carefully as he can, so as not to jar my leg, and heads to the living room.
He’s back a moment later, lowering the bedding and gently slipping a pillow beneath my cast. “This should help.”
“Thanks.”
He sits beside me and reaches out as if he’s going to brush back my hair, but he stops himself. “Tu es une femme courageuse.”
I got part of that. “I’m a what?”
He smiles. “A courageous woman.”
I frown. “Not courageous enough. I ended up in the bottom of a ravine and couldn’t even get myself out.”
“That’s because you were injured. If you hadn’t broken your ankle, you would have gotten out of that ravine all by yourself.”
I smile. “True.”
He reaches for my hand, this time bringing it to his mouth and kissing the back of it. The feel of his lips against my skin sends a shiver up my arm. God, what I wouldn’t give for him to really kiss me. I’ve imagined what it would be like—his lips on mine. His strong hands on me… giving and taking.
He checks the digital clock on my nightstand. “Try to get some sleep.”
Squeezing his hand, I nod. “Goodnight.”
* * *
Fortunately, I do fall asleep, and I manage to stay that way until the sun is shining brightly through my sheer bedroom curtains and into my face. I’m alone in bed, and there’s no sign of Scout or Killian. But the aroma of something delicious wafts into the room, making my stomach growl.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Killian says from the doorway, a spatula in his hand.
“What smells so good?”
“Breakfast. Pain perdu et le bacon. French toast and bacon.”
“I didn’t know you cooked.”
He laughs. “Oh, Grandmama made sure I knew how to feed myself. When I get the chance, I’ll make you some rice and beans—Cajun style, of course—and maybe a gumbo. Or jambalaya, if I can get the ingredients.”
“I’d like that.”
The kitchen timer goes off with a loud ding.
He points down the hall. “That’s my cue. You need anything?”
“I need the bathroom.” My bladder is screaming at me.
Killian offers me his hand and pulls me up into a sitting position. As I swing my feet to the floor, he hands me my crutches. “You take care of business and come eat,” he says, and then he walks out the door, leaving me to manage on my own. The man is learning.
By the time I wash up in the bathroom and change into a pair of knit shorts and a University of Denver hoodie, I hobble into the kitchen and take a seat at the table, which is already set with plates, silverware, and coffee cups.
Killian’s standing on the other side of the kitchen counter holding a hot cast-iron skillet in one hand and a spatula in the other. “Perfect timing,” he says as he walks around the counter to the table and lays two slices of French toast on my plate. I can smell the cinnamon.
“Coffee?” he says.
“Yes, please. I’m in dire need of caffeine.”
He pours me a cup first and then himself. He grabs a small pitcher from the counter and pours milk into his. “Café au lait.”
“Is that cream?”
“Boiled milk. Want some?”
“Sure, I’ll try it.” I glance back into the kitchen. “Where’s the sugar?”
“I’ll get it.” He reaches across the counter with his long arm and grabs the white ceramic sugar bowl that my mom gave me as a housewarming gift when I bought this cabin—she bought me a whole set of kitchen wares. He sets the bowl in front of me, then hands me a clean spoon. “Eat, before it gets cold.”
I spoon sugar into my coffee and stir. “I hope my brother is compensating you adequately. I doubt cooking for your client is a regular part of your job description.”
“It’s not, I’ll admit. But usually my clients aren’t so pretty, and I’m not so eager to impress them.”
His blunt admission surprises me. “You want to impress me?”
He ignores my question as if he realized he said too much. “So, where can a guy get fresh seafood around here?”
I laugh. “Not in Bryce, that’s for sure. Maybe in one of the bigger towns, but it’ll be quite a drive.”
He nods. “Maybe, when you’re feeling up to it, we can take a road trip and stock up.”
I slather butter on my French toast, then drizzle maple syrup over top. I cut off a piece and slip it into my mouth… and groan with delight. “Oh, my god, that’s so good. I haven’t had French toast in ages. My mom used to make it for us kids on Sunday mornings.” Then I take a bite of the bacon, which is crispy and perfect. Another groan. I could really get used to this.
“Tomorrow I’ll make you some coosh coosh for breakfast. You need some good home cookin’.”
“Coosh coosh? What’s that?”
“Fried cornmeal with milk, with warm honey drizzled over top. My mama used to make that for me every morning before school.”
“Why did you leave home? I mean, leave Louisiana?”
He shrugs. “After the Army, I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t envision going back to Lafayette and selling cars or helping my uncles operate the fishing boats. I was hooked on the adrenaline. A buddy of mine had taken a job with your brother in Chicago. He said I should come check it out myself. I’ve been with McIntyre Security ever since.”
“Do you get home often to visit your family?”
