Page 12 of The Way Back Home
“Mona was worried. She sent me out to look for you after you took off.” Still on the floor, the doc slowly drew his knees toward his chest and rested his arms over them. “I found you in the forest and brought you back here.”
Even sitting on the floor as he was, she could see that he was big, his muscles visible beneath the casual shirt and jeans he wore. His posture was relaxed, his eyes curious and concerned but not threatening.
“I would have preferred to take you to my office at the house, but Sheriff Jackson’s still hanging around.”
Teagan tensed at the mention of the man who’d come looking for her.
The doc put his hands up again. “Relax. He doesn’t know where you are, and Mona wants to keep it that way—at least for now.”
Teagan relaxed but only slightly. Mona was a mama bear for sure, but she couldn’t keep the sheriff at bay for long.
“You’re safe here,” the doc said, breaking into her thoughts. “What you need is rest. I can give you something for the pain to help with that.”
Let a man she didn’t know drug her while he kept her in his cabin, far enough from the main house that no one would hear her scream? Yeah, that was a big fat hell no. She needed to keep her wits about her.
He sighed. “Look, if I wanted to hurt you, I would have done so already. Besides, you’ve done a pretty good job of doing it yourself. Your shoulder suffered a nasty dislocation that might or might not include permanent nerve damage, and you’ve got a gash on your back that required stitches—eight, to be exact—not to mention some cracked ribs and a sprained ankle.”
He had a point. If he decided to overpower her, she didn’t have a chance of stopping him in her current state. That kick had taken everything she had and then some.
And Mona did seem to trust him, so that was something.
She wouldn’t let her guard down completely, but for now at least, she’d turn down the fight or flight to a low simmer and conserve her energy.
She exhaled slowly, trying to minimize the pain in her ribs. Her body ached everywhere.
“Think you can handle some water?”
Water sounded heavenly. She nodded.
He rose to his feet with smooth, masculine grace. “I’ll be right back.”
He left the door open a crack. She could hear him moving around. Opening a cupboard. Filling a cup with ice. Nothing that suggested he was doing anything other than what he’d said. Continuing to listen, she turned her attention to the room.
The walls were knotty pine with hand-hewn beams across the ceiling. The hearth was made of the same kind of stone she’d seen along the creek. There was one large window, dressed with simple curtains and a blackout shade. Medical supplies were neatly arranged on top of a sturdy wooden dresser.
The space was simple, utilitarian, and masculine. Nothing personal to suggest Noah lived here as opposed to anyone else.
Curious, she slid open the nightstand drawer next to the bed. In it, a worn photo of a younger Noah and another man, grinning widely and wearing dust-covered fatigues against an arid, sun-bleached backdrop.
Noah Ziegler had been in the service.
She filed that away, then returned the photo andslid the drawer closed at the approach of Noah’s footsteps.
Teagan attempted to push herself to a sitting position. In response, her torso screamed in protest, and the room began to spin violently.
“Whoa, okay. I’ve got you.”
Strong arms reached out, keeping her from rolling face-first onto the floor. She hissed out in both pain and warning, but the contact ceased as quickly as it had started. She fell back against pillows that had miraculously appeared behind her, propping her up.
He picked up the glass and held it out to her.
She lifted a hand. “Give me a minute, please.”
“Of course.”
The doc set the glass down and retreated to the chair. When Teagan’s stomach calmed down, she reached out, hand trembling slightly, grabbed the glass, and brought it to her lips. The first sip was cool and delicious, heaven against her dry, scratchy throat.
“So, what now?” she asked.
