“No,” whispered Abby.
“Abby,” he said, quiet too. Like they had a secret between them.
In that voice of his, with that accent, she could almost—almost—shut down and pretend this wasn’t happening. That he was feeding her something new, and she was tasting it, listening to him and thinking about all the things he could show her. All the new things she could experience.
“What’s going on, Abby?”
Oh good Lord, where to start? And how…how could she… She shifted and the blanket dipped and Abby realized, for the first time since coming to, that she was naked underneath. “I’m naked,” she said like an idiot, on a choppy exhale.
“Your clothes were soaked.” He paused. “And your…undergarment.”
That old thing?
She was delirious. Had to be.
She’d been naked with a man for the first time and hadn’t even been conscious for it. She could almost laugh. More than that, though she could cry, because this wasn’t how she’d envisioned it—any of it. The final escape, coming to Luc. Asking him for help. Being naked in front of him—or any man, for that matter.
And how sad that she wanted to ask,Did you like it? Am I ugly? Did you see how they hurt me?
“What’s going on, Abby?” Luc asked again, his words slow, his voice strange. “Why did you come here in the snow?”
Because I don’t want to die, she thought on a wave of something too big, too heavy for her alone. It crashed right into her, like that fireplace poker to the chest. It caved her chest in, infiltrating the empty spaces her departing adrenaline left behind, and bent her over, deflated.
Without a word, Luc had her against his chest, in those arms—and they were as strong as they looked. Effortlessly, he lifted her and brought her back to the sofa, murmuring something. Comforting sounds, maybe. No—they were words she couldn’t understand.
The blankets around her were warm. A nest. She watched vacantly as he got the fire roaring. After a while, he left and returned with his hands full. Some pills, a glass of water, and a pile of clothes.
“We need to get you to a doctor. A hospital, maybe. And I can call the sheriff—”
“No!” The word exploded from her, too loud for the room. “No police.” Never the police. Police and hospitals wouldn’t be good. They’d push Isaiah to do more violence. And everyone would suffer.
“You’re hur—”
“No hospital.”
“Okay, Abby. Okay,” he said, placating her. Like an animal or a child. “We get you cleaned up.” Oh, his English suffered when he was worried. How lovely. Abby smiled to herself as he disappeared up the stairs. A minute later, he returned. “Can you…” Luc started. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I brought you some of my clothing. It’s too big.” He held up a T-shirt with long sleeves. It looked soft and worn. “Can you do this on your own?”
“Oh. I think so.”
“Good.” He sounded relieved. “And this is ibuprofen. I’ll leave it for—”
“How do I take it?”
He blinked. “What?”
“Just swallow it with water?”
“Yes. Exact.” More English mistakes that sounded subconscious, exhausted. And that was because of her. Because she’d dragged him up and out of bed, and Isaiah’d been here, and now Luc would have problems with the Church.It’s all my fault.
“I’ll take them. What do they do?”
“You haven’t—” He cut himself off with a quick shake of his head. “It’s a painkiller. And reduces fever. Also inflammation.”
Abby wished their hands would touch as he dropped the pills into hers. She wished he would look at her and smile and make it all okay. But he didn’t. He stood, face turned away. “I’ll let you…” He indicated a door leading off the living room. “You sure you don’t need help?”
She shook her head and said, “Thank you, Luc.”
“I’ve got to…check on something. You’ll be fine going to the bathroom on your own?”
