Wild Rain (5 page)

Frowning, she shoved all thoughts of her mother to their usual far corner of her mind, then tucked her unusual reaction to Reese Braedon in another dark soon-to-be-forgotten corner and turned to the task of securing the rest of the house.

THREE

Jillian reentered the kitchen and noticed the trash bag sitting on the floor. Reese must have picked up her clothes earlier. She hadn’t noticed. She’d been too preoccupied …

Just then the back door blew open with a bang. Reese’s huge frame filled the doorway, a stark figure silhouetted by the black skies behind him. She was immediately drawn to his face. His jaw was clenched so tightly, it made his cheekbones stand out in sharp relief, the light in his eyes was wild, almost feral. What in the hell was wrong with him?

He gripped the doorframe with both hands, as if in fear he’d be sucked back out into the storm. She saw his mouth move, but the noise outside was so loud, she couldn’t hear herself think much less what he was saying. More afraid of him now than when he’d held her against the wall in the upstairs hallway, she knew her greater concern had to be
getting him out of the open doorway before the door blew off its hinges. Besides, after the way he’d fought to get her safely off the island, she doubted he meant her any harm now.

She ran to him and grabbed his arm. “Get inside!”

He didn’t answer, but when she tugged, his grip on the frame just tightened. Jillian looked up at him so he could read her lips. “Move!”

“Bloody … I can’t!” His accent had thickened to a growl.

“What?” His words sunk in. “Why?”

As an answer, he slumped against one side of the door and would have lost his balance entirely if she hadn’t shifted quickly to wedge herself between him and the doorframe. As it was he almost squashed her as she struggled to keep him upright. “You’re hurt!” She didn’t know where or how, but it was obvious he wasn’t in great shape.

He bent his head so his mouth was closer to her ear. “Move outta … the way. Gotta … close … the door.”

She wrapped her arm around his waist. It was like hugging a big tree. “Let go!” she yelled, unable to look up so he could see her lips move. Her head just reached his shoulder.

Bracing her legs for his weight, she reached up for the hand still gripping the door, intending to pull it down around her shoulder. It was then she felt the sticky warmth against her hip. Looking down she saw the cause. He had a long slash down
the outside of his thigh which had bled through his jeans and soaked into hers. She looked up to say something, but he chose that moment to let his good knee buckle, sending them staggering into the kitchen and half across the table.

Reese fell face and chest forward onto the table with a loud groan. Jillian was slung into the chairs, but managed to catch hold of one before she tumbled to the floor. She scrambled up and ran to close the door, shoving hard against the fierce gusts shoving back. As soon as it clicked, she slammed the dead bolt across and raced back to Reese who was hugging the table, probably to keep from sliding into a heap on the floor.

She grabbed a chair and turned it at an angle. “Reese?”

He grunted.

“Can you roll to your right? I’ll hold the chair and you can slide into it and leave your leg straight in front of you.”

His answer was to shift his hands slowly around the table as he gradually did what she’d asked. Once he’d slid into the chair, he let his head drop back for a moment, his eyes tightly shut.

She leaned over him. “Reese?”

He opened one eye.

“What happened to your leg?”

“Alligator.”

“What?”
It was the last thing she’d expected, and her voice rose several octaves in surprise. “Cleo’s halfway across the compound. Even in the
storm, it wouldn’t make any sense for her to charge you—”

“Earlier. Caught me off guard. Snagged my thigh. Just before you tackled me.”

Jillian flashed back to the first time she’d seen him. Crouching in front of Cleo with a gun pointed down her throat. Was that why he’d pulled a gun on her? She’d gotten a hold of him?

“You mean you’ve been running around in this storm, dragging half my clothes and me over your shoulder with a huge gash in your thigh?”

He opened his other eye. “Wasn’t my idea.”

“But—”

He raised his hand to forestall her next question. “It wasn’t that bad.” He shifted slightly, winced, waited a moment, then went on. “Until the metal sheet slipped and the corner caught it.”

She gasped. “Ouch!” The reaction was automatic. “It’s a miracle you made it back to the porch.”

He shook his head. “The miracle is that I got the bloody thing on.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “If you have anything to secure that door, do it now before the wind blows it in.”

Jillian spun to the door, her eyes widening at the way it shuddered against its hinges as the storm pounded it even with the screened-in porch providing some protection.

She thought she’d have more time. Earlier, just before she’d gone outside to check on Cleo—only to find Reese holding the alligator at gunpoint—she’d
heard the radio update stating they’d have at least ten hours. They’d predicted wrong.

Suddenly, everything overwhelmed her. The reality of the storm, Cleo facing it alone as she protected her eggs, and now Reese’s nasty wound. They all needed her attention.

Grabbing a battery lantern, she hurried to her office where she’d stashed the metal bars that slipped into brackets across the back door, counting her blessings that she’d spent the money to install the heavy-duty storm safeguards after witnessing the devastation of Hurricane Andrew.

Shutting out the instant-replay images the media had been showing at all hours ever since Hurricane Ivan was determined to be heading this way, she nonetheless cast an anxious look at the now-shuttered window. She’d hoped to do one last check on Cleo and had left her office window for last because it provided a direct view of the egg mound and the pond. The quick check she’d made just before Reese dragged her to the house would have to suffice. For now, Cleo was on her own.

She tugged the bars from her office and shoved them into the slots. After the last one slid into place, she leaned on the door and took a deep breath. The house was now as protected as it was going to get.

Which left Reese.

She turned back to face him. He’d shifted enough to line his leg up with the chair opposite him and looked as if he was about to lift it.
“Don’t!” She moved quickly to his side. “You could aggravate the wound.”

“Aggravate? I’d say it’s pretty p.o.’d already.” He winced, then clenched his jaw as he reached forward for his calf.

