Chapter 2
Casey’s plans of lifting the man and carrying him to the fire proved impossible. The man was heavier than she had imagined, and lifting him was beyond her capabilities, drunk or sober. She settled for hooking her hands under his arms and dragging him backwards across the floor, leaving a bloody smear on the kitchen floor.
Great.
By the fire, she remembered the shattered wine glass. She hesitated, then checked the man’s pulse. It was slow and steady, and the wound on his leg did not seem to be bleeding heavily any longer. Casey felt her way up the stairs, trying to swear softly as she collided with various corners, and then felt through the linen closet for towels. Some clothes from her parents’ room—please, let there not be any embarrassing T-shirts—and some Band-Aids and antiseptic later, she was feeling her way back down the stairs and praying not to wind up on her face at the bottom.
She was just scraping up the last pieces of glass when he asked; “I don’t suppose I could use one of those towels.”
Casey jumped and swore, then turned to look at him. He was even more gorgeous by firelight, dammit, all tousled and dark, with a rakish smile despite what must be blinding pain in his leg, and he was looking over her with frank appreciation that made her blush.
He might like what he saw, but she was having serious regrets about packing her most oversized flannel. If she’d been made up, she wouldn’t be feeling quite like such a slob right now. Hell, she’d even be happy with some lip gloss, or a hair-tie for the strawberry blonde waves that could never seem to settle on either being curly or straight. Her eyes were glinting green in the firelight, but they’d look a lot better with mascara, and her long legs—her best feature, in her opinion—really looked better in heels. She choked back a laugh at the mental image of her misbuttoned plaid shirt and old shorts with heels.
And he was staring at her as if he was wondering if she could speak English.
“Towels. Right. Yeah, they’re for you. You probably guessed that.” Casey shut her mouth by force of will and sighed. “Oh. Also, I should look at your leg. I brought down antiseptic. It’s not much, but it’ll do until we get you to the hospital.”
“I don’t need to go to the hospital.”
“You need stitches. You left a lot of blood on the floor. And probably the rug.” Her parents were not going to be pleased.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Look—uh, I don’t know your name.”
“Nathaniel.”
“Okay. Look, Nathaniel—you’ve lost some blood, and you’re going to get hypothermia unless you get out of those clothes.” Casey looked away as he stripped off his shirt. Muscles and tattoos. Oh, wow. “Yeah. Like that. The thing is, I don’t want you to die on the floor.”
“Who else is here?”
“No one’s here, it’s just my family’s cabin.”
“Do you normally guard it with a shotgun?”
“No, I…” Casey tried to decide where to begin with the story, and then shook her head. “Not important.”
“Are you sure?” He paused, midway through toweling his torso off. “Hey—I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
“Not your fault.” Casey sighed and rubbed at her forehead. The wine was hitting hard and she was beginning to remember why she didn’t like drinking her troubles away; they tended to get worse, not better. Hardly fair, that.
“Look.” The man called Nathaniel unbuttoned his pants and pulled them off, revealing black briefs that highlighted some very impressive assets; Casey looked away, squeezing her eyes shut and wishing she hadn’t seen. She was getting some very inappropriate ideas right about now. “It was really nice of you to come out and get me. And I would like some of that antiseptic. And Band-Aids.”
Casey snorted. “I don’t think Band-Aids are going to be enough.”
“Whatever. The point is, I’m grateful for your help—but you don’t need to feel responsible for me.”
“You’re on our property,” Casey pointed out. “But really, it’s no trouble. I…don’t have anywhere to be.” Sadly true. Her throat closed up at the memory of asking Eric to come up here a few months ago. He was always too busy.
Had he been cheating on her this whole damned time?
“Now you look mad.”
“I am mad,” Casey snapped. “My boyfriend ran off with some nineteen-year-old nanny, and I came up here and wound up with a bear in the kitchen. The electric is out, there are wolves in the forest, and…and…” All the anger went out of her in a rush and she felt tears pricking at her eyes. She hung her head, sniffing. “God, I’m sorry. I’m just…not having a very good week.”
