|Publisher:||The Wild Rose Press|
|Product dimensions:||5.00(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.55(d)|
|Age Range:||13 Years|
Read an Excerpt
Bobbi McBride stared open-mouthed at the soaking wet man lying on her cabin floor. "Travis," she whispered.
Her shock at seeing Travis Reid out cold in front of her fireplace didn't compare to the sudden flush of fear surging through her body. Why was he here? How had he found her?
And was he alive?
She dropped to her knees beside him. Her hand shook as she reached out to touch him. "Travis?"
Groaning, he rolled to his back.
"Thank Heaven." A low, rumbling growl sounded behind her. "It's alright, Rocky. He won't hurt me. He's one of the good guys."
The large brindle colored mastiff calmed at the sound of her voice. More than her protector, the dog had been her friend and companion since she cut herself off from the rest of the world. Since the day her brother, Jason, disappeared.
Looking at the man who had starred in her every teenage fantasy, a fact she wished she could forget, she carefully examined the cut at his temple and his split lip, but neither was all that severe. She lowered her gaze to the rest of him, checking for further injuries. His shirt had been torn away at the edge and tied around his leg. She gently lifted the bloody makeshift bandage.
He'd been shot.
Her entire body stiffened, and she warily scanned the room. Who shot him and were they still around?
Rocky nudged her with his cold wet nose.
Her shoulders slumped with relief. If anyone had been anywhere near the cabin when she got back from town, Rocky would've told her. Which he had, realizing his urgency to get inside was to check out Travis and not to get his favorite treat.
She had to be more careful. Justbecause she had been safe for months didn't mean things would remain that way.
Grumbling to herself for letting her guard down so easily, she turned back to Travis. A million questions ran through her mind about how and why he had come to be there, but she dismissed them all. He needed medical attention.
She leaned over him and patted his cheek. "Travis, wake up."
Thick sooty lashes fluttered open as his eyes rolled, struggling to focus. He blinked a time or two then pinned her with fathomless deep blue eyes. The kind of eyes a woman could lose her soul in.
"Where am I?"
Bobbi refused to pay attention to the husky, deep voice sending shivers down her spine. She had to get him to the bedroom and get a better look at his leg.
"You're safe. I need to get you into bed. Can you stand?"
A quirky grin spread across his thick full lips. "Sure thing, sweetheart."
She grinned at the adorable way his mouth turned up at the corners and the suggestive tone of his voice. He hadn't changed a bit.
Tugging on his arm, she pulled him to a sitting position. "Come on. I'll support you."
He unsteadily rose to his feet then pulled her tightly against his side. "You sure are a little thing," he mumbled.
That was an understatement. Standing at least a foot taller than her mere five feet and outweighing her by close to a hundred pounds, he was a giant compared to her. As they made their way across the room, she realized she would never get the teetering tower of a man upstairs to the guest bedroom, and changed direction, aiming for her room.
"Just a little farther," she grunted under his weight.
Barely across the threshold, he let go of her and fell face first onto the bed.
She let out a puff of air as she ran her fingers through her cropped blonde hair. "Great. Out again." And she didn't like it. How much blood had he lost?
She rolled him onto his back and started stripping him out of his wet clothes, determined to think positively. She unfastened his pants then pulled them down, moving slowly around the gunshot wound. Tossing the jeans aside, she took a moment to study him. Although he had his share of scars here and there, the well-defined muscular plains of his chest and stomach sent wicked signals to the intimate parts of her body, but she quickly dampened her reaction.
Any woman, who had practically lived like a nun for the past year, then hid out in the middle of nowhere for months, was bound to have a strong basal reaction to a man like Travis Reid.
Shaking her head, she bent over to examine his leg. The bullet had ripped a hole through the fleshy part of his thigh. Although it didn't look as bad as she feared, a bandage wouldn't be enough. He needed stitches for the wound to heal properly.
Travis shivered and she quickly covered him.
Pressing her hand against his forehead, she muttered, "You're too warm. That's not good."
Although his wound didn't appear to be infected she couldn't be sure, and there was no telling how long he had been wandering around in the woods soaked to the skin. He could have pneumonia for all she knew.