The Family You Make (Sunrise Cove #1)

“She taught me to protect others, always.”

The blood was soaking through her shirt, so she deepened the pressure, making him wince. “Yeah? And how is that working out for you?”

“Great. And Jesus . . .” He tried to sit up, but she held him still. Or at least he gave her the illusion of letting her hold him still, because he was a big guy. As he lay on his side on the floor of the shuddering gondola—Nope, don’t think about that!—his long legs took up much of the room, and what little was left, his broad shoulders covered.

When she’d first noticed him sprawled out on the bench opposite of her as she’d boarded, she’d done her best to ignore him. That had been easy because she’d been distracted by her hatred of small, enclosed spaces. But it was impossible to ignore him now, on her knees and snugged into the curve of his long body, her face close to his as she checked his pulse again, his blood on her hands.

Closest you’ve been to a man in a long time, came the entirely inappropriate thought, which vanished at the shocking grinding sound of metal. She gasped and involuntarily clutched at his arm. “What was that?”

She expected him to come up with some smartass answer, but he didn’t speak at all. “No. Hell, no, don’t you dare. Stay with me.”

He groaned, and she almost burst into grateful tears. “What’s your name?” she demanded. “Mine’s Jane.”

His voice was gravelly and barely audible. “You Jane, me Tarzan.”

With a startled laugh, she sat back on her heels. “I don’t know whether to worry that you’re hallucinating or that you’re an imbecile.”

“Imbecile,” he said. “At least according to my older sister.”

Keep him talking . . . “Well, for future knowledge, it’s Jane Parks, not Tarzan’s Jane. You’re close with your family?”

“Unfortunately. I’m also the black sheep.”

“Is that because you tell stupid jokes?”

His lips quirked, but other than that, he didn’t move, and worry crept into her voice. “Open your eyes, Tarzan. Right now. I mean it.”

“Bossy.” But he cracked open one slate, bloodshot eye.

“Both eyes.”

It took him a moment, and it made him grimace and go green again, but he managed.

“Are you dizzy? Nauseous? Is there a ringing in your ears?”

“Yeah.”

She assumed that was yes to all the questions. Damn. She took one of his hands and directed it to hold the compress on his head, freeing up both of hers. “Now track my finger. Tarzan! Pay attention.”

“Levi. My name is Levi.”

“Well, Levi, are you watching my finger?”

“Yep. All twenty of them.”

Oh crap, his pupils weren’t tracking either.

Again, he tried to sit up, but she held him down. “Your only job is to stay still, you hear me?”

“That bad?”

She pasted her sweet nurse smile on her face. Yes, she had a whole repertoire of smiles. She had a professional smile. She had a fake smile. And her personal favorite, her don’t-make-me-kick-your-ass smile. “No. Not bad at all.”

A very faint laugh escaped him as he closed his eyes again. “Don’t ever play poker, Red.”

“Jane.” And she did play poker. The skill had come in handy in college. Especially since she had a fondness for having food in her belly and a roof over her head. Or a tent. She wasn’t picky. After growing up tether-less, a tumbleweed in the wind, she’d never needed more than the bare minimum to get by.

Levi had closed his eyes again.

“Hey. Hey, Levi, stay with me. Where did you grow up?”

“Here.” He swallowed hard, like he was trying not to throw up. “Tahoe. Not the gondola.”

She smiled. “Funny guy.”

“I try. Where did you grow up?”

“I didn’t. Not yet.” It was her automatic, by rote, don’t-give-too-much-of-herself-away answer, and she usually got away with it.

But Levi opened his eyes, then managed to narrow them slightly as he reached out and touched her cheek. His fingers came away with blood on them. “You’re hurt,” he said, sounding more alert now, carefully scanning his gaze over her. She watched as he took in the fact that she was crouching over him in just her bra, but his gaze was brisk and methodical. “Just a scratch,” she assured him.

He made a quick assessment anyway. Patting her down, checking the bloodstains on her.

“It’s your blood.” She caught his hand. “Levi, I’m fine.” Okay, so maybe she was a little dinged up, but she’d had worse. “Really. I’m good.”

He gave a nod so slight she almost missed it. “You are,” he agreed. “And brave as hell.” Then he closed his eyes and lay very still.

She checked his pulse again.

“My ribs are bruised, but not broken, I don’t think,” he murmured. “And you know head wounds always look worse than they are. I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You’re fine?” There might’ve been the slightest touch of hysteria in her voice. “Then maybe you could put all those well-honed muscles to use and pry us out of this tin can.”

That got a very small smirk out of him.

“Oh please, like you don’t know that you look like a walking/talking Outside magazine cover. Let me guess. You’re a wildland firefighter. A hotshot.”

His small smile widened a bit. “Data . . . scientist. Consultant.”

“Sounds very . . . cerebral.”

His smirk remained in place. “You think scientists can’t have . . . what did you call them . . . well-honed muscles . . . ?” His voice trailed off.

He was fading, and panic surged anew. “What does a data scientist consultant do?” she asked desperately.

He shrugged, which caused him to grimace in pain. “I . . . extract and design data modeling . . . processes . . .”

“Levi.”

“Hmmm?”

He was clearly having trouble finding words and keeping track of the conversation. He needed X-rays. An MRI. “What else does a data scientist consultant do?”