She thought, then trekked upstairs, thinking Mrs. Cunningham had to have a linen closet somewhere. She found it and pulled a sheet from the bottom shelf, hoping it wasnt a good one. The plan was to somehow wrestle him onto the sheet, with the hope that shed be able to pull him across the floor that way.
If that didnt work But she amended that thought. It had to work. She had no other ideas.
Crouching down, she gently pushed and prodded until shed maneuvered the sheet under his weight. It took a while, partly because she was so worried about injuring him further, and partly because she kept glancing at his face.
He took her breath away; she had to admit it. He just had the kind of looks that really rang her chimes. Rugged jaw, dusted with whiskers. The kind of thick, rough hair that never stayed brushed, not too short, not too styled, justhimself. Shoulders that wouldnt be subdued in an ordinary shirt. Jeans worn soft, the kind that said he didnt give a damn what they looked like.
Physical, she thought dispassionately. One look, and she could immediately picture him hot and sweaty, throwing a woman on the bed and diving in after her. The kind of guy who was lusty about sex, lusty about life, lusty about everything he did. Bullheaded. Those kinds of guys always were. The thicker the neck, the more stubborn the brain. And the bigger the feet, the bigger Well, it wasnt as if she cared how big he was under that zipper.
She was immune. She could look, she could enjoy-as long as he stayed alive for her, anyway. But she already knew he was totally wrong for her. She didnt know why at that precise moment. Maybe he was married. Or maybe he couldnt define faithful with a big-print dictionary. Or maybe hed found some creative, new way to break a womans heart.
The details didnt matter.
The reality was that she had never-ever-fallen for a good guy. The flaw was in her, not them. She had some kind of chemistry surge near bad boys. The difference between when she was seventeen and now, though, was that she faced her problems. No more ducking or denial.
Which meant that when and if she liked the looks of a guy, that was it-she shut the barn door and padlocked it.
Right now, though, she couldnt be worried less about falling for Mr. Adorable. She was focused on one goal and one goal only-which was to pull the big guy into the living room before she collapsed from 1) a broken back, 2) exhaustion, 3) starvation, or 4) all of the above. My God, he was heavy. Sweat prickled the back of her neck. She pulled with all her might, groaning to give herself extra strength, and still only managed to drag him a few more inches.
Jean-Luc, her ex, had less character than a boa constrictor. But at least hed been relatively light. Even when hed been three sheets to the wind-or high-hed usually been able to at least help her move him around. This guy
When she glanced down at him again, the guy in question not only seemed to be conscious, but was staring with fascination at her face. Not that I mind being carriedbut wouldnt it be easier for me to get up and walk? he asked.
She couldnt kill him. No matter how mad she was, you just couldnt murder a man who was already hurt. But an hour later she was still ticked off.
That was also the soonest she could find time to close the door on the kitchen and call the sheriff to make another report.
I hear you, George, she said into the receiver. And I admit it. Hes alive. I even admit that it doesnt look as if hes going back into a coma anytime soon. But I still have no way to know how badly hurt he is. I need an ambulance. Or a helicopter. Or a snowmobile-
While she listened, she also ground a little fresh pepper onto the potato soup. The stove and refrigerator were still functioning in the torn-up kitchen, but that was about it. There was no sink or running water. All the pots and pans and dishes had been moved elsewhere, ditto for silverware, food and spices.
Daisy considered herself outstanding at making something out of nothing-not because shed ever wanted that talent, but God knows, because being married to Jean-Luc had required some inventive scrambling to just survive. Shed always been her moms daughter in the kitchen, besides. So she started out with a bald can of potato soup she found in a basement pantry, then found kitchen tools and the spices in boxes in the dining room, then raided the depths of the fridge, finally came through with some bacon crumbs and a beautiful hunk of cheddar.
The chives and pepper werent as fresh as shed like, but a decent soup was still coming together. If she could just get rid of her unwanted invalid, she might even be able to relax.
Yes, George, I hear that wind outside. And I cant even see for the snow. But thats why you guys have snow machines, isnt it? To be able to rescue people in all conditions? No, Im not exaggerating! At the very least, he needs some X-rays. And some antibiotics or medicine like that-oh, for Petes sake. She stared in disbelief at the cell phone. No, I wont go out with you when this is all over, youyou cretinous canard! Des clous!
