The fire crackled in the small room and the wind howled outside. She was more than warm enough lying half under Riggs, and she couldn’t deny she was exhausted.
Carlise’s eyes closed as she relaxed, and before she knew it, she’d fallen into a deep sleep.
When she woke, it took her a moment to remember where she was. It was still dark, indicating the sun had yet to rise, so she couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few hours. But she and Riggs had clearly been restless. They’d both moved in their sleep, and he was now behind her. One of his arms was wrapped around her waist, her head resting on his bicep.
He was basically curled around her. She could feel every inch of his body against hers, and instead of feeling threatened or nervous that they were so close, she felt . . . good.
Maybe it was because she’d been taking care of him while he was vulnerable. Maybe because he’d saved her life. Maybe it was simply because she was so tired. Whatever the reason, Carlise had never felt as content as she did right at that moment, in this stranger’s arms.
It was that thought that got her moving. Riggs was a stranger. He probably wouldn’t be happy to know he was spooning an equally strange woman who was living in his cabin, eating his food. Nor would he like being completely vulnerable to whatever she might do to him.
Riggs grunted as she slid out from under his arm. She stood next to his bed for a moment, watching him frown and fidget restlessly, as if looking for her now that she wasn’t in his arms.
“Fire,” she muttered to herself, realizing the room was chilly because the fire had died down while they were sleeping. Forcing herself to turn away from Riggs, she wandered over to the fireplace and added three more logs to the burning coals. Within seconds, they caught and the flames once more danced and crackled.
Carlise turned and walked back to the bed to check on Riggs. She hoped his fever had finally broken . . . but when she put a hand on his forehead, she realized he was just as hot as he’d been for the last two days.
“Damn,” she whispered. For the first time, she started to get truly worried. She’d assumed he had a twenty-four-hour bug or something. That the fever would break, and he’d be up and around in no time. But the longer this fever lasted, the more concerned Carlise got. It wasn’t as if she could call for an ambulance. Or even drive him to a hospital or clinic. She was on her own here, and it was a scary feeling.
She went to the bathroom, relieved herself, brushed her hair and teeth using the toiletries she’d had in her backpack, then took a deep breath before heading back into the main room. When it was light enough, she needed to check on the dog, get him—and herself—something to eat, bring in more logs from the front porch.
But first, she’d see if she could get Riggs to drink something and take more Tylenol. Then she’d tackle everything else before maybe reading one of the many books Riggs had on the shelves in the corner of the room.
Anything to keep her mind off the surreal situation she’d found herself in.
Chappy hurt.
All over.
There was only one other time he could remember being this miserable.
For a moment, he wondered if he was back there. In that cell. Chained to the wall with his buddies hurting all around him.
“Cal?” he called out.
But got no answer.
Agitated now, Chappy tried to open his eyes, but they were so heavy. He couldn’t do it.
“JJ? Bob?”
“Shhhhh, they’re fine,” a quiet voice soothed from nearby.
Chappy froze. That was new. There hadn’t been any women around that hellhole that he could remember.
The mattress dipped as if someone had sat beside him. A soft hand touched his face, and he turned into it. When was the last time he’d been touched? He couldn’t remember. And by a woman? It had been years.
“Drink this,” the melodic voice ordered. Chappy wanted to ask what it was, but he didn’t get the chance before he felt his head being propped up and something touch his lips.
He was leery until she said, “It’s just water, Riggs. I promise.”
He trusted her. He didn’t know why, but he did. So he opened his mouth and drank.
The water was cool, soothing his throat, which felt as if it were on fire.
“Easy. Don’t drink too fast or it’ll make you sick.”
Chappy felt as weak as a newborn, and he hated it. Again, the only other time he’d felt so helpless was when he’d been a hostage.
And just like that, he stiffened at the memory.
“No, you’re okay. You’re here in Maine, in your cabin. You’re safe, Riggs. I swear.”
He was still worried and on edge, but that instinctive trust filled him once more. A name left his lips without thought. “Carlise.”
“That’s right. I’m Carlise, and you’re safe. I’ll be right back.” The mattress shifted as she stood, and his hand shot out, grabbing her arm and keeping her from leaving.
“Stay,” he croaked.
“I need to put some more wood on the fire. I’m not going anywhere. Not that I could, even if I wanted to.”
“Stay! Please!” he begged once more.
“I’ll be right back, Riggs.”
“Promise?” he asked.
“I promise. You’re okay. Your friends are okay. You’re just sick, Riggs. You’ll be better soon . . . I hope.”
Confusion swam in his veins, but Chappy let go of her arm. She said she’d be back, and he trusted her to keep her word.
He didn’t know how much time had passed before he felt the mattress next to him sag again.
“I’m here,” she said.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
He thought he heard her chuckle before she said, “Yes. You’re the one who’s sick.”
“Did you eat? Are you cold? I can . . .” He made a move to get up, but she stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m good, Riggs. Promise.”
Chappy frowned. He didn’t like feeling so helpless. He was confused about where he was and what was happening, but deep down he knew something wasn’t right. He couldn’t put his finger on what might be wrong, but he wanted to protect Carlise. Make sure she was warm, fed, comfortable. At the moment, however, he couldn’t even sit up.
Needing to be closer to the woman, to keep her by his side and make sure nothing happened to her, that she wouldn’t get lost again, Chappy turned and threw his arm out . . . over her lap? It felt like she was sitting on the bed right beside him. He tightened his hold and snuggled against her leg.
He felt gentle fingers running through his hair, and he sighed in contentment. He felt like shit, his body hurt, but with the woman next to him, somehow his discomfort faded away.
A couple of hours later, Carlise could feel her panic building. Riggs managed short bouts of sleep, but every time she tried to move, he’d start calling for his friends and thrashing on the bed. The only way he seemed to remain calm was if she stayed right where she was, letting him hold her.
She felt guilty about that. He was sick. Practically unconscious . . . and she enjoyed being in his arms more than she wanted to admit. When his fever finally broke and he came back to his senses, he’d most certainly be horrified over his actions. Not that she’d tell him.
She hadn’t expected or wanted to play nursemaid to a man she didn’t know, though she no longer found the experience nearly as awkward as she had the first night. And the concern went both ways. Even though he wasn’t fully conscious, he was worried about her. Was she eating? Was she warm? Was she okay?
She suspected his true self came out while he was delirious. And if he was that protective and concerned about her when he was semiconscious, she had a feeling he’d be even more so when he was fully awake and aware.
For her part, it was a heady feeling, knowing she could soothe him when he was unconsciously afraid. And being held in his arms was . . . heaven.