“I’ll do it.” But he batted her hands away and with a loud groan, pulled his leg up and rested it on the seat of the chair in front of him. She quickly moved another one under his foot so his whole leg was supported.

“And you think I’m stubborn.”

“I know you’re stubborn,” he said as he leaned over to inspect the wound. “Bring the lantern closer.”

Swearing under her breath, she grabbed a second battery lantern from the box and carried them both to the table. “Move back so I can look.”

“It’s not that bad,” he pronounced, still bent over, pulling at the torn fabric. “The impact just sort of jolted me is all. I’ll be fine.” When she didn’t say anything, he looked up at her. “Got some thread and a needle?”

“You going to do that for yourself too?”

“You ever sewn up a man?”

Something in his expression made her wonder what he would answer if she’d been the one asking. “Birds, small mammals, and the occasional reptile,” she answered, determined not to be curious about Reese Braedon. “Don’t worry, I won’t notice the difference.”

“Very funny.”

Taking that comment for his assent, Jillian picked up one lantern. “I’ll be right back.”

After collecting supplies from the boxes she’d packed and stored in the coverted storage closet the day before, she hurried back to the kitchen.

Scrubbing her hands over the empty side of her double sink with some of the bottled water, she pulled on surgical gloves, then laid a sterile cloth on the table and quickly organized her supplies so she could easily reach them. “I’ll need you to hold the lantern up so I can see. If you feel the least bit woozy, tell me immediately so I can stop. Warn me if you have to move.”

She knelt on the floor beside him and plucked at the ragged edges of his jeans. The tear in the fabric was about five inches long. Peeling it back, she allowed a small sigh of relief as she saw that the wound was shorter by about two inches. Still, it looked deep and definitely needed cleaning. And stitching.

She reached up for the scissors but he beat her to them.

“I’m not helpless here. Tell me what you want and I’ll hand it to you.”

“I
want
you to follow directions.”

“You’re one to talk about following directions.”

The man was aggravation personified. So why did she have the sudden, strange urge to smile? Ignoring the possibility that she was actually enjoying their verbal sparring, Jillian avoided looking directly
at him as she took the scissors, then deftly slit the denim, elongating the tear.

“Be careful, Doc, those are my only pants.”

She looked up at him, not bothering to hide her smile. “That’s a shame, because I have to cut them off to get the wound cleansed properly.” She bent back to her task. “And I’m not a doctor.”

“You’re not cutting off my—What did you say?”

She glanced back up, her tone and expression serious. “I’m not a doctor. I’m a wildlife rehabilitator with some basic medical skills.” When he didn’t immediately grab the scissors away from her, she went back to work, then paused to look up at him again before cutting further. “Would you rather take them off?”

Jillian prayed he’d say no. Somehow she was certain she’d only embarrass herself more with this man if she was forced to kneel over his bare thigh with only his underwear as a barrier between her eyes and his … She gulped. She doubted plain white cotton would look utilitarian on him. And there was always the chance he didn’t wear any. Dear Lord.

“Just don’t cut them off altogether.” His voice was rough, but not angry like she’d become accustomed to.

Had he seen something of her thoughts in her eyes? She bent her head and went back to work on his jeans. No, she thought as she slit the fabric crossways at the top and bottom of the tear. If he
had, surely he wouldn’t have passed on the chance to torment her with it.

Not as relieved as she’d like to be, Jillian folded back the flaps and cleansed the area around the wound as best she could. After replacing the cap on the antiseptic, she reached for the sealed syringe packet and small vial of anesthetic.

“What’s that?”

“It’s to numb the skin.”

“I’d rather have a drink.”

Something in his tone was too flat, too gruff. Even for Reese. She looked up at him, careful to keep her expression one of solemn understanding. Her voice didn’t quite match it. “Afraid of needles, are we? If you want, you can close your eyes. It will only sting a little.”

He didn’t respond right away. Something about the way he set his jaw … “You aren’t going to faint or anything?”

“Not bloody likely.”

She quickly shifted her focus back to his wound. The words had been quick, harsh, and certain. So why was she fighting another smile? Other than his understandable wariness of Cleo, she hadn’t seen even a trace of vulnerability in him. Quite the opposite.

Jillian absently smoothed the flaps of denim over his thigh, noticing now for some odd reason how hard the muscle was under her fingers. Waist like a tree, thighs like a rock.

And her mind was obviously turning to sap.

With a quick breath for renewed determination, she squared her shoulders and reached for the needle. “Just keep a stiff upper lip and this will be over before you know it.”

“You keep rubbing my leg like that and that’s not all—Ouch! Dammit, that—Ouch!” He swore under his breath, then said in a steely voice, “You enjoy feeling up your patients before you stab them?”

She carefully laid the syringe down and picked up the antiseptic again. “It might interest you to know that the last critter I worked on had four legs when she came in.”

She doused the swab in the clear solution then lifted her head, looking him straight in the eyes. “When I got done, she had only three.”

All his sins were being revisited on him in the form of one small, irritating female, Reese decided as he watched Jillian thread a funny-looking curved needle.

And Lord knows, the list wasn’t a short one.

“This won’t take long.” Jillian didn’t look up at him as she spoke.

He watched as she poked the needle into his skin. The small numbed area of his thigh wouldn’t reduce his effectiveness completely if something were to happen, but nonetheless, he wished she hadn’t done it. He’d certainly put up with far worse
than being stitched up without benefit of anesthetic.

Reese was used to being in control. Complete, total control. His former career had demanded it at the most basic level, sometimes to the point of making him feel imprisoned by its dictates. His current career reflected the freedom of it, now that complete control was his own choice, both personal and professional.