She focused back on him. He was holding out a hand to her.
She placed a palm on his. His fingers were warm and strong. He pulled her to her feet.
The world wobbled. She wasn’t as steady as she’d hoped. She gritted her teeth. She was done being helpless and afraid. A huge shiver wracked her, and she tried to take a step.
And collapsed.
Strong arms caught her and lifted her off her feet. God. She squeezed her eyes closed as dizziness washed over her.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“Nothing to be sorry about.” He let out a whistle, and Atlas bounded ahead of them.
Then he strode across the grass.
Gemma had no strength left. She dropped her head to Boone’s shoulder. His clothes were wet too, but she could feel the heat radiating off him.
“I’m heavy.” She had curves. Curves her mother was always telling her to work off.
Boone snorted. “No, you’re not.”
He didn’t appear to have trouble carrying her. She felt a little flutter in her belly. Then suddenly the cold clamped on to her and wouldn’t let go. She couldn’t stop the shivers. Her bones felt cold. Her teeth chattered.
“B-Boone…”
“Hold on, Gemma. We’ll get you warm. My cabin is close by.”
Her vision blurred, and she just held onto him.
Were those men still after her? Would they find her? Another violent shiver hit her, and she closed her eyes. She didn’t have any energy left.
“Gemma, stay awake. Look at me.”
She tried, but her eyelids were too heavy.
“Gemma.”
He had a nice voice. Deep, resonant. Even through her wet clothes, she felt the heat of him. He was big, strong, and warm.
But then consciousness leaked away, and the darkness swallowed her again.
Fuck.
Gemma turned into deadweight in Boone’s arms.
She had been talking, lucid. Was she hurt worse than he’d thought? He hurried toward the cabin, Atlas keeping pace beside him.
When he reached it, he kicked the door open. Getting her warm was his first priority. He’d seen hypothermia kill before.
He set Gemma on his couch. Atlas made a sound. Boone knew the dog was worried.
“I know, boy. We’ll get her warm. We’ll take care of her.”
Her wet clothes needed to come off first.
With some maneuvering, he got her wet pants off and uncovered slim, pale legs and soft thighs. Boone’s mouth firmed and he forced his gaze away.
She’s hurt, you asshole.
He methodically got her shirt off. Hell. Her bra and panties were pale blue. He turned away and grabbed the throw blanket off the back of his couch. He wrapped her in it, then without looking, got her wet underwear off.
It wasn’t easy trying to work under the blanket, but soon she was naked. He blew out a breath, then went to light the fire. He already had a box full of cut logs.
He got the fire going and noted that Atlas had stayed sitting beside Gemma.
“Good boy. Keep an eye on her while I change.”
It was a relief to get out of his wet clothes. He pulled on a clean set of jeans and a gray T-shirt. He also grabbed another blanket off his bed.
When he got back to the couch, Gemma hadn’t moved. Her eyelashes were inky dark against her skin. She had the cutest freckles across the bridge of her nose.
She was still shivering.
He spread the second blanket over her, then sat down beside her and pulled her closer. “You’re safe now.”
But her shivering got worse. Shit. Quickly, Boone pulled off his shirt, then pulled her onto his lap.
She half turned and mumbled something before she burrowed into him. He tucked the blanket securely around the both of them.
“Come on, Gemma. Open those eyes.” He smoothed a hand down her hair. “Come on.”
They opened slowly, but her gaze wasn’t focused.
“You hurt?”
She blinked. “Drugs. They…drugs.” Her eyes closed again.
Shit. Whoever had snatched her had drugged her. Anger seared through him. The assholes. He touched her abraded wrist. Drugged and restrained.
His gut tightened. She needed to get checked by a doctor.
“Gemma, you need the hospital.”
“No. No.” She thrashed around.
Dammit. “Okay, okay.” Part of him was filled with the fierce urge to keep her safe, to calm her fear.
Who the hell would hurt a woman? Especially one with delicate features and skin that looks so smooth and soft.
Hendrix, focus.
He fumbled to reach his cellphone, then scrolled through until he found the contact he wanted.
It rang and rang.
“Come on, Rex.”
Finally, it connected.
“What?” a deep voice growled.
“I need your help.”
There was a pause. “Atlas all right?”
“He’s fine. Rex, bring your bag, and don’t rush. Just act normal, like you’re coming for a regular visit.”
There was another pause. “Fine. I’m coming.”
Boone glanced out the window. Gemma can’t have been in the river too long. It was clear she’d escaped someone.
So where were her captors?
And were they still looking for her?
He tightened his grip on her.
“No one’s going to hurt you.”
CHAPTER THREE
He was holding Gemma tight when he heard the crunch of tires on gravel. He knew the rumble of Rex’s truck, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
Boone settled Gemma on the couch. She didn’t move or make a sound. He tucked the blanket more securely around her.
Atlas was sitting as close to the couch as he could.
“Stay close, Atlas. Protect her.” Boone patted Atlas on the head, then nabbed his Glock 19 off the side table.
He strode to the window, scanning outside through the curtains. He spotted Rex’s battered red truck and the man circling it. Boone met his uncle’s friend at the door.
Rex grunted. “What’s the emergency? And what’s with all the cloak-and-dagger?”
“Come in.” Boone was used to Rex’s gravelly voice and gruff demeanor.
The man wasn’t tall, but he was still in shape—with broad shoulders, and a barrel chest covered by a red-flannel shirt. His hair was gray and buzzed short. He was carrying his black leather bag. He and Boone’s Uncle Ben had served together in the Army.
“You can’t tell anyone about this.”
Rex’s bushy eyebrows drew together. “About what?”
“Her.” Boone walked over to the couch and crouched beside Gemma. Her hair was dry now, and a lush chestnut brown. He wanted to touch her, but instead curled his fingers into his palm.
Rex just stared. “Did you kidnap her?”
“What? No. Of course not.” Fuck. “I found her in the river. Hurt.”
Rex’s frown deepened, and he dropped his bag on the wooden coffee table, then gave Atlas an absent pat.
“She said she’d been kidnapped. She escaped, but they were after her. She was cold, scratched up, and out of it. She also said they’d drugged her.”
Rex cursed and checked her pulse.
“She’s been tied up, Rex.”
The older man made an angry sound, pulling out a stethoscope. “She should be at the hospital. You call the sheriff?”
Boone shifted uncomfortably. “She begged me not to take her to the hospital.”