Page 6 of Rescued by the Single Dad

Grayson followed Jagger and Clint into the living room, and his eyes went wide when he took in Brooke on the couch. “Christ almighty. You weren’t lying.” He walked around the coffee table, sat down on the edge of it and opened his medical bag. “You say she was breathing when you found her?”

“Breathing and had a heartbeat, yes,” Clint said. “But she was ice cold and her feet and legs were all cut up.”

“How the fuck she survived out in that ...” Grayson said, more to himself than anybody else. He put the earpieces for a stethoscope into his ears, then pulled back the blankets enough to expose the top portion of Brooke’s chest. “Well, she’s alive.”

Reaching into his medical bag, he pulled out something, then he waved it under Brooke’s nose. Smelling salts.

She blinked, opened her eyes slowly and sucked in a few ragged, panicky breaths.

“There we go,” Grayson soothed in his deep, rumbly voice.

Brooke trembled and her green eyes went wide as they darted across each of their faces. “Wh-where am I?”

“In the land of the living,” Jagger said.

“Do you know who you are?” Grayson asked.

“B-Brooke Barker,” she stammered, her lips, still a frightening shade of blue, trembled as she spoke.

“And do you know how you ended up in that water?” Grayson asked.

Her teeth chattered, and she shivered. “I ... I was pushed. Off … off a yacht. S-someone p-pushed me.”

Something weird and feral clawed at the back of Clint’s neck. Somebody tried to kill this woman. And even though he didn’t know her, the intense and consuming need to protect her, to save her, nearly made him nauseous.

What the fuck was that about?

“And you swam to the island?” Grayson asked. Only because Clint knew the doctor so well, did he detect the mild hint of skepticism in his friend’s tone. Which wasn’t completely uncalled for. That water was freezing, and the current ran strong between the islands.

Brooke nodded. “I removed my dress and shoes. I ... I used to swim in high school. Was state champion.”

See, there was always a reasonable explanation for everything.

Grayson’s head bobbed. “Do you mind if I examine you? Clint mentioned that you had cuts on your legs and feet.”

Brooke’s eyes lifted up to Clint. “Are you Clint?”

He nodded.

“And you’re the one that found me?”

He nodded again.

Tears filled her eyes, and she swallowed. “Th-thank you,” she whispered through her chattering teeth. Then she nodded at Grayson, who gently peeled back the layers at her legs and feet to reveal some pretty bloodied and cut up shins and the bottoms of her feet.

“Probably from the rocks and barnacles,” Grayson murmured. He craned his neck around to Clint. “The blankets and heating pads are a good start, but what she really needs is a warm—not hot—bath. Then clothes, blankets and heating pads. But until we know she’s not at risk for hypothermia anymore, she needs to stay awake.”

“I have a soaker tub in my bathroom upstairs,” Clint said. “I can go run her a bath.”

Grayson nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

Clint took off upstairs. All five houses on the hill were styled with wood floors and a blend of modern meets rustic cabin. The wives had a heavy hand in the designs and decorating, and even in five years Clint didn’t change a thing. Jacqueline had always had good taste.

He headed to the end of the hall; his hurried footsteps cushioned by the long runner that ran the length of the hallway. Passing Talia’s closed bedroom door, he then entered the big primary bedroom with the peaked ceiling, which, like the floors downstairs , was made of wood. The space led to a big sliding glass door that opened onto a private balcony, a sort of second beach for Clint to unpack his anguish.

The bed was made. The room was sparse, tidy, but lived in.

He turned another corner and entered a large ensuite bathroom with a walk-in shower and a free-standing soaker tub that sat on the tile floor in front of a corner made of windows. Only there was a tinting film on the windows so nobody could see in.

---