Dragon Warrior (Midnight Bay) (43 page)

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Authors: Janet Chapman

Tags: #Romance, #Fantasy, #General, #Paranormal, #Fiction

BOOK: Dragon Warrior (Midnight Bay)

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And when he’d continued having her help him as if nothing had happened, she’d become no better than her clueless puppy, eagerly pitching in and even appearing disappointed when he’d sent her inside. And then she’d worked nonstop for the next six days, turning his house into a goddamned
home
.

“Your sister’s demons are not my problem, Gregor. And if
you
can’t deal with them, then move her in with some little old lady who needs mothering.” Remembering the flood of inquires he’d gotten down at the docks about his pretty new tenant, Trace snorted. “Just make sure you find one who owns a shotgun, because some of the idiots around here have the finesse of a bull moose when it comes to courting women.”

“This is why it’s important that Fiona live over you.”

“Dammit, Gregor; I am the
last
person you want around her.”

Trace immediately realized his mistake, and the prolonged silence on the other end of the phone told him that Kenzie hadn’t missed it, either.

“You’re attracted to her,” the highlander said quietly.

“Goddamn it!” Trace growled, kicking the wooden barrel he was standing beside as hard as he could. “I am—”

Trace snapped his mouth shut when the air compressor sitting on top of the barrel rolled off and slammed down onto his workbench.

Or more alarmingly, it slammed into the box holding the skunks—the startled screams of its occupants mixing with his own panicked shout. Trace dropped the phone to catch the box, at the same time trying to turn the opening away from himself.

He’d have succeeded, too, if the heavy compressor hadn’t continued its descent and slammed into his knee. Trace fell with a shouted curse, shoving at the box as he tried to scramble away. And that’s when that damned compressor struck his head, just as the skunks tumbled onto the floor beside him.

Apparently believing this was well within the bounds of being directly threatened, both skunks let loose everything they had, hitting him point blank.

Trace’s roar ended on a choked gag when a cloud of putrid musk enveloped him. He blindly rolled in the direction of the door, his eyes burning like they’d been doused with acid, his mouth and throat on fire as he held his breath, while fighting the urge to vomit. But finding he couldn’t crawl on his right knee, he ended up dragging himself from the barn even as he scrambled out of his jacket and ripped off his shirt. He tried getting to his feet then, only his knee gave out and he fell to the ground.

He threw up, and lay there gagging, gasping for breath.

“I’ve got you,” he barely heard over the roaring in his head.

“No, get away,” he choked on a series of convulsing heaves. He blindly swatted at her, but still she managed to manacle his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip, and then wedge her shoulder under his armpit as she straightened to lift him up.

They stumbled toward the house. “Water. Outside faucet,” he rasped, fumbling with his belt buckle with his free hand.

Christ, he couldn’t breathe!

He slammed against the granite foundation as he felt for the faucet, and gave a shout of relief when the deluge of water gushed over his head. He lay on his side not caring if he drowned in the icy water, because it sure as hell was better than drowning in skunk piss and vomit.

Trace felt something tugging at his feet and realized Fiona was taking off his boots. He unfastened his jeans and then gritted his teeth against the pain in his knee when she pulled them off. He dragged himself back under the spigot again, and let the water continue to flush his eyes and pummel his body.

Misneach, who’d been barking incessantly this whole time, jumped at him but gave a strangled yelp and ran away in a fit of sneezes.

Trace didn’t know how long he lay there, and didn’t even care that he was naked; he only knew that whenever he moved from under the water, he started gagging again.

The water suddenly shut off, and his protest got lost inside the heavy material that enveloped him. “Go away,” he shouted, blindly feeling for the spigot as he tossed the material away and turned the water back on.

“Oh, thank God you stopped by!” Trace heard Fiona cry as she was moving away. “You have to help me get him in the house. He hurt his knee and can’t walk.”

The water shut off again and the material returned; this time wrapping around him like a straitjacket just before he was hauled to his feet.

“Christ, Huntsman, did ye kiss their asses?” Kenzie growled. “Fiona, grab that jug of vinegar I brought.”

When Trace’s knee gave out on him again, the highlander hefted him over his shoulder with a muttered curse, and started off.

“Not the house!”

“Nay, I’m taking you down to the salt marsh. Fiona, go get a blanket and then bring it and the vinegar down to us.”

Great. Wonderful. Friggin’ fantastic. A swim in the freezing ocean is exactly what he needed. Trace vomited again—which started his nose and throat burning all over again. “Forget the week,” he ground out, wiping his face on the back of Kenzie’s jacket. “I’m torching the house
today
.”

Kenzie chuckled. “You’ll likely want to burn the barn at least, along with your clothes and my sister’s coat.”

After wiping the tears pouring from his eyes, Trace held his head to keep it from bobbing with Kenzie’s strides. “My face is numb,” he muttered. “I swear skunk piss is worse than pepper spray. The military should bomb the bastards out of those Afghan tunnels with this shit.”

