Chapter 20

chapter

twenty

He was hurting.

Lucy could see it in the stiff way he walked, but he didn't make a sound of complaint as they trudged through the dense underbrush. Since he lost his cane in the river, he kept one hand on Zelda's harness, and Lucy stayed close by his side, ready to steady him if he stumbled. Her hand brushed his every few steps. She told herself it was to let him know she was still at his side, but that was only partially true. She needed the physical reassurance that he was still there with her. The icy river water had leached the heat from her body, and her muscles ached with cold and fatigue. But it was the chilling fear that squeezed her heart that made each breath a struggle.

If she had lost him…

A shudder ripped through her that had nothing to do with the cold, and dread sat like a stone in her stomach.

Someone had shot at them.

Someone wanted to kill them.

And that person was still out there somewhere, possibly tracking them at this very moment.

She shook her head, trying to dislodge the terrifying thought, but questions kept running on a loop through her mind.

Was it the same someone who had killed Maya and attacked Sawyer? The same person who had sabotaged the radio? Were they trying to stop her and Sawyer from calling for help?

But why?

She wished she could check in with Blue Mountain Tower, make sure her hikers were all safe, and see if anyone had disappeared from the group. Maybe then she would finally have some answers, some clue as to who was doing this.

But with the phones dead and no working radios, they were cut off.

Alone.

So she needed to stop wondering about the hypotheticals and focus on their immediate problems—getting dry, getting warm, and finding a safe place to hole up and regroup.

A branch snapped nearby, and she nearly jumped out of her skin, heart slamming against her ribs. Sawyer froze beside her, his head cocked as he listened intently. Zelda's ears perked up with interest, but she didn't seem too concerned. That had to be a good sign, right? If the dog wasn't worried, there was probably nothing to worry about.

Still, Lucy held her breath, straining to hear over the pounding of her pulse in her ears.

A squirrel scampered across their path, disappearing into the underbrush with an irritated chitter. Zelda trembled with excitement, watching the squirrel with rapt fascination, but she didn't leave Sawyer's side. She really was the best dog ever.

Sawyer squeezed her hand. "What was it? Rabbit?"

Lucy let out the breath she'd been holding in a shaky exhale, some of the tension draining from her shoulders. "Squirrel."

Just a squirrel. Not a crazed killer with a gun.

She tried to inject some lightness into her tone. "Looks like Zelda wants to chase it."

He shook his head, and a smile—his first since they climbed out of the river—flitted over his lips. "No, she wants to cuddle it. She thinks everything should love her as much as she loves it. She doesn't understand when small animals are afraid of her."

Lucy let out a small laugh, surprising herself. "She's not wrong, though. Everyone should love her. She's the best girl."

Zelda's tail wagged at the praise, and she looked up at them with a doggy grin, tongue lolling. Lucy's heart melted. She reached down to pat Zelda's damp head.

Sawyer's fingers tightened around hers. "Both my girls are pretty amazing."

His girl.

A few days ago, having any man claim her would've sent her running for the hills. But coming from Sawyer, the words sent a warm glow spreading through her chest, momentarily chasing away the chill. Being his felt right. Safe.

And also still terrifying.

Ugh. Why were her feelings for him so messy and complicated?

She squeezed his hand back, leaning into his solid strength. "We make a good team."

His thumb rubbed soothing circles over her abraded knuckles. "The best."

They walked a little farther until Lucy spotted a lean-to. It looked like it had been there a long time, the roof covered in moss. "There's a shelter here."

She led Sawyer and Zelda over to it, eyeing the slanted roof dubiously. It wasn't much, but it would at least help hide them from anyone nearby.

Sawyer ran his hand along the rough-hewn logs forming the wall. "Feels solid. Good spot to hole up for a while." He ducked inside, Zelda padding after him.

Lucy followed them in, having to hunch over in the low space. The earthen floor was hard-packed and dry. Sawyer sank down against the back wall with a groan, stretching his right leg out in front of him and rubbing at his thigh.

"Your leg bothering you?" she asked and knelt beside him.

He shook his head. "It's fine."

"Oh, of course. I always limp when my leg's fine, too."

He exhaled, long and slow. "Okay, yeah. It's bothering me. I jammed my knee on something in the river. And my ribs. And my shoulder. And… every other part of me. But I will be okay. I just need to rest for a bit."