He chews a mouthful and swallows. “I visit as often as I can. It’ll always be home to me—da food, da music, da people. Dey’re fierce and proud, and I’m proud to be part of dat community.”
Hearing him slip into his Cajun accent makes me smile. I love seeing this part of him. “Your mom and grandparents must be very proud of you.”
He smiles as he raises his coffee cup to his mouth and takes a sip. “Sha, she’d like you, dat’s for sure.”
* * *
After breakfast, Killian insists on doing the dishes—again. “It wouldn’t do for you to stand at the sink. Go sit down on the sofa, put your leg up, and read a book. I’ll finish up here, and then I promised Scout I’d take him outside for a while.”
I do as he says, sipping a fresh cup of coffee and trying to concentrate on reading while Killian does the dishes. I’m not having much luck, though. He’s singing something in French, and I can’t help listening to the sound of his voice. It’s hypnotic.
When he’s done in the kitchen, he whistles for Scout, and the two of them head outside. Already, I feel his absence.
My phone rings. It’s Maggie.
“I’ve got Killian’s order together,” she says. “Riley will bring it by after school.”
“He placed a grocery order?”
“Apparently your pantry is inadequately stocked because he called in this morning with quite a list.”
“What did he ask for?”
“Black-eyed peas, shrimp, paprika, beans, rice, grits, real crab meat, bacon, Worcestershire sauce, corn, jalapeños, three different kinds of peppers, cayenne, sausage, and hot sauce. It was quite a list. I had most of what he wanted, but not any fresh seafood. I asked him if frozen would suffice, and he said no.” She laughs.
Killian’s culinary ambitions bring a smile to my face. “When he made breakfast for me this morning, he admitted he was trying to impress me.”
Maggie squeals over the phone. “I told you! He’s got ulterior motives, girl. He likes you.”
Hearing her say that, my heart swells with anticipation. But I just don’t see it happening. He has his life—his career—back in Chicago. His family is in Louisiana, and obviously they’re very close.
“Ruth wants to see you,” Maggie says. “She wondered if you’d feel up to stopping by the tavern sometime soon. She said drinks are on the house.”
“I’d love to. Maybe Micah can join us. I didn’t get a chance to properly thank him for flying up to get me. If it weren’t for Micah and his helicopter, I might still be up there on that mountain.”
“When have you ever known Micah to miss a party? I’m sure he’ll join us.”
The sound of boots stomping on the wood porch makes me jump. Then the door swings open, and Scout races inside. His tongue is hanging out, and he’s breathing hard. He runs to me and licks my hand.
“Did you have fun?” I ask him, just as Killian closes the door and slides the lock in place. Man and dog both look like they just had a good workout. “I have to go,” I tell Maggie. “I’ll talk to you again soon.”
Scout must have gotten a good workout because he goes straight to his dog bed beside the woodstove and curls up for a nap.
“Who was on the phone?” Killian asks as he pours a glass of cold water and practically guzzles it.
“Maggie. She said you ordered groceries.”
He twists the lid off the bottle and sits in the rocking chair. “I did. Your pantry is a little bare. Did she mention anything else? Any problems?”
“No. But she said Micah’s sister, Ruth, wants us to meet up with them at her tavern. Sort of a little party.”
“Micah’s the helo pilot?”
“Yes.”
Killian takes a long draw on his drink. “Okay. If you’re up for it.”
“Killian, about the food—the cooking. I don’t expect you to cook for me. And you certainly don’t need to impress me.”
He frowns. “No point in it? It’s a hopeless cause?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“Then what?”
“I’m saying you don’t need to work at it. I’m already impressed.”
He grins. “You are? My plan is working?”
I nod. “I’ve been impressed, for a long time.”
His dark eyes widen. “Then why the hell did you give me all those cold shoulders back in Chicago? Why did you always shut me down when I tried to talk to you?”
I shrug. “I just didn’t think anything could come of it. It seemed pointless—for both of us.”
He sets his drink down on a coaster on the wooden coffee table and stands, coming near to lean over me. “And now? What’s changed?”
He’s so close, my heart is pounding, and I can’t catch my breath. I want to reach up, grab him, and pull him in for a kiss. I want to— “Oh, to hell with it.” I grab the neckline of his T-shirt and pull him to me for a kiss. He responds instantly, his mouth hungrily covering mine. He threads the fingers of one hand through my hair and holds me for his kiss. Pleasure shoots through my body to the heated, aching spot between my legs. Everything’s tingling—my lips, my breasts, my sex, my skin. Everything feels hot and tight.
“Damn, woman,” he says when he finally breaks the kiss and catches his breath. He falls back to sit on the coffee table. He looks a bit flummoxed. “One thing is sure, you never fail to surprise me.”