“Aye, I’ve seen the little buggers send warriors scattering right in the middle of battle. Here we go,” Kenzie said with a grunt, shrugging Trace off his shoulder and dropping him next to a tidal pool. “Hell, Huntsman, couldn’t ye have left your shorts on, at least?”

Trace leaned over to splash some seawater on his face, and gave a snort. “Apparently your sister isn’t so shy that she wasn’t afraid to strip me naked in a matter of seconds.” He looked toward the house and saw the blurry figure of Fiona racing down the path along the paddock fence, a blanket in one hand and a jug in the other. He glared up at Kenzie. “She goes home with you
today
.”

The highlander bent over and gave the coat Trace was sitting on a sharp tug, rolling him into the pool—his roar of outrage turning to curses when he landed in freezing water up to his chest.

Kenzie turned to block Fiona’s view as she approached them. “Just leave the blanket and vinegar,” he told her. “And go put Trace’s clothes in a pile in the middle of the driveway, along with your coat,” he instructed, handing it to her, “and light them on fire. Then go change your own clothes,” he continued, moving slightly when she tried to see past him. “And after ye do, go in his home, fill his bathtub with hot water, and put a kettle on to boil.”

“No!” Trace shouted, making the highlander turn to look at him. His vision might be blurry, but he could see the amusement on the bastard’s face. “I can run my own bath. And besides, the door is locked.” He splashed more seawater on his face and then screwed his fists into his eyes, trying to clear them. But when he leaned around Kenzie to look at Fiona and saw her own eyes were puffy with skunk fumes and filled with concern, he blew out a deep sigh. “Just don’t burn my clothes without taking my wallet out of my pants first, okay?” he said calmly.

She nodded, and holding her coat away from herself, turned and started back toward the barn at a run.

“His house key is likely on the key ring in his truck,” Kenzie called after her. “Ye run a bath and put the kettle on.”

“Damn it, Gregor. I don’t want her in my house.”

“Why? Are ye keeping a naked woman tied to your bed?” Kenzie drawled, unscrewing the cap on the vinegar. “Close your eyes; this may sting.”

Trace snorted, which ended on a sputter when the vinegar cascaded down over his head and into his mouth. He gargled, then spit it out and ran his hands over his face and through his hair. “How did you get here so fast?” he asked, shuddering against the cold as he rubbed the steady stream of vinegar over his chest and arms.

“I was in town, at Eve’s store. Lucky for you she uses vinegar to wash the windows,” Kenzie said, directing the stream over his back. “Mind telling me what possessed you to disturb those skunks?”

Trace stopped washing to glare up at him. “I didn’t; my air compressor did. Apparently your sister thought it belonged on top of a barrel beside my workbench, and when I kicked the barrel, the compressor fell on the box of skunks. Then it hit my knee just before it smashed into my head.” He touched the stinging lump on his forehead, and finding his fingers covered in blood, he glared up at Kenzie again. “That compressor must weigh as much as she does, so not only
why
did she think it belonged up on the barrel but
how
did she get it up there?”

Kenzie shrugged, and poured the last of the vinegar down over him. “That will have to do for now,” he said, picking up the blanket. “We better get you into a hot bath before the cold takes your strength.” He laid the blanket out on the grass, and reached out to Trace. “If ye have scotch, I’ll dose your tea with it for you to sip while ye soak.”

“Not that I’ll taste it,” he said, giving a grunt when Kenzie hauled him out of the tidal pool and dropped him onto the blanket. “I’ll be lucky if I ever get the smell of skunk piss out of my nose hairs, much less taste anything again.” He pulled the blanket around himself and dropped his throbbing head in his hands with a groan.

Kenzie squatted down in front of him. “I’m asking as a friend, Trace, that ye please let Fiona stay,” he said quietly.

Trace lifted his head to look the highlander in the eyes. “I came within one blow of killing a man the last time I got between a woman and her demons—now she’s dead, the guy who killed her is serving five years for manslaughter, and I got kicked out of the military.” He dropped his head back in his hands. “As much as I’d like to help you, I’ve got my own demons to fight.”

“What stopped you from killing him?”

He looked up again. “Only the knowledge that I was as much to blame for her death as he was.”

“It’s been my experience that intelligent men learn from their mistakes, my friend, and I have every reason to believe you won’t make that particular mistake again.”

“Oh, I won’t. I have no intention of ever getting involved with another woman.”

Kenzie chuckled at that, and lifted Trace with him as he stood up. “No offense, Huntsman,” he said, hefting him over his shoulder. “But with your stones—even shriveled as they are from the cold—I can’t quite see you becoming a monk.”

“Lovely, Gregor,” Trace muttered, gritting his teeth at being carried like a stinking sack of grain. “How friggin’
nice
of you to notice.”