Page 19 of The Blaze Between Us

He looks caught out, then chuckles. "Professional habit. How's the ankle?"

"Throbbing, but manageable." I shift slightly in my seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. "I feel ridiculous, though. What a way to end a hike."

"Trust me, it's far from the worst hiking injury I've seen," he assures me. "Not even in the top twenty."

"That's comforting, I think?" I laugh despite the pain and embarrassment. "At least I'm not breaking any records for outdoor stupidity."

"Hardly. That honor belongs to the tourists who tried to take selfies with a mother bear and her cubs last spring."

My eyes widen. "You're joking."

"Wish I was. They lived, thanks to some quick thinking by a park ranger, but it was a close call."

"Okay, that does make me feel better about my muddy tumble."

As we reach the outskirts of Cedar Falls, Brock's phone finally registers service. It immediately buzzes with incoming messages, which he ignores until we stop at a red light.

"Three texts from Ellie," he reports after glancing at the screen. "Wondering where we are, if we got caught in the storm, and if we're okay." He hands me the phone. "Want to reply? Tell her what happened and that you'll be staying at my place tonight."

I take the phone, feeling oddly intimate using his device. "Are you sure about this? I really don't want to intrude."

"Tasha," he says, his voice gentle but firm, "you're injured, it's pouring rain, and you're my daughter's best friend. There's no way I'm dropping you off alone at that cabin."

Put like that, it does seem like the only reasonable option. I type a quick message to Ellie, explaining about the storm, mysprained ankle, and the change of plans. Her response comes almost immediately:

*OMG I'm the WORST friend ever!!! Of course stay at our place! Dad will take good care of you! I'll come home right away!*

I show Brock her response, and he shakes his head with a small smile. "Tell her not to rush back. We've got everything under control."

I relay the message, though part of me wishes Ellie would come home immediately. Having her there would make staying at the Sullivan house feel less... loaded, somehow. Less intimate.

Ellie's reply pops up: *If you're sure... Grant and I were about to watch this documentary he's been wanting to show me. But I can totally bail if you need me!*

"She and Grant were about to watch a documentary," I report to Brock. "She's offering to bail, but..."

"But you don't need a babysitter," he finishes for me. "Tell her to enjoy her evening. You'll be fine."

I send the message, feeling a strange mix of relief and apprehension. Relief that I'm not disrupting Ellie's plans, apprehension about spending the evening alone with Brock.

Not alone, exactly, I remind myself. We'll be in his house, a normal domestic setting. Two adults behaving perfectly appropriately while one recovers from a minor injury—nothing to feel weird about.

Ten minutes later, we pull into the driveway of a charming two-story Craftsman-style home with a deep front porch and neatly maintained garden. I've seen this house in the background of some of Ellie's photos, but being here in person feels surreal.

"Home sweet home," Brock announces, putting the truck in park. "Wait there—I'll come around and help you."

Before I can protest, he's out of the truck and circling to my side. When he opens my door, I brace myself for another embarrassing piggyback ride, but instead, he scoops me up in his arms like something out of a romance novel, one arm behind my back and the other under my knees.

"This is really not necessary," I protest weakly, my face heating as he kicks the truck door closed and carries me toward the house.

"Fastest way to get you inside and dry," he counters.

I can't believe I'm being cradled against his chest and how easily he carries me up the porch steps and to the front door. When he shifts me slightly to free one hand for his keys, I instinctively wrap my arms around his neck for balance, bringing our faces alarmingly close together.

"Sorry," I murmur, trying to lean away as much as the position allows.

"You're fine," he says, his voice gruffer than before.

He manages to unlock and open the door, then carries me into a warm, inviting living room that smells faintly of cedar and coffee.

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