My cuts stitched, an antibiotic injected, prescriptions filled, I slid woozily off the gurney. As though she’d signed up to be my rock, Lindsey slid her hand under my arm to help me. She hadn’t said a word throughout the hospital ordeal. Not knowing her at all, I’d no idea what went on behind those stunningly beautiful sky-blue eyes.
Nor did she speak as I hobbled slowly to the reception desk to sign forms. As I hadn’t any clue as to what to say, I, too, said nothing. The tight bandage over my arm, and the other fastened to my cheek, added to my pain, discomfort. In her car, I leanedmy head back and shut my eyes. I longed desperately for a dose of painkillers, a glass of whiskey, and a very long, safe, sleep in my bed.
I wondered if I’d get any of it.
Much less the safe sleep part.
When Lindsey helped me from the car, I fully expected to stride stiffly yet firmly to my house. That was until she gripped my arm tight enough to leave finger marks and steered me into her home.
“Uh,” I protested, gesturing weakly, “I live over there.”
“I know.”
Lindsey, even without a gun in her hand, was a force I couldn’t reckon with. I soon stood near her couch as she stripped me of my bloody garments, then urged me to lie down. I obeyed her. I certainly hadn’t the strength nor the willpower to fight.
Lindsey covered me with the same blanket I’d used earlier. “I’ll bring you pain medication,” she murmured.
“Got any whiskey?”
“Just wine, sorry.”
As she straightened, I took her hand. I certainly couldn’t grip tightly, not with that weak right hand connected to the gashed, painful, and bandaged arm. Still, a flicker of fear, of terror, crossed her expression. There and gone in a flash, yet I saw it. No doubt at all. She’d faced Austin and Greg like a damn army commando, yet I take her hand and she flinches.
“Thank you,” I murmured, pretending I didn’t see it. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
“I don’t, either.” A tiny smile creased her sensuous mouth.
Disentangling her fingers from mine, Lindsey left the room. I shut my eyes and pondered her reaction. Why would being touched cause her to instantly panic? I shut my jaw.Abuse.Someone in her past, most likely a man, a boyfriend/husband, hurt her. Hence the gun, the training, the fear that hung over her like a curse.
“Here.”
I opened my eyes to find her holding a glass of water and a prescription bottle. I hadn’t heard her approach.I must have dozed off or blacked out.I accepted both and drank the water to the dregs. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Except that I am. Sit. Talk to me.”
Lindsey, her reluctance written over her countenance, sat on the coffee table. I took her hand again, more slowly this time, and held it. “Why are you helping me?” I asked. “You saved my ass today.”
“I don’t know.” With her head bowed, I couldn’t see her face very well. “I saw them, I knew they were there to hurt or kill you. I couldn’t let them.”
“I’m sure glad you interfered.”
“Don’t read too much into it,” she murmured. “I’m moving out.”
“So you said.”
“You don’t want me to.”
“Nope. I sure don’t. Whatever you’re facing, I want to help you. You don’t have to be alone. I’m here.”
She met my gaze. “Why? You don’t know me.”
“You don’t know me, either,” I growled. “Why did you march into my house with a gun?”
“I had to.”
“No, you didn’t. You could’ve walked away, pretend none of this happened. Live your life without putting it in danger alongside mine.”
