She sighed. “The leggings are my favorite, but I’d never wear them in public.”
Rory chuckled. “It’s okay. We all have pants with holes in them.”
She shook her head and looked down. “No. No holes. It’s just, they’re so comfortable. But they have…BABYCAKES across the butt.”
Amusement smacked into Quint. God, she was adorable. “We won’t tell a soul.”
She looked up, humor and pain still reflected in those unreal eyes. “Seriously. They were black, and I’ve washed them so many times that they’re a soft gray color now, except the letters are still bright pink. It’s like magic.”
Rory laughed out loud. “We have definitely bonded and will keep your dastardly secret. Let’s do this.”
“I can.” She released Quint’s hands and reached for the waist of her rain pants.
Quint grasped her shoulders to help her balance and protect the broken ankle. She pushed down the slickers to reveal very nice and form-fitting leggings that were, indeed, a well washed gray color. He helped her step out of them and then released her before shrugging off his jacket. “Rory?” He turned around.
“Yep.” Rory moved toward the woman. “Heather, you reach for his shoulders and I’ll lift. Okay?”
“Okay,” she gasped.
Quint leaned down so she could reach his shoulders, and Rory lifted her onto his back. She gave a slight hiss of pain, and then her thighs clamped against his ribs. Rory took the jacket and helped Quint with one arm, set the material around them both, and then did the other arm before zipping it up.
The woman felt solid and cold against Quint’s back. “You’ll warm up soon. How’s the ankle?”
“Okay,” she whispered against his neck. “I think my arms should go under?” She moved her hands from his shoulders to beneath his arms, flattening them on his chest.
“Yeah,” he said, checking his balance. “If your shoulders start to ache, you can put your arms over my neck, but wait until we get to the top of this cliff, okay?”
“Okay.” She turned her head into his neck and snuggled, her body going soft and relaxed against him.
The trust blasted through his heart, and he took a moment. “You’re safe, Heather. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” Her life was now in his hands, and as far as he was concerned, she’d never been safer. “Zena is going to lead the way up, you and I will follow her, and Rory will bring up the rear with the packs. You ready?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “Um, Quint?”
“Yeah?” He turned on his hat headlamp and scouted the best way up the rocks.
She cleared her throat. “I was a little cold and scared. I might cry a mite now that I’m safe.” A tear slid against his bare neck.
That easily, she slipped right into his heart, where she couldn’t be. He had enough problems right now. Even so, for the moment, she was his responsibility. He started hiking up the dangerous and rocky embankment as the snow began to beat the freezing rain down. “Cry all you want, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
Chapter 2
Heather rested in the hospital bed with her broken ankle elevated. Someone had decorated the room with poinsettias, and soft Christmas music wound through the hallway outside. She frowned at the offending cast that protected what had turned out to be a clean break. At least that was something. She needed to be in fighting form, just in case, and running with crutches was an impossibility.
Her mind returned—again—to the handsome rescuer who’d carried her up the rocky cliff and down the mountain in what had turned into a blinding snowstorm. Quint Albertini. He was sexy and strong, and right now, she wanted to snuggle right back into his neck.
That was not going to happen.
She sighed and looked around the quiet hospital room where she’d stayed the remainder of the night. There was no reason to still be in bed, but the nurse hadn’t returned with her discharge papers yet.
A bustle sounded outside the doorway, and a woman strode inside. She was tall with gray streaked black hair piled on her head and smooth skin with sparkling brown eyes. Quint’s eyes. The woman looked a little bit like Sophia Loren, and her red Christmas sweater appeared classy instead of silly.
“Hello.” She pulled a pink chair closer to the bed and handed over a platter of cookies to place on the blanket. “I brought you goodies. The food in the Silverville hospital isn’t bad, but nothing tastes as good as iced Christmas cookies.”
The fragrant smell made Heather’s nose twitch. “Um, thank you?” She reached for a cookie. It was only the second day of December, and the lady already had Christmas cookies?
Was the woman the small town’s version of a Candy Striper? Heather took a bite and then had to take a moment. Warmth, almond, and sugar hit her system with a sense of love. Chewing, she swallowed. “This is the best cookie I’ve tasted in my entire life.”
The woman smiled. “Of course it is. It’s an old Italian recipe.”
