Kit Wilkinson - Protector's Honor

The balance wasn’t ideal but he lifted her easily enough and started up the mountain. Planting each foot securely, banking every step, he clung to tree trunks and slowly advanced.

“You okay?” he grunted, feeling the lactic acid burn in his thighs.

“Peachy,” she answered.

“Well, I’ve got you. Just relax.”

“Relax? You’re kidding?”

“Your hands. Relax your hands.”

To his relief, she extracted her nails from his flesh. “Oh, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. You must regret—”

He heard that familiar hitch in a voice trying to fight off a good cry.

“I don’t regret a thing,” he said between exerted breaths. “Now, put your arms across my chest and pull closer.”

Tabitha didn’t budge. But she didn’t cry. Strong, stubborn, shy. He respected her responses, although the timidity surprised him.

“Don’t think about it. Do it.”

Once she did, Rory decided that despite his own exhaustion, he could have carried her all day. She felt light and for the first time in months, so did he.

The marine moved with amazing agility even with her hanging on to his back like a frightened kitten. When he’d come out of the woods screaming like a wild man, she’d thanked God that very instant for sending him. What would have happened if he hadn’t come?

Getting up the last part of the slope proved tricky, but Rory managed until they reached the runner’s trail. He put her down nice and easy then folded over at the waist struggling for his breath. The way he pinched at his side, she could only imagine the cramping he had suffered.

In less than a minute, a small group of racers passed. Rory stood and joined them.

“Got an injured runner here,” he announced. “Could one of you send a golf cart for us?”

“Sure,” one of them answered. A couple of them looked at her.

Tabitha glanced at Rory. “Go on,” she said. “I’ll be fine. You should finish the race.”

He ignored her and whispered something else to the others. Again, they glanced back then moved on.

“Really. Go on. I’ll be fine,” she repeated, as he walked toward the tree that she leaned against.

“Are you kidding?” He smirked, wiping the beads of sweat from his forehead. “I’m done. I seriously doubt I could make it to the finish. Anyway, I’d be one lousy rescuer if I upped and left you here.”

Tabitha frowned, but truly she was relieved. She didn’t want to be alone. Even though he was a stranger and she hated needing so much help, the fact that he’d risked his own life for her made her feel safe and connected to him.

“Did you tell them about the attack?”

“Not in so many words. But I wanted them to get some policemen looking around. Those men could still be on the mountain.”

Rory turned and stretched his back with a few twists. He dripped with sweat and his nose trickled a bit of blood. Regardless, Tabitha could see that he was an attractive man. The blue of his eyes reminded her of the ocean, deep and expressive. She saw something in them, in him, which gave her a warm, peaceful feeling she’d not sensed from many men.

“You should sit.” He came to her. Putting an arm around her shoulder, he led her to a smooth boulder near the trail’s edge.

She tried not to, but her back went rigid at his touch.

“Are you in pain?” he asked.

She shook her head then scooted back on the large rock. He moved in beside her, so close she could feel strength and heat coursing through him. She wanted to relax enough to lean on him and borrow some of that power. Instead, she trembled and blinked back the stinging tears that formed in her eyes.

A strong arm wrapped around her and pulled her into a cozy hug. Tabitha wished she weren’t so stiff and unnatural because it felt wonderful—like a life force surrounding and filling her with energy and hope.

“Tabitha Beaumont.” His slow Southern drawl, full of confidence and warmth, spread her name over an extra syllable or two. “You just rest easy. You’ve had quite a morning.”

She nodded, barely able to keep back the tears. “What should I do when we get back? You said something about the police.” Tabitha wanted to do this right. This time, she would report the crime.

“You see that cart coming?” he indicated softly.

She looked far up the mountain trail and nodded again.

“Well, we’re going to ride to the inn in it. Then we’ll call a detective and when he arrives, you’ll tell him what happened. While we wait, there’ll be lots for you to eat and drink. And I’m sure you’d like to call your family. Husband, maybe? How does that sound?”

“Too easy.” She tried hard to conceal the fear from her voice. But the sympathetic look he gave her showed she hadn’t.

“I’m going to help you. I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you.” She forced a smile. “I appreciate it.”

He smiled and started to help her up.

“You know,” Tabitha added, “we can probably scratch eating and calling a husband from that list.”

“Not hungry?”

“Not married, either.”

Tabitha suspected a smile hid in those mysterious blue eyes.

On the lawn of the Birchwood Inn, Tabitha sat under a grand white tent and picked at a barbecue sandwich. She knew she should eat, but each time she considered taking a bite, her stomach gurgled in protest.

Athletes continued to trickle through the finish line. The summer sun gleamed high above. Tabitha gazed over the opposing mountain ridge but had trouble admiring the natural verdure and its famous blue-green haze. Her nerves were shot and her head throbbing. She felt capable of little besides sipping water.

She did watch her rescuer with a curious eye, but that could not be helped. The poor man could hardly move through the tent. As soon as he’d walked away from her, event officials, commercial sponsors, a television crew and even some of the hotel personnel had stopped him. It seemed everyone wanted a piece of Rory Farrell.

Tabitha learned from bits of conversations around her the reason for his popularity. To her personal relief, it had nothing to do with what had happened on the mountain. Apparently, Rory was a native son of Hendersonville, and part of one of its most prominent families.

For a few minutes, she lost sight of him and turned her attention to the other competitors who’d joined her table for lunch. When she next spotted Rory, his eyes were on her. Drawing near, he held homemade oatmeal cookies in one hand and an ice pack and aspirin in the other. He’d cleaned his face and changed his clothes. Tabitha welcomed him with a smile despite her edgy nerves.

“That’s not fair,” she said, pointing at his clean clothes as he emptied the contents of his hands onto the table. “I’d really like to change.”

A few more fans passed, shaking Rory’s hand and patting his back. When they left, he took the seat next to her.

“Sorry about all that. You’d never know I was just home three months ago.” He passed her the cookie then the aspirin and ice pack. “This is for your ankle. I noticed it’s swelling. The paramedics said to ice it thirty minutes, then off thirty minutes and repeat. And drink lots of water. That fixed me right up.”

“I’m trying. And thanks.” Tabitha leaned forward reaching for the aspirin. And despite his chipper speech, she could see that his attitude had changed since their return to the inn. He looked tired and worn down. And he most definitely did not enjoy all the attention he was getting.

“You look better,” he remarked, his smile strained.

“Yes. I’m starting to calm down.” She swallowed the aspirin with a quick gulp of ice water then pushed the glass back to its position on the table. “Rory, I know it’s none of my business but…” She hesitated, not sure if she should mention anything so personal. After all he’d done for her, she felt she had to say something. “Well, I heard about your father. I’m so sorry.”