"Then let's get you out of these wet clothes." She helped him shrug out of his jacket. The thin material of his T-shirt clung to his chest and back, outlining the sculpted planes of muscle. Her fingers itched to trace them, to feel the warm, living heat of his skin…

But she resisted the urge, instead focusing on wringing out the excess water from his jacket. "Take off your shirt."

"This is not how I wanted you to get me naked again." He winced as he pulled off the T-shirt, and her heart lodged in her throat. His back and shoulder were an ugly patchwork of purple and blue.

"Jesus, Sawyer." She reached out, fingertips hovering over the mottled skin, afraid to touch him and cause more pain. "Why didn't you say something?"

He shrugged, then winced. "What could you do about it except worry? I'll be fine."

She bit her lip, unconvinced. Those contusions looked serious. He could have other internal injuries. He needed a doctor, x-rays, pain meds. Things she couldn't give him stuck out here in the middle of nowhere.

Pushing to her feet, she grabbed his wet clothes and draped them over branches outside the shelter. She peeled off her own wet shirt and pants, teeth chattering as the breeze hit her damp skin. Goosebumps erupted across her flesh, and her nipples pebbled against the thin fabric of her bra. She draped her clothes next to Sawyer's, hoping the summer breeze would dry them quickly.

Ducking back into the lean-to, she found Sawyer struggling to unlace his boots, his face pinched with pain. While she was gone, he'd laid out the phones on a rock to dry, but she doubted that would do much to improve their functionality.

She knelt beside him again, gently nudging his hands away. "Let me."

She made quick work of the knots, easing the boots off his feet. His socks squished when she peeled them off. She set them in the sun with the rest of their clothes, then turned her attention to his soaked pants.

He sucked in a sharp breath when she reached for his fly, his abdominal muscles contracting as her fingers brushed against his stomach. She paused, looking up at him through her lashes. His pale blue eyes were heavy-lidded, his lips parted.

Desire, hot and fierce, lanced through her. She wanted to press her mouth to his, to taste him, to feel his naked skin against hers again.

"Easy, Luce," he murmured, voice strained, and wrapped a hand around her wrist. "You can't look at me like that. It's torture."

"How am I looking at you?"

"Like you want to lick me like a popsicle."

She did want to lick him. She wanted to wrap her mouth around his big cock and suck until he was writhing with a mix of pain and pleasure. The mental image made her pulse throb, heat curling low in her belly, her panties going damp.

"How do you know that?" she asked a little too breathlessly.

"Your breathing changed. Your touch changed." His voice dropped to a husky whisper, fingers tightening on her wrist. "And as much as I would love for you to have your way with me, I'm not exactly in fighting shape at the moment."

He was right. Now wasn't the time. They needed to focus on survival, not sex, but it was difficult with the memories of last night so fresh in her mind.

Dragging in an unsteady breath, she lowered her gaze and finished unzipping his pants, all business. "I'm not trying to turn you on. I'm trying to help, and these need to come off. You can't get warm with wet clothes on. Lift your hips."

He braced his hands on the ground and pushed up with a low grunt of pain. Together, they worked the wet cargo pants down his legs, which were almost as bruised as his back. The fabric clung to his muscular thighs and calves, and she had to tug to get them off.

Finally, he was naked except for a pair of black boxer briefs. She tried not to stare at the impressive outline of his cock straining against the thin, wet fabric. He was beautiful, even battered and bruised. She swallowed hard and averted her gaze, draping his pants over a branch outside before ducking back into the shelter.

Sawyer had his eyes closed, head tipped back against the wall. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. Zelda curled up at his side, her head resting on his thigh. Her heart clenched. He looked so vulnerable, so human. Not the cocky, self-assured charmer he pretended to be. Seeing him like this, stripped bare in more ways than one, made her want to wrap herself around him and never let go.

"Some second date, huh?" His voice rumbled in his chest, laced with exhaustion and pain he couldn't quite hide.

"Oh, come on, this is at least our third."

His brow wrinkled, but he didn't open his eyes. "What are you counting as the first?"

"When you pulled me out of that cave."

He frowned fiercely. "So far, our dates suck. I need to take you on a real date. Something that doesn't involve near-death experiences or hypothermia."