“Doesn’t sound like it. Hey.” He reached out, putting his hand on her knee. The jolt of energy was undeniable, and he pulled his hand back quickly, but still craned to look into her eyes. “Your ex-boyfriend is an idiot. Forget him.”
“Believe me, I’m trying.” Casey nudged at the empty wine bottle with her foot. “And before you say anything, I know this is about the worst thing I could be doing for myself.”
“At least you’re taking care of it on your own,” he said pragmatically. “Not throwing yourself at someone else.”
“Right.” Thoughts of straddling him right here on the floor evaporated and Casey bit her lip. “I should take a look at your leg. And you should, you know, put on a shirt.”
“Sure.” It sounded like he was laughing at her. He pulled a tank top and flannel shirt out of the stack and put them on. It was really very unfair how he could go from looking like a J. Crew model to looking like a lumberjack and still be hot, so Casey busied herself with the supplies.
“You’ll need to, uh…turn over.”
He complied with a nod, showing off an ass that made her bite her lip and mutter things about life being unfair, and she set to work, trying to clean the wound as painlessly as she could.
“Huh,” she said after a few minutes.
“What?” His voice was muffled.
“It’s…really not as bad as I thought. I guess it just bled a lot.” Casey poked at it gingerly. Maybe Band-Aids really were going to fix it.
“Yeah.” But he sounded evasive.
“Well, one sec.” She layered the Band-Aids over it and rolled a strip of athletic tape around his calf to keep it all in place. “Uh. There you go, I guess.”
“Thanks. I’m sure it’ll heal quickly.”
“Me, too.” She was really, really sure the wound had to have been bigger than it was. “I’m going to go clean the kitchen floor.”
“I’ll do it.” He reached out to take the towels.
“You need to sleep.” She took them back. “The couch is actually really comfortable. The beds…aren’t so much. And your leg won’t like the stairs.”
“Thanks.” He watched her over the back of the couch as she scrubbed. “Looks like the storm is quieting down.”
“Shame. I like thunderstorms. Better with whiskey than wine, but…it was actually kind of nice for a while. Until the bear.”
There was a silence. Casey turned and looked at him.
“Don’t you even want to know?”
“Right. Sorry. You said there was a bear, though.”
“I thought that was how you got hurt. I guess I just assumed.” But he had said, she remembered, that he knew about the bear. And the wolves.
“I heard there were bears around here,” he said hastily, noticing her expression. “But I didn’t see any. I just…fell.”
“Sure. On your calf.”
“Yeah.”
“In two places on your calf.”
“Yeah.”
“And nowhere else got hurt.”
“That’s lucky, huh?”
Lucky, and a whole bucket of lies. But he didn’t look like one of the idiots who would come up here to try to fight bears, or whatever the fad was with rich guys this week. He looked, in fact, like a man who had nothing to prove.
“You’re not going to tell me why you were out there, huh.”
“…Nope.” He had the grace, at least, to look ashamed.
“Look, is anyone looking for you? Going to come find you…with guns…?”
“No,” he said decisively. “We’re safe here.”
“Good.” Somehow, however, she found it precisely the opposite of reassuring. “Look, you should get some rest. I’ll be staying up for a bit.”
“Looking out the window with the shotgun?” He guessed, and Casey shrugged.
“I’ve already gotten a bear and a guy coming out of the forest tonight. I think I’ll just make sure there’s nothing else coming.”
“There isn’t.” But he yawned. “I am tired, though. I…”
“Nathaniel?” Casey went to peer over the back of the couch. Between one breath and the next, he seemed to have fallen asleep.
“You never said what your name was,” he murmured, trying to open his eyes.
“Casey.”
“Casey. Nice to meet you.”
“And you. Get some sleep.”
She hopped up on the counter to watch the forest. Without the lightning, the back yard wasn’t much more than a mass of black, the occasional tree shining in the moonlight as storm clouds scudded across the moon. Branches were still lashing to and fro in the wind, and occasionally she saw a piece of the ruined picnic table blow across the grass.
A strange night. A very strange night. A wrath-of-God storm, a bear, and a hot man sleeping on her couch. Casey risked a glance over at Nathaniel, now deeply asleep with one well-muscled arm thrown up over his head. Tomorrow, she decided, she was going to find out some answers.