Page 7 of Wild River

It comes out raspy but sure, because a hospital will be the first place my family look for me. And I did not just defy death only to get caught and marched down the aisle on another day, damn it.

“You need to get checked out.” There’s a stubborn set to this man’s jaw; a commanding tone in his voice. This is a man who’s used to giving orders and being listened to. Well, then he’s fished the wrong girl out of the river.

“I’m fine.”

To prove my point, I flap him away and wobble to my feet. The world tilts queasily as I do it, and my legs shake like a newborn baby deer’s, but hey, I make it. I even give a lurching little spin, arms held wide in demonstration as he stands up too.

“See? Totally a-okay.”

When I come back around to face my savior, he’s gone still as a statue. His teeth are gritted, and his nostrils flare as he breathes. A faint blush creeps over his cheeks above the beard, and he’s staring pointedly up at the sky.

“What? Oh!”

Turns out the finest ivory silk doesn’t hold up so well to being dunked in river water. No: the torn shreds that are left cleave to every dip and curve of my body, the fabric faintly see-through. My hard nipples are especially putting on a show. Somehow, it’s more revealing than if I’d been fully naked, and I yelp and try to cover myself, face flaming.

No one’s ever seen me naked before. Not likethat, anyway, and now the sexy mountain man won’t even look at me. Am I that repulsive? Or is he just being a gentleman?

Focus, Becca.

I have way bigger things to worry about right now—like being soaked to the skin in a ruined wedding dress, with no phone, money, or resources, and somehow needing to start a new life without my family finding me. Hm. Maybe if I walk toward the nearest town, I’ll find a campsite with a lost property box and some spare clothes? That would be a good step one.

My throat aches as I clear it. My stomach hurts too, because vomiting is the worst. Haven’t thrown up that much since I was fourteen years old and I snuck that bottle of fine brandy out of my father’s office cabinet. That was a short-lived flurry of rebellion, because hangovers are their own lesson.

Of course, no one caught me that time, or even noticed how sick I made myself, because no one cared.

“Could you point me toward the nearest camp site, please?”

Forgetting himself, the mountain man looks down at me again, then blushes even harder. He holds my gaze, though, his forehead pinched in a stern frown.

“Is that where you came from? A camp site?”

“No.”

He shakes his head, not getting it. “Then why do you want to go there and not the hospital?”

With my arms still wrapped around my most intimate parts, I jerk my chin down at myself. “For clothes.” Duh.

It’s funny—I’ve seen a lot of people be frustrated with me today. My parents, Aunt Prue, that groomsman who wanted to drag me back by my hair. Even the make up lady and the other staff members at the manor house. All of them looked at me with pinched mouths and visibly fraying tempers, and every single time my insides shriveled a little.

But when my bearded savior looks at me with pure exasperation, my heart flutters and my stomach churns with excitement. A bubble of trapped laughter fills my chest. It’s different whenhelooks at me like that, because there’s no undertone of dislike. It’s more like I’ve baffled him, and he’s truly concerned.

“I get that you need clothes,” he says, still keeping his eyeline carefully above my shoulders. “But why from the nearest campsite?”

“Well, I figure there might be a lost property box or something.”

“Okay.” He processes that, nodding slowly. “And then what? You wander off into the wilderness with nothing but a set of borrowed clothes, covered in cuts and bruises, your lungs half full of river water?”

That’s about the size of it, yeah. And I know it’s a terrible plan, but it’s the only one I’ve got. If it keeps me away from my family, it’s worth the risk.

“Hey, it’s a free country,” I joke weakly. That’s what I’m doing all this for, right? Freedom. For the first time in my life, I want to be in charge of my own destiny.

But the sexy mountain man shakes his head, firmer this time, and starts unbuttoning his plaid shirt. As the fabric sags open, a white tank top shows underneath, soaked through and plastered to his muscles so tightly that you can see his dark chest hair through the cotton.

Hngh.

“We’re not doing that,” he says. “I’m not dropping you off at some campsite in this condition.”

“Well, I’m not setting foot in a hospital, so…”

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