Irene Hannon - A Family to Call Her Own

Zach stopped abruptly and stared at a slight figure up ahead in one of the sandbag lines. He could swear that was—

“Zach!”

With an effort Zach pulled his gaze away from the figure and turned. “Hi, Mark.”

“Working late?”

“Yeah. But I’m about to call it a night. Listen, tell me I’m wrong, but—” he glanced back with a frown toward the figure that had caught his attention “—is that…”

“Rebecca?” Mark finished. “Yeah. She’s been helping every spare minute since the call went out for sandbaggers. I’ve been trying to convince her to go home for the last hour. I even offered her a ride, but she said she wanted to stay.”

“How long has she been here?”

Mark shrugged. “I don’t know. But she was here when I showed up three hours ago.”

Zach felt a muscle clench in his jaw, and he jammed his hands into his pockets. “She must be frozen. Not to mention exhausted.”

“Well, why don’t you try to convince her to leave?” Mark suggested. “Maybe you’ll have better luck. I sure didn’t get anywhere. Say, Joe!” he called to a figure in the distance.

“Wait up! Zach, I’ll see you later.”

Zach watched Mark disappear into the darkness, then looked back at Rebecca. Her motions were robotlike, as if she was operating on adrenaline and nothing else. Which was probably the case, he thought grimly. She was too delicate for this type of heavy work, anyway. Couldn’t whoever was in charge see that? In sudden decision, without stopping to consider how his actions might be interpreted, he strode over and laid his hand on her shoulder.

She turned, her eyes dull with fatigue, and frowned up at him in confusion. “Zach?”

One searching sweep of her face was all it took for Zach to assess her physical condition—absolute exhaustion—and he glanced around, signaling to a passing National Guard member who held a clipboard.

“Zach, what is it?” Rebecca asked, her voice so scratchy and hoarse it was barely recognizable.

“Hang on a sec, okay?” he replied curtly.

The uniformed man joined them, and Zach nodded toward Rebecca. “Do you have someone who can fill in here? She’s had all she can take,” he said tersely.

The National Guard member gave Rebecca a quick but discerning glance and nodded. “No problem.” He turned and scanned the group on the sidelines, motioning to another uniformed Guard member. “Dave, take over here for a while, okay?” he called.

Zach took Rebecca’s arm and gently drew her away from the line. Her legs felt stiff and shaky when she tried to walk, and she stumbled, grateful that Zach reached out to steady her, his hands firm on her shoulders. But why was he bothering her, when there was so much urgent work to do? She looked up at him, still frowning. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

“You’re going home, Rebecca.”

She stared at him, and even through the haze of her fatigue she was aware of the rigid set of his jaw and the steely determination in his eyes. On one hand, she was touched by his concern. More than touched, actually. No man had ever taken such an active interest in her well-being. On the other hand, she wasn’t accustomed to being ordered around. Even if it was for her own good. She straightened her shoulders and glared at him. “Excuse me?”

Zach saw the sudden, stubborn tilt of her chin, heard the indignant tone in her voice, and sighed. Wrong move, buddy, he admonished himself. Rebecca was not the type to respond to high-handed tactics. And he wasn’t the type to employ them—socially, at least. But for some reason, seeing Rebecca cold and tired and wet had awakened a sort of primal, protective urge in him, and he’d reacted instinctively. And obviously inappropriately. Giving orders was clearly not the way to convince her to go home.

A sudden harsh gust of wind tugged several strands of wet hair out of Rebecca’s French twist and whipped them across her face, and a visible shudder ran through her body as she reached up to brush them aside. Before she could lower her hand Zach captured it in a firm grip, silently stripping off her wet glove and cocooning her fingers between his palms. Her hand felt like ice, and a spasm once more tightened his jaw. He took a deep, steadying breath, and when he spoke he made an effort to keep his tone gentle and reasonable, though neither of those emotions accurately reflected his mood at the moment.

“Rebecca, Mark says you’ve been out here at least three hours. You’re chilled to the bone, you’re wet and you’re exhausted. You need to go home where it’s warm and dry and get some rest. You won’t help anyone if you stay here till you get sick.”

Rebecca looked into Zach’s concerned eyes, and her protest died in her throat. She couldn’t argue with his logic. And he was right about her physical condition. Her legs were shaky, her back was stiff, and her hands and feet were numb with cold. She’d put in a full day at the restaurant, and she had to be up at six tomorrow. It probably made sense for her to call it a night.

With a deep, weary sigh she gave in, her shoulders suddenly sagging. “I guess you’re right,” she admitted, her voice flat and lifeless with fatigue as she brushed a hand tiredly across her eyes. “Mark said he’d give me a lift a little while ago. I just need to find him.”

“I’ll take you home, Rebecca.”

Her eyes flew to his in surprise. “You?”

“I was leaving, anyway. In a town this size, your place can’t be that far out of my way.”

Rebecca never took the risk of putting herself in a situation where she was alone with a man she barely knew. But Zach was a respected journalist. He was a friend of Mark’s. Ben liked him. So did Rose and Frances. Surely a simple ride home would be safe. Besides, she was just too tired to worry about it tonight. She felt strange—unsteady and shaky—and she knew that if she didn’t sit down soon, she was going to fall down.

Zach watched her face, prepared to argue the point if she protested. Under normal circumstances he knew she’d flatly refuse his offer of a ride. But in her state of near collapse he hoped that instead of trying to analyze his motives, she would simply accept them at face value. He cared about her and simply wanted her safe and warm and rested. It was as simple as that. He wasn’t sure himself why he cared so much about a woman he hardly knew. But he did.

He watched her face, trying to anticipate her response, but before he could come to any conclusions she surprised him by acquiescing.

“All right, Zach. Thank you,” she accepted wearily.

He felt a tension he hadn’t even realized was there ease in his shoulders, and silently he took her elbow and guided her toward his car. The fact that she didn’t protest this protective gesture told him more eloquently than words that she was about ready to drop. He could sense that every step was an effort for her, and when she stumbled a couple of times on the uneven ground he was tempted to just pick her up and carry her. But he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the lady definitely wouldn’t put up with that. A hand at her elbow was one thing. Holding her in his arms was another—even though the idea was suddenly immensely appealing, he realized. In fact, he’d like to do a whole lot more than that. But he quickly—and firmly—reined in his wayward thoughts. Now was not the time to indulge in romantic fantasies.

When they reached his car he pulled open the passenger door, but Rebecca hesitated, glancing down at her muddy, wet clothes and shoes. “Zach, I’ll m-mess your c-car up,” she protested, trying unsuccessfully to keep her teeth from chattering.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said shortly, dismissing her concern as he urged her gently into the car.