The French insults didnt even dent his attitude. George just laughed. The sheriff! The one person in town who was supposed to rescue you no matter what the problem!
When it came down to it, the law had never done her a lick of good.
The soup was finally ready. She wrapped a spoon in a napkin, flicked off the kitchen light and carried her steaming bowl into the living room. The fire was popping-hot now. Shed have to wake up in the night to make sure it was fed-otherwise itd go out, and suck all their warmth out the chimney. But for now, the cherry and apple logs smelled as soothing as an old-fashioned Christmas.
She ignored the shrieking wind, as easily as she ignored the long, blanket-covered lump on the couch. Darn it, shed earned this meal. And she was actually getting woozy-headed from exhaustion and jet lag and too many hours without something in her stomach. Quickly she settled in the giant recliner-obviously Mr. Cunninghams favorite chair, judging from the hunting magazines stacked next to it-and reached for the spoon.
A sexy voice-a pitiful, weak, vulnerable but nevertheless sexy voice-piped up from the deep shadows of the couch. Could I have just a little of that?
No.
A moment passed, and then the voice piped up again, this time adding a desperate, ingratiating tone on top of the weak and pitiful. It smells really good. In fact, it smells fantastic.
Tough. Youre not getting any food.
No.
A moment passed, and then the voice piped up again, this time adding a desperate, ingratiating tone on top of the weak and pitiful. It smells really good. In fact, it smells fantastic.
Tough. Youre not getting any food.
When he responded with silence again this time, she had to relent. Look. Im not eating in front of you to be mean. Theres nowhere to sit in the kitchen and Im beat and this is the only other room thats really warm. Honestly, though, its just not a good idea for you to have food after a head bump. You could throw up.
Like any other guy whod made it to first base, he immediately tried for second. I wont. I promise I wont.
So you say. But the sheriff said I was to make sure you stayed awake, check your pupils every couple of hours and not give you any food until tomorrow morning. She scooped up more soup, still not looking at him. She still remembered the ka-boom of her heartbeat when she half carried the big lug into the living room. Then shed had to suffer through a whole bunch more intimate body contact in the process of settling him on the couch and tucked him in again.
That was her whole problem with men. They looked at her a certain way, she caved. He was one of them, she could sense it, smell it, taste it. For right now at least he was hurt. How much damage could a guy do when he was hurt? Particularly when she refused to look at him. She wasnt volunteering for any more of those ka-booms.
Please, he begged charmingly.
She plunked down her soup, growled a four letter word in total disgust, then marched into the kitchen to spoon out another bowl. A small bowl. She brought it back with a scowl. You get two spoonfuls. No more.
Okay.
You keep that down, then well talk. But I dont want to hear any whining or bribes.
No whining. No bribes. Got it, he promised her.
Yeah. That big baritone promising not to whine was like a bear promising not to roar, but she slid the ottoman over and sat down with the bowl. Dont try sitting. Just lean up a little bit.
I think theres a slim chance I could feed myself.
I think theres a big chance youll eat the whole bowl. Thats the point. Im controlling this.
Ah. A bossy, controlling woman, are you?
No. A scared woman. If you die or get hurt any worse, Im going to be stuck with you until this blizzard is over. She lifted the spoonful, and he obediently opened his mouth, his eyes on hers. Again she told herself he was hurt, for Petes sake. But how the hell could an injured guy have so much devilment in those eyes?
Are we going to sleep together in here?
She sighed, then plugged his mouth with another spoonful. When Im hurt, she said pointedly, I usually make an extra point of being nice to the people who are stuck taking care of me.
Well, if you wont sleep with me, would you consider taking a shower with me? Because Ive got sawdust itches from my neck to my toes. My hands are full of grit. I just want to clean up.
No showers. No baths. What if you fell? But when she fed him another spoonful, she had to consider the thought. It could be a good idea to make sure there isnt any dust or debris near that head wound, though.
Yeah, thats what I was thinking. And I couldnt fall if you took the shower with me. Maybe if we got around to formally introducing ourselves? Im Teague Larson-
I know. The sheriff told me. And Im Daisy Campbell. You can either call me Daisy-or Battle-Ax-but either way, no shower. Ill try to cook up some way to get your hands clean. If we still have water and power tomorrow, maybe we can talk about a shower for you then. But tonight were doing what the sheriff said for a concussion.