Cynthia Thomason - Rescued By Mr. Wrong

“What will you do?”

“I’ll probably just sit up all night and stare at you.”

She widened her eyes at him. “Now, that’s just creepy.”

He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. “I know, but that’s what these instructions from the hospital say I’m supposed to do. So take up the creepiness factor with the doctor.” He picked up his sandwich and the TV remote. “You watch the news?”

“Sure.”

They settled back to engage in world events and images of Christmas cheer until Carrie finished her dinner and fell asleep on the couch.

A few hours later, she didn’t know how many, she heard someone call her name. “Carrie, Carrie, wake up.”

CHAPTER THREE

“I’M SORRY,” a man’s voice said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She tried to erase the fog in her brain by taking deep breaths and sitting up. Unfortunately, nothing in her body seemed to be working. She heard herself moan.

“I figured you’d be sore,” the man said. “Usually takes a few hours after an accident for the muscles to tighten up.”

The past hours were slowly coming back to her. And the fact that she was in a cabin with a man she’d only just met. “Keegan?”

“Who else did you think it would be?” he said. “Don’t try to get up. I’m just checking on you. I’m supposed to wake you through the night.”

“I’m a little confused...”

A small lamp burned in the corner of an unfamiliar room. In the dim light, she attempted to acclimate herself to the surroundings. The last she remembered, she’d been watching an orchestra perform at the White House on a huge flat-screen TV. She’d been on the sofa. Now she was definitely in a bed. The room was cool and quiet.

“How did I get here?”

“Not on those crutches.”

“You carried me in here?”

He responded with a nod and withdrew a small metal cylinder from his shirt pocket. A flashlight. Carrie realized he’d changed clothes, trading his long-sleeved Henley shirt for a warmer flannel one. Apparently he’d showered, too. A fresh pine scent drifted to her nose. She loved the smell of pine.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“One a.m. I’ve got to give you a pill and check your pupils.”

“What for?”

“I’m not sure.” He looked at the paper he’d held earlier. “One might be larger than the other, or they both might be big. Or, hopefully, they both will be normal-sized. I’ve got to ask you some questions, too.”

He pushed a button, turning on the modern LED flashlight. She allowed him to hold up her eyelids and shine the light in her eyes.

“They look okay to me. Do you think you’re going to throw up?”

“What? No.”

“What’s your name?”

She frowned. “We don’t really have to do this, do we?” When he simply stared at her, she said, “Carrie.”

“Do you remember how you got here to my place?”

“Of course. I’m not confused anymore. My whole body hurts, and I’m tired. Can I go back to sleep now?”

“I’m supposed to ask you when you were born and who the president of the United States is.”

“I can put your mind at ease,” she said. “I was born thirty years ago, and the president is my boss. You can go because I’m quite fine, really.” She moved and pain sliced up her leg. “But not before you give me that pain pill.”

He handed her the pill and a glass of water. She pushed herself up in the bed and leaned against a pillow. And noticed that she wasn’t wearing her clothes. A soft cotton T-shirt fell loosely around her torso. “This shirt is yours?”

“It is.”

“How did I end up wearing it?” she asked. “Tell me you didn’t...”

“I did. But don’t get your princess panties in a twist.” He frowned. “Oops, sorry about the princess thing. You’re still wearing the underwear and socks you showed up in. There were blood stains on your sweater. I’ve washed it and hung it up to dry. You can reswaddle yourself appropriately in the morning.”

“I will.” She didn’t know whether to be embarrassed, angry or grateful. Or resentful of the way Keegan talked about undressing her as if it were an everyday occurrence for him.

He nodded toward the glass. “Drink up. My guess is the pain won’t be so bad in the morning, and we can cut down on the dosage.”

She did as he instructed. The water was cold and refreshing and felt good going down her throat. “I don’t have a fever, do I?”

“I don’t think so. I felt your forehead earlier.”

He was taking his nursing duties seriously. She noticed a wooden armchair next to the bed. “Have you been sitting there all night?”

“Pretty much.”

“That chair looks very uncomfortable.”

“It is, but don’t get carried away with gratitude. I remembered that you said you’d do the same for me, so I’m just paying it forward. I’ve got your phone number on speed dial for when I break a bone.”

She smiled. There was no way he could know her phone number unless he’d gone through her purse. He didn’t seem the sneaky type. Suddenly alert and wanting to talk, she said, “Have you ever had one?”

“One what?”

“Broken bone.”

He thought for a moment, a reaction she found strange. Either a person had suffered a broken bone or he hadn’t. It wasn’t the kind of thing anyone would forget.

“Oddly,” he said, “I haven’t. Sprains, pulled tendons, a bullet hole, that sort of thing, but no breaks.”

She leaned forward. “Bullet hole?”

“Only one. I consider myself lucky, and I think that if they ever take an X-ray of my skeleton, they’ll discover that I’m made of titanium.”

“What do you do for a living that you get shot and wounded all the time?” She didn’t really believe him about the bullet. “Or do these injuries come from jealous boyfriends?”

“Nope. Generally speaking, no one has a reason to be jealous of me. As for my work, it did involve an element of danger. But I don’t do anything dangerous now. In any case, we all have a past, don’t we? Even you, I bet.”

“Sure. I’ve been bitten by spiders, got a raging case of poison ivy and once I got a giant splinter. But I work in the forest. You didn’t tell me what you did before living here.”

“Nope, I didn’t. I traveled a lot.” He took her glass. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

“No, I’m okay for now.”

“I’m going into the living room, but I’ll be back to check on you.”

She couldn’t help noticing that he’d strategically ignored her question about his occupation. Was it because he was lying about the injuries? Or ashamed of how he’d gotten them?

“Call if you need anything,” he said as he shut the door, leaving her alone and wondering.

A few minutes later a smoky odor crept under the bedroom door. Carrie coughed, feeling her lungs constrict. “Keegan, what’s that awful smell?”

He opened the door. “A cigar. I have one every so often—mostly after really difficult days—or when I have unexpected company.”

“You can’t do that when I’m in the house. I have asthma.”

“You’re allergic to cigar smoke?”

“Among other things, but especially cigar smoke.”

He expelled a long breath obviously meant to convey his extreme self-sacrifice. “Fine, I’ll put it out. If anything else bothers you, I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

She smiled and snuggled into her pillow. She didn’t believe he was half as tough as he wanted people to think, especially when he whispered, “Merry Christmas.”

* * *

MONDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 26, Dr. Martin Foster’s family and home had pretty much returned to normal. His housekeeper, Rosie, had agreed to watch Wesley while his mom, Jude, went to the hospital to see the man she would soon marry. Alexis, her husband and her daughter had gone home to Columbus. Presents that hadn’t already been worn or played with were displayed neatly under the tree. The leftovers from a big meal were stored in the refrigerator for Monday night’s supper. And everyone agreed that it had been a nearly perfect holiday but would have been better if the Fosters’ youngest daughter, Carrie, had been home.