Kate Hoffmann: The Mighty Quinns: Rourke

When they reached the safety of the shore, he laid her down in the tall grass and examined her for injuries. To his dismay, he found a cut on the back of her head that was bleeding into her wet hair. The dog circled around them both, whining and pawing at his mistress.

She moaned softly and her eyes fluttered open. For a long moment, she stared up at him. And then a soft groan slipped from her lips and she closed her eyes again.

Rourke scooped up her limp body and tried as best as he could to carry her gently to the house. When he reached the back porch, he kicked the door in with his foot and it easily gave way.

The huge kitchen had been turned into a single living space. A stone fireplace dominated one wall of the kitchen and pulled up near it was a tattered easy chair and a small table with an oil lamp. An iron bed was nestled into a corner near the hearth and a well-worn braided rug covered the plank floor.

Rourke set her down on the bed, then leaned over her and rubbed her hands between his. God, even in this state, she was beautiful. Her lips were a perfect Cupid’s bow and her skin was so flawless and smooth that he found himself reaching out to touch her.

As his fingertips made contact, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. “What are you doing here?” she murmured.

The stammer was gone and the sound of her voice sent a shiver through his body. He’d made a mistake in coming, Rourke thought to himself. The moment she spoke, he felt his world shift and he sensed that nothing would ever be the same again.

* * *

ANNIE’S HEAD ACHED and she was so cold she couldn’t think clearly. Reaching back, she touched a sore spot on the crown of her head, then looked down at her fingers. “I’m bleeding.”

“You hit your head on the rocks.” He walked over to the sink and grabbed a dish towel, then returned and pressed it gently against her head. “Hold that.”

She pinched her eyes shut, then opened them again. He was still there. He wasn’t just a dream or a residual memory from earlier. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at her, his handsome face etched with concern. She felt a shiver race through her. Her teeth chattered and her body trembled.

“Are you dizzy? Is your vision blurry? Do you feel nauseated?”

She stared at him, then shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“I’m going to help you get out of those wet clothes. Do you have something warm to put on?”

Annie pointed to a fleece hoodie and a pair of flannel pajama bottoms tossed over the foot of the iron bed.

He gently turned her around and grabbed the collar of her jacket. Closing her eyes, she shrugged out of the jacket. Suddenly, she did feel a bit light-headed. And when he reached for the bottom of her T-shirt, her heart began to race.

She drew a deep breath, then raised her arms over her head. She was naked beneath the T-shirt and the moment the cold air hit her damp skin, she crossed her arms over her breasts.

He handed her the hoodie and she slipped it on and zipped it up to her chin. Annie slowly turned and met his eyes. Though he tried to appear indifferent, she saw a flicker of desire there. His gaze fell to her mouth and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her. Then, he suddenly stood up.

“I’ll let you take care of the rest,” he murmured. “I’m going to go fetch some wood for the fire.”

“There’s no need,” Annie said. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine now.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s no bother.” He pointed to her head. “Keep pressure on that cut.”

Annie nodded. It was odd for a virtual stranger to just walk into her house and start ordering her around. It was even odder that she was allowing it. “How did I get here?”

“I carried you,” he said. “Your dog led me down to the water. What were you doing out there? You know how dangerous the waves can be before a storm.” He shivered violently. “Is it always so cold in here?”

“There’s no central heat. Just the wood-burning stove and the fireplace,” she said.

As he opened the door, a chilly wind swirled through the kitchen. “Rourke,” she called. “Your name is Rourke, isn’t it?”

He turned and smiled. “Rourke Quinn.” With that, he walked outside.

Annie sat up and swung her legs off the bed. Her head hurt, but she wasn’t dizzy or confused. Well, maybe a little, but that was more from having a handsome man in her house than the wound on her head. She slipped off her shoes and socks. Standing beside the bed, she gingerly skimmed the wet jeans down over her hips and kicked them aside.

Shivering, she grabbed the pajama bottoms and tugged them on, then crawled beneath the faded handmade quilts on the bed. Drawing a deep breath, she closed her eyes. She led a rather lonely existence, but she’d never really regretted her choice of a simple life—until now.

This was the only home she’d ever known. After her parents passed away, her grandmother had taken her in. From that moment on, her life had changed. She’d been allowed to roam free, without any rules or expectations. She ate when she was hungry, slept when she was tired and in between, explored every inch of the land that surrounded her home.

For a young girl who struggled to communicate, it was the perfect life. Her friends were wild animals and sea creatures, clouds and trees, the wonderful, vibrant natural world waiting just outside the door of the light keeper’s cottage. They didn’t care whether her words came out in fits and starts. She lived her life in her fantasies, where she had friends, where people thought she was beautiful and clever, and where her stammer didn’t exist.

It was odd. Annie had imagined that someone would someday rescue her from her lonely existence. And her white knight had always looked exactly like Rourke Quinn. From the moment he’d defended her against the town bullies, he’d become her hero. And now, here he was, coming to her rescue again. Only she wasn’t a child anymore. She was a twenty-five-year-old woman.

Over the years, her fantasies had given way to a simple reality. She was alone and no one was coming to ease her loneliness. So she’d accepted her life as it was and learned to be happy.

Maybe it seemed strange to others on the island, but it was a life she’d come to enjoy, even love. She had her paintings and her poetry and plenty of time for her own thoughts. Still, she couldn’t deny that she was grateful for the company, especially with the approaching storm.

It wasn’t just because he was handsome or sexy or even a tiny bit dangerous. Annie had weathered storms in the past and they’d always left her shaken, filled with bad memories of her parents’ deaths. Perhaps if she had someone with her during the worst of it, it wouldn’t be so traumatic.

The door flew open and Rourke stepped back inside, his arms loaded with firewood. He strode to the hearth and carefully stacked the wood on the stone apron. Then, he tossed a few birch logs onto the flickering embers. A moment later, flames licked at the white bark.

He sat back on his heels and stared into the fire. “How do you feel?” he asked.

“Better,” she said. “Thank you. For rescuing me.”

He turned to look at her and she took in the details of his face. There was something so kind about his eyes, even set in an expression that seemed less than happy. “You should go. You don’t want to be caught out here when the storm rolls in.”

“I have some tools in my truck,” he said. “The wind is supposed to be bad. I’m going to get your shutters squared away and then I’ll leave.”

“You don’t have to—”

“No, I’m not sure I could leave you here without making this place a little safer.”

“It’s held up to almost a hundred years of storms. I’m sure it will hold up to one more,” Annie said.