She grabbed the emergency blanket from her pack and shook off the water. Thankfully, it was still sealed, so the blanket itself should still be dry. "Oh yeah? So what does a real date with Sawyer Murphy entail?"

She sat beside him, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. Opening the blanket with a crinkle of mylar, she draped it over both of them, cocooning them in silver. She wrapped an arm around Sawyer's waist, careful to avoid his bruises, and guided his head down to her shoulder. He came willingly, melting into her with a sigh. His arm snaked around her back, palm splaying across her hip. Skin to skin. The heat of him seeped into her, thawing her from the inside out.

"Well, first, I'll pick you up on my motorcycle." His voice was a low rumble, his breath warm against her collarbone. "We'd take the scenic route along the coast. Stop at a secluded cove I know. Spread out a blanket, pop open some wine, feed each other fancy cheese, and discuss the meaning of life while the sun sets over the ocean."

She let out a soft snort. " You have a motorcycle?"

"No, but I will for our date."

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She could indulge in this fantasy for a few moments. "Okay. Then what?"

His thumb traced idle patterns on the bare skin of her hip as he considered. "Then, once the stars come out, I'll build us a bonfire on the beach."

She hummed, the sound vibrating through her chest. "I do love a bonfire."

"I'll grab a guitar and serenade you with off-key renditions of every love song I know until you can't take it anymore and kiss me just to shut me up."

A laugh bubbled out of her. "You play guitar too, huh?"

"Not even a little bit." His lips curved against her shoulder before he placed a soft kiss there.

She huffed out another laugh. How did he do that? Even cold, wet, and injured, he could still make her laugh, could make her believe—if only for a moment—that everything would be okay.

"Sounds like a pretty epic date. Might be worth sticking around to see if you can make it happen."

He lifted his head from her shoulder. "Yeah?"

There was a vulnerability in that single word that squeezed her heart. He was always so confident, so self-assured. It was easy to forget that he had his own doubts and insecurities. That maybe he needed reassurance just as much as she did.

Cupping his stubbled jaw in her palm, she leaned in and brushed her lips softly over his. "Yeah. I'm willing to see where this thing between us goes."

He let out a shuddering breath and rested his head against hers. "Good. That's good."

They sat like that for a long while, huddled together, listening to the forest sounds filtering in from outside their little shelter—the rustle of leaves, the chirping of birds, the skittering of small creatures in the underbrush. Gradually, Sawyer's shivering eased, and his breathing deepened. His body grew heavier against hers.

"Sawyer?" she whispered, but he didn't respond. He was out, his face relaxed in sleep, the lines of pain around his eyes and mouth eased. She didn't have the heart to wake him. She suspected he hadn't slept last night when she did, instead staying awake, listening for signs of danger, protecting her. He needed the rest.

Carefully, so as not to jostle him, she eased him down until his head rested in her lap. He murmured something unintelligible but didn't wake.

Zelda repositioned as well, curling up tighter against Sawyer's side, her head on his hip. Lucy absently stroked the dog's soft ears as she studied Sawyer's face in the filtered daylight seeping in through the cracks in the lean-to roof. Even in sleep, a furrow remained between his brows, as if he couldn't fully relax. Not that she blamed him. It wasn't exactly a restful situation.

Her gaze traced over the hard planes and angles of his face, committing every detail to memory. The faint scar on his chin. The golden stubble shadowing his jaw. The surprisingly long lashes fanning over his cheekbones. He looked younger in sleep. More vulnerable. Her heart squeezed with a fierce protectiveness.

He was so strong, always pushing forward no matter how much he was hurting, no matter how bleak things seemed. But everyone had their breaking point. Even Sawyer Murphy. And she couldn't help but wonder how close he was to his.

She leaned her head back against the rough wall, blinking against the stinging in her eyes. Exhaustion pulled at her, but she resisted the siren call of sleep. One of them needed to keep watch. She wouldn't let them be taken by surprise again. But it was hard to stay alert when her body felt leaden. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she let herself drift, not quite asleep but not fully awake either. Time stretched and warped in the warm cocoon of the emergency blanket, Sawyer's steady breathing and the distant birdsong lulling her into a doze.

She floated in that hazy place between dreaming and waking, her thoughts wandering aimlessly. Snippets of memories and anxieties churned together—flashes of the river, the echo of a gunshot, Sawyer's broken body in her arms…