I wave the keys I’m already holding and grab my thickest raincoat. “Way ahead of you.”
If the weather looked bad from the warmth of the kitchen, it’s nothing compared to what greets me as I speed down the Burlington driveway and out onto the lane. The windscreen wipers are no match for the incessant sheet of water.
Racing around the fountain, Valentine High Street is empty. From the looks of it, everyone’s taking refuge in The One True Love. Slowing down as I hit Honeysuckle Lane, I realize that I have no ideawhereStory might be. Or what car she drives. Even crawling along at ten miles an hour, I don’t spot any vehicle stopped. When I hit the end of the lane, I turn around to look again.
This time, a flash of reflective material catches my eye from deep in the ditch at the side of the road.Story?
What the actual fuck?
I slam the brakes so hard the car almost hydroplanes to a stop, and I’m out of the door and sliding down the bank before I turn the engine off.
One look at me, and her face crumples. “Hen . . . OhGod.Thank you?—”
“Are you insane? Are you hurt? What the hell are you doing here, Story? Someone could have hit you.”
She doesn’t answer. She just moves out of the way and behind her is Churchill.
He gives a halfhearted struggle against whatever’s trapping him as I step forward. Even through the rain, making it nearly impossible to see clearly, it’s obvious he’s in a lot of pain. “Oh buddy, what’ve you done?”
“He’s caught up in barbed wire. There’s so much of it, Hen.” She opens her hands, and all I can see in the light from the car is her palm covered in bloody scratches. “I tried to loosen it, but I couldn’t.”
Her face is streaked with black mascara. The red lipstick from earlier is gone, and her hair is plastered to her head as the rain drips down her cheeks. She’s looking so forlorn, I forget all about how mad I’ve been at her today. I need to focus on the task at hand: freeing Churchill. Once that’s done, then I can figure out the rest.
It’s impossible to stop myself from swiping away one of her tears, however. “We’ll get him out. Don’t worry.”
Scrambling back up to the car, I do a quick scan for what I need, grab my vet bag, and toss the walkie-talkie to Story. “Message through to Lando, tell him I need him here and to bring bolt cutters and a chainsaw.”
Opening my bag, I pull out a foil blanket, which I wrap around as much of Churchill as I can to keep him warm. He might be somewhat listless, but his eyes still bulge when I pull out a needle and a vial of ketamine, measuring out enough to take the pain away but keep him conscious.
“Don’t worry, Churchy. It’ll make you feel better, and you’ll be back to stealing apples in no time.”
He barely makes a sound as I slip it into his right foreleg.
“Stor, come and stand next to him. I haven’t given him enough to knock him out, but he’s going to be really dopey in a minute, and I don’t want him to fall.”
Scooching closer, she hands over the walkie-talkie. “Lando’s on his way.”
“Thank you,” I say, as she gets into position, and I realize how much she’s shivering. She’s barely wearing anything at all besides Lycra. “Story, where are your clothes?” My eyes scan down her body, following the line of her curves all the way to her— “Where’s your other trainer?”
“In the mud somewhere.” She hugs him as he leans against her, eyes flickering closed. “I ran home from work, and I heard him crying.”
“Jesus, you’re going to get hypothermia.”
I don’t know why I’m snapping, but for fuck’s sake, her lack of self-preservation is astounding. Not to mention her clothes are so clinging and wet I can see everything far too clearly, even in the dark. She’s too close and all of it—the swell of her breasts, the hard points of her nipples, her firm, tight arse—feels taunting.
Moving her out of the way, I takeposition next to Churchill instead.
“In the car, you’ll find another foil blanket, a jumper, some rain trousers, clean socks, and a couple of pairs of wellies. One will fit you, as Clemmie always leaves hers lying around. Go get dry.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’renot.And I need to keep an eye on Churchill, not worry about you. Go get dry.”
Through the rain and the glow of the headlights, I catch her scowl. “I didn’t realize I was such an inconvenience.”
I watch her scramble back up the bank, instantly regretting being so harsh. “What a mess, Churchy. What a mess.”
The angle of the car on the road means I can’t see anything, but I turn my back anyway to give her privacy. I don’t want to think about her changing in the car, practically naked. Thankfully, by the time she’s done, Lando has pulled up.
