She sucked the room-temperature liquid into her mouth and let it wash over the parched tissue inside, swishing it gently around until every last cell was damp. Then she clamped her eyes shut again and gripped a wad of the bedsheet as she willed the water down her raw throat. She thought she remembered a red-haired nurse telling her to call if the pain meds wore off, but she had no idea whether this level of pain was with or without medical relief. All she knew was it hurt.
“Bet that hurts like crazy,” the man said, and she focused on the hint of a Texas drawl in his voice, trying to distract herself from the pain.
Sophie nodded slowly and took the straw in her mouth because the water also soothed.
Five slow swallows was her limit, and when the guy offered her more, she shook her head. He set the cup to the side and returned his attention to her face.
“Thanks,” Sophie managed. The sound that came out was low and hoarse. Rough like sharp gravel.
“Don’t talk right now, Sophie.”
She nodded, frustrated by her inability to let him know her gratitude.
He’d dragged his chair close to her shoulders as he’d held the water, and now he braced one hand on her mattress as he watched her. Sophie touched the back of his hand, trying to convey her thanks. He took her hand in his, his fingers warm and calloused. Gentle.
“Sleep some more,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. “It’s gonna hurt for some time. Best to sleep it off if you can. Help your body heal.”
“Are you…” She cringed at the burn in her throat. “Staying?”
“I’ll be here for a while. Close your eyes.”
Her eyes fluttered shut, so heavy, her mind too tired to make sense of anything. Content to hold on to the picture of this man as his finger caressed back and forth over her hand. Soothing. Lulling.
As her brain flitted between consciousness and blessed sleep, she became aware of him shifting, his grip on her hand tightening slightly. Eyes still closed, she felt him leaning closer, and then his warm, moist lips brushed against her forehead. She didn’t open her eyes, didn’t allow herself to question his touch or to feel awkward. Instead, she succumbed to relief and gratitude and let herself get swept away in the comfort of being … not alone.
3
Dozing in a hospital chair on and off for a few hours wasn’t Nate’s idea of a good night’s sleep … or even a decent nap. There was a distinct kink in his neck from the way his head had dipped to the side. His eyes felt like someone had poured sand over them and he couldn’t get the last grains out, and his throat was just about as rough. Sophie’s must hurt like a mother. He didn’t regret for a second letting her use his air supply.
She’d still been out when he’d finally decided his sitting there in her room for hours on end had crossed over into the creepy zone. He wanted her to know she wasn’t alone, but it’d be better if it was a family member camping out and not some single dude who’d been struck stupid by her mesmerizing eyes.
Shit. He was even thinking poetically now. Chalk that up to the lack of sleep.
He’d done what he could, which hadn’t been jack shit other than sitting there snoozing and wearing out his welcome. He’d decided on his way out of the hospital that that was it. He’d been there for her, she’d known he was there, and now it was time to move on.
It was after five p.m. His dad was going on a date tonight, so the house would be empty. Of people and of food. Nate drove his Ford F-150 toward the gulf shore and parked in the lot of the Shell Shack. As home-away-from-home as a place without a bed could get.
As he got out of the truck, the life-affirming aroma of fried food and the din of good souls imbibing welcomed him. The patio adjacent to the thatched-roof bar was nearly deserted. Such was November on the beach. Today was particularly windy, and the indoor heaters were the only way to go.
Nate walked through the open doorway, glad to see the protective plastic over the windows on the far side of the open-air shack, blocking the wind coming off the beach.
“Rotten House, get your ass over here!”
Nate turned his head in response to one of his nicknames at the station. Dylan Long sat on the end stool on the far side of the bar, watching him and grinning like a dumb ass. Nate made his way over and took the empty seat next to him.
“Man of the hour,” Dylan said and slapped him on the back. “Order up, hero. Dinner’s on me.”
Jess, their favorite short, curvy waitress, flipped a towel over her shoulder and smiled at him. “Hey, Nate. Heard you’re a hero. Way to go.”
“Long time coming,” he said modestly. He’d heard other guys say they didn’t feel heroic after pulling somebody out of a fire, and now he understood. All he’d been doing was his job. Rescues were more about luck … finding someone who needed help before it was too late. Being in the right place at the right time. He just thanked Jesus, Mary, and all that was holy that it hadn’t been too late for Sophie.
“Beer’s on the house,” Jess said, “and I’d suggest a triple burger and a couple of sides if Dylan’s got your dinner tab.”
Nate smirked at Dylan, then nodded at Jess. “I like the way you think. Triple with cheese and a double order of chili fries, please.”
“Dos Equis draw?” Jess asked.
Nate nodded again and stole an onion ring from Dylan. “You the only one here from the station?”
