If only she hadn’t used the teens as an excuse to see Bran again, those three sweet girls would be home studying. But just like she’d been doing since she was old enough to climb onto the back of the sofa with a pillowcase tied around her neck cape-style, she’d leaped before she looked, plunging headlong into this let’s-go-camping-on-the-Dry-Tortugas-in-celebration-of-your-scholarships scheme.
Although, in her own defense, even if she had looked first, there’s no way she could have foreseen this…this…whatever the devil-lovin’ hell this was.
“Where exactly?” she demanded again, down on her hands and knees beside Rick’s twin bed with its wooden frame and red, white, and blue quilt. The only things she saw were sand and what, upon second glance, turned out to be a dusty stack of girlie magazines.
“Maddy, just grab that dish towel hanging on the refrigerator and the roll of duct tape on the table,” Bran called to her from his spot by the little window on the side of the cottage.
He and Mason were keeping eyes on the entrance to the fort. Since it was the only way in and out of the structure, Maddy knew there was no way the masked men could spirit the girls onto their dinghy or their fishing boat without Bran and Mason seeing and stopping them. That should have had a calming effect on the boatloads of adrenaline coursing through her veins.
It didn’t.
She was wound tighter than a fiddle string.
Taking a quick glance at the dish towel in question, she curled her lip. Like most young twentysomethings, Rick didn’t appear to be too keen on laundry. The towel was stained with something brown and crusty.
“You!” She pushed up on her knees, pointing a finger at Bran and using one of the magazines to swat at the mosquito that landed on her thigh. “Zip it! I don’t want to hear any of that tough-guy, don’t-cry crap from you. And you!” She turned to point at Rick. “Where is the first aid kit? There’s nothin’ down here but a layer of sand and…” She held up the magazine so she could read the title in the low glow of the single bulb hanging from the center of the room. “Old copies of Jugs.”
“Th-those aren’t mine,” Rick stuttered, his ears doing their Fourth of July thing again.
Any other time, she would have reveled in teasing him, just as she’d done when she was thirteen and caught her oldest brother with a Playboy centerfold tucked between his mattress and box springs. But right now all she cared about was seeing to Bran’s leaking leg. “First. Aid. Kit.” She enunciated each word with precision.
“F-far back corner by the footboard,” Rick said.
She made a face that said, Now, was that so hard? before turning to scrounge under the bed again. “Aha!” she crowed when she found the red and white case just where Rick had said it would be.
When she spun around, it was to discover Bran’s eyes zeroed in on her ass. She might have been embarrassed, or even insulted, but she was fully aware her rear end tended to draw scrutiny. Probably because it was, in the most genial of terms, ample. She hated it. Especially since she didn’t have the boobs to match.
But what’s a girl goin’ to do?
Get the guy with the gun back on track, she assured herself as she scrambled to her feet and jogged to the little table in the center of the kitchenette.
“Bran, come sit down.” She sprang the lid on the kit and found the bottle of peroxide inside. “And be quick about it.” Each second the girls were alone out there with those masked men was one second too long.
“Wow. Anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly bossy?” he asked.
“Don’t act like you don’t love it.”
Silence reigned in the room for one second…two…three…
She made a face and glanced up at Bran. “Sorry,” she said as he laid his machine gun and the machine gun he’d taken from the dead man on the table. They made metallic-sounding clanks against the cracked wooden top. “That’s my standard comeback when my brothers accuse me of bein’ overbearin’. So it just naturally slips out.”
“It’s okay.” He shrugged, one corner of his mouth twitching. “I’ve never had a problem with a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it.”
Even as her heart stuttered, she narrowed her eyes. “Is that supposed to be a come-on?”
He lifted his hands and donned an innocent expression. “Wouldn’t think of it.”
“Hmm.” She twisted her lips, not sure if she believed him. And quite honestly, part of her hoped he was coming on to her. She’d thought they were on the same page when it came to their burgeoning relationship. Then he hadn’t answered her email and a million doubts had flooded in.
Twisting off the cap on the bottle of peroxide, she impatiently waited for Bran to take a seat. When he did, she breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t remember him being so big. And when he stood beside her, she was diminutive by comparison.
She didn’t care for the sensation. Not when she needed to feel ten feet tall and capable of leaping buildings in a single bound. Or…at the very least capable of dealing with his wound without fainting dead away or puking all over him.
“This is probably goin’ to burn like the fires of hell,” she warned.