02_Groom of Her Own (30 page)

Authors: Irene Hannon

BOOK: 02_Groom of Her Own

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Rebecca frowned and quickly put the car in gear, following along slowly beside him. She lowered her window a little farther and tried calling even more loudly. “Hey, mister!”

The man stopped again, and this time he glanced confusedly in her direction. Rebecca studied his face, and though it was mostly obscured by the billowing wisps of fog, she could tell that he was fairly young. Late thirties, maybe. He was also tall. Probably six feet. And he looked strong. Very strong. Which frightened her. She would be no match for someone of his size, and on this deserted road anything could happen, she thought fearfully.

But suddenly, as the opaque veil between them momentarily lifted, she realized that her fears were unfounded. The man was clearly injured. His face was gray, and there was a long, nasty-looking gash at his hairline. He was obviously in no condition to walk, let alone attack anyone. She’d be willing to bet that at the moment her strength far surpassed his.

Feeling a little less frightened, she lowered her window even more. “What happened?” she called.

“Accident,” he mumbled, gesturing vaguely behind him.

Rebecca hadn’t seen a car, and she looked at him suspiciously. “What kind of accident?”

“Deer,” he replied, his voice slurred. He didn’t appear to be able to manage answers of more than one word.

Suddenly he started to walk down the road again, but after only two shaky steps his legs buckled and he fell heavily to his knees, palms flat on the pavement

Without even stopping to consider her own safety, Rebecca unlocked her door and dashed toward him, stopping abruptly when she reached his side to stare down helplessly at his bowed head and sagging shoulders. What was she supposed to do now? Tentatively she reached down and touched his broad shoulder.

“Look, you can’t stay here,” she told him urgently. “You’re in the middle of the road. It’s dangerous.”

Her words finally seemed to penetrate his consciousness, and he tilted his head to look up at her. His brown eyes were clouded and dazed, and he seemed to be having a difficult time focusing.

“Dizzy,” he mumbled.

“Look. I’ll help, okay?” she offered, tugging more forcefully on his arm.

This time he made an effort to stand. And as he struggled to his feet, she realized just how tall he was. At five-five she wasn’t exactly short, but he towered over her by at least six or seven inches. And he was well-built And obviously strong.

A wave of panic washed over her, and for a moment her resolve to help wavered. But when she loosened her grip, he swayed, and she was left with no choice but to guide his arm around her shoulders. Stay calm, she told herself sternly. Think logically. The man is hurt. He does not represent any danger.

She took a deep breath, repeating that mantra over and over again as she slowly guided him to the car. He leaned on her heavily, his breathing labored, and she stole a glance at his face. He looked awful, and she wondered if he might have other injuries besides the deep gash at his hairline. Please, Lord, help me get him to the hospital as quickly as possible, she prayed.

When they reached the car she propped him against the front of the hood and backed up, eyeing him worriedly. “Stay put, okay?” she said slowly, enunciating every word. “I’m going to unlock the car door.”

Rebecca had no idea if he understood her words—or even if he heard them.

Just as she stepped away from his side, he stumbled, wildly flinging out an arm to try and regain his balance. Unfortunately, Rebecca was right in the path of his knuckles.

The backhanded blow caught her on the chin, and she staggered back, grabbing at his arm to keep from falling. But that only threw him more off balance, and before she knew what was happening he fell against her, pinning her to the hood of the car under his body.

Dazed from the blow, aware only that she was suddenly immobilized and at his mercy, Rebecca panicked as a wave of primitive fear swept over her. With a strangled sob, she struggled to get free, writhing beneath the man’s weight. But he was heavy. So heavy! She could hardly move. But she had to get free! She had to! Summoning up all her strength, she shoved him far enough away to tear her body from beneath his.

The stranger seemed stunned by her action, and he staggered back, his eyes glazed. He wavered, then dropped to one knee, groaning as he raised his hands to his bowed head.

Still reeling from the man’s blow, Rebecca reached up and gingerly felt her tender chin. Her chest was heaving as she drew in one ragged breath after another, and she braced herself against the hood, not sure her trembling legs would hold her up. In fact, her whole body was shaking, she realized. As she struggled to control her irrational reaction, she watched the man touch the gash at his hairline, then stare in confusion at the blood dripping from his fingers.

