Paul glanced up as she came into the room.He was sitting alone at a table, pen in hand.She closed the door behind her and set the first-aid kit on the table.His gaze traveled over her, scanning her face and form as if memorizing every detail.She did the same, taking in his dirt-streaked shirt and stormy gray-blue eyes.She didn’t know who stepped forward first.One minute, they were staring at each other.The next, he was on his feet, and she was wrapped up in his strong embrace.
She pressed her face to his neck, smothering a sob.He slid an arm around her waist and clung to her.He smelled of lake water and juniper trees, sweaty skin and damp earth.Before they broke apart, she noticed his left arm hadn’t moved.
“You’re hurt,” she murmured.
“I’m okay.”
She studied his tense features and read the lie.His injured arm hung at his side, useless.The tendon that had been surgically repaired might have torn again.“You need to be seen by a physician.”
“I’ll go later.”
There was no PT that would fix him in this state, so she didn’t try.She noted the scrapes on his forearms and the red marks around his wrists.Before she could ask about them, he lifted her right hand to his lips and kissed a scratch at the base of her palm.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
Her wounds were minor compared to his.She drew in a shuddering breath.“I’m sorry, too.”
“This is all my fault.”
“It’s Bennett’s fault.”
Paul pressed his lips to her wrist, where the duct tape had left residue.“I hurt you.”
She didn’t care about the harrowing escape she’d made from the cabin earlier.His situation had been far more precarious.“What you said this morning did mean something to me.And what you did with Bennett… it means everything.”
Paul searched her other arm for scratches.Finding none, he pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head.
“I thought he’d kill you.”
He stroked her hair with one hand.
“I was afraid you’d die thinking I didn’t love you.”
His hand went still, mid-stroke.Then it fell away from her hair and he took a step back.His gaze seared into hers, bloodshot and weary.He returned to the metal chair and sat down in it.“I can’t stay here.”
“In this room?”
“In this town.It’s not safe for me.It’s not safe for you and Emily.”
At some point he’d been given a pair of drawstring scrub pants to wear.He’d washed his hands and face, but his arms were still dirty and his wrists bore shallow cuts.She removed the antiseptic wipes from the first-aid kit and tended to him.Although it was obvious he’d been bound, he didn’t appear to have been beaten.
“What happened to your jeans?”she asked.
He winced as she cleaned his left wrist.“I had to take them off to swim.”
She wondered how close he’d come to drowning.Instead of asking, she fashioned a makeshift sling out of bandages.When she secured his left arm against his chest, some of the tension eased from his body.
“Thank you.”
“I have painkillers.”
“I took some already.”
She put her supplies away.
He grasped her hand and pulled gently, until she settled into his lap.“Kyle’s coming to pick me up.I don’t know where I’ll go, or how long I’ll be gone, but I promise you this: I’ll come back to you.”
She smiled at his certainty.
