“Luc?” She said his name, the voice soft and barely recognizable. Fear slammed into his body, hitting him hard in the chest. It drove him to the ground beside her, on his knees in the cold, cold snow.
Damn it.She was naked. Or close to it. She was wearing something wet and torn and spotted with…
He dropped his rifle to the ground and slid out of his coat, wrapped her shaking body in it before lifting her into his arms.
Abby was nothing but a crumpled heap when he picked her up, so tiny and light he wondered if she’d somehow disappeared, leaving nothing behind but her torn nightgown, a puddle of fabric like something out ofThe Wizard of Oz.
After his moment of idiocy—I must be drunk—his reactions finally kicked in.
Too light for a grown woman.Sparing a glance for his gun on the ground, he carried her back to the house, slipping on what felt like ice. She had to be frozen, half-naked like this.
He carried her up the three uneven steps to the porch and—after a brief struggle—through the front door, into the heat of his cabin. Le Dog woofed, jumping at him, showing energy for the first time all evening. Luc pushed the animal away and blinked down at Abby, hoping the light inside would turn the bloodstains back into shadows.
He moved quickly to set her down on the sofa and ran upstairs for blankets, feeling like his chest would explode with the panic.
Even in the yellow wash of firelight, she looked glacial, her skin cold as marble, the filthy cotton of her nightgown an unearthly shroud. It was so different from how she’d been in the bright sunlight. He lifted a hand to touch her and hesitated.
What should one do to keep a person from freezing to death?Hypothermia, hypothermia.This wasn’t something that happened much where he was from. Should he take off her dress? It was soaking.
“Abby?” he whispered, feeling like an idiot. “Your nightgown. I have to take it off.”
Nothing. His hand hovered over her body before he let it settle on her cheek. Frozen. Her hands were cold, too.
“Talk to me, Abby.Please.”
He dropped to his knees beside the sofa, moving his fingers across her face to tap them lightly against her cheek. “Wake up, Abby. Please.”
Luc’s internal debate lasted only a second. A woman like Abby, so modest and sweet, would hate him for doing this. Or she would die. Right here, on his sofa.
She was waxy and pale, looking barely alive aside from the shivering that racked her body. Her torn nightgown was soaking wet and stained here and there with what might have been mud. And blood. That thick hair of hers was still trapped in its long braid, incongruously sleek and pristine.
“Merde, merde et bordel de merde.” He muttered obscenities while rushing to the kitchen for the scissors, wondering what would push a woman like her to run outside in weather like this, half-naked.
Back to the sofa, on his knees, the blades sliced through the soaked fabric with difficulty. The cloth was frozen stiff in places.
Frantic, he ignored the inappropriate thread of interest at what the gown revealed—a modest undergarment that he carefully cut off, then slid out from under her—and piled the blankets back atop her. Okay. More wood in the stove. He stoked the fire high, higher than he normally would, until it spat and popped angrily.
Behind him, she made a noise. He turned, hoping for her to be lucid, but all he found was more shivering, so hard that her teeth audibly clacked. The dog had settled right up against the couch, guarding her or watching over her or—
Skin to skin.The phrase floated to the front of his mind. A first aid video, that’s where he’d seen it. Head, chest, neck, and groin. Those were the places to warm first. There’d been an electric blanket or hot water bottles involved, but if unavailable…skin to skin was recommended. Dammit.
No more hesitation. No letting whatever it was he felt for her decide. This was about her safety. Herlife. He stripped to his underwear, the dog watching closely. Pulling back the blankets, he slid his arms around Abby and turned her onto her side before scooting in to press against her.
Take my heat, he thought. He envisioned it sliding into her, the cold from her body leaching into his. An exchange. He moved to run a hand along her back and encountered… What was that? A bandage? Gingerly, he felt up and up, only to find that her entire back was covered in them.
What the hell?
Avoiding her back, he put his hand on her arm. Rubbed up and down, and there, too, something was off. Strange ridges lined her forearm.
What the hell had they done to her?
Shifting back, he lifted the blanket to eye the pale, discolored shapes along her arm.
A moan drew his attention back to her immediate needs, and he let his questions go—for the moment.
He pulled her closer, molding himself to her, ignoring the tightness down below. Trying to ignore the fear that she’d die on him, right here…
After a few minutes of rubbing her arm and hands, then moving to rub her feet, all the while listening to her teeth make that horrible noise, he thought he detected a slight thawing. More time passed. Half an hour maybe, during which he held a naked woman who, in many ways, was a virtual stranger. Although she didn’t feel like a stranger. She felt familiar and real.