With a sickening jolt, Rebecca realized that the impact of his fall must have opened the cut again, and a pang of guilt swept over her. Dear Lord, what was wrong with her? The man was hurt, for heaven’s sake! He was in no condition to attack her even if he wanted to, which was unlikely. He hadn’t hit her on purpose. She needed to get a grip.

Rebecca took several more deep breaths, then knelt beside the stranger and scanned his face. The man needed medical attention. Immediately.

She drew a deep breath and lifted his limp arm, tucking her head underneath and draping it around her slender shoulders. She needed to get him into her car before he passed out.

“Okay, can you try to stand?” she asked. “I’ll help. Just lean on me.” Rebecca made an attempt to rise, but it was like tugging on a dead weight He didn’t budge. “Come on, mister, just try. Please!” she pleaded.

This time when she urged him upward he took the cue, struggling to stand as Rebecca tried to assist him. Once he was on his feet he swayed, and she planted her feet solidly, struggling to maintain her own footing. She glanced up worriedly, noting the deep grooves of pain etched in his face and the thin, compressed line of his lips. Despite the chilly air there was a thick film of sweat on his brow, and his breathing was labored.

“We’re almost to the door,” she said encouragingly, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. “It’s just a few steps. You can make it.”

Half dragging, half pulling, she got him into the car, expelling a shaky breath as she shut the door. She retrieved his suit jacket from the middle of the road where he’d dropped it, tossed it into the back seat, and slid behind the wheel. As she put the car in gear, she glanced over at his semi-prone form. She wasn’t even sure at this point if he was conscious. But at least he was still breathing, she thought with relief, noting the even rise and fall of his chest.

As she drove carefully through the swirling, silent fog, she stole an occasional glance at her unexpected passenger. Although his color was ashen, his clothes stained and rumpled, and his hair disheveled, she could tell that he was handsome in a rugged sort of way. His dark brown hair was full and slightly longer than stylish, almost brushing his collar in the back, although it was neatly trimmed. Her eyes traced his strong profile and firm jaw, which seemed to speak of character and integrity. Yet there was a worn look about his face—a sort of deep weariness that had nothing to do with his injuries. For some reason she had the impression that he was a man who had seen it all and now viewed the world with scepticism and cynicism. Despite his look of world-weariness, however, there was a feeling of leashed power about him. Even in his present condition he seemed to radiate energy and vitality and…sensuousness.

Rebecca was taken aback by that impression. Yet it was true. The man exuded an almost tangible virility. She stole another glance at him.

Rebecca’s gaze snapped back to the road. She was letting herself get way too fanciful. The man was a stranger! None of her speculations were grounded in reality. For example, just because he looked like he had character and integrity didn’t mean he did. Looks could be deceiving. She knew that from experience. Caution was more prudent than curiosity in a situation like this, she warned herself.

Yet she couldn’t help but wonder about him. Why had he been driving on this road alone so late at night? She ventured another quick glance at his left hand. No ring. That didn’t mean anything, of course. He might be one of those married men who preferred not to wear a ring. But for some reason she had a feeling he was single—and unattached. Surprisingly, a little tingle ran down her spine at that possibility.

Which was silly, she told herself sharply. In a few minutes they’d be at the hospital and, her duty done, she could finally go home and catch a few hours of muchneeded sleep. She’d probably never see the man again. And that was just as well. For some reason he unnerved her, even in this comatose state. He was just so…male.

Rebecca knew that wasn’t a very articulate explanation for her reaction, but it was accurate. His mere presence seemed somehow…dangerous…and threatening. Threatening to what, she wasn’t sure. Certainly not her physical safety, not in his present condition. It was almost as if he was a threat to her emotional safety, to her peace of mind. Which made no sense at all. She didn’t even know the man. And she never would. In a few minutes she’d leave him at the hospital, and that would be the end of this little adventure.

But oddly enough, that thought didn’t give her much comfort.

* * * * *

eISBN 9781459281325

A GROOM OF HER OWN

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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the authot, and all incidents are pure invention.

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