Page 31 of Rogue Protector
He chuckles, and it’s such a sexy, toe-curling sound that I have to force myself to focus on eating. “Dad spent most of his life in the Air Force. Retired at sixty. Mom was a teacher until just a few years ago. Seventy-six years old, both of them, and they still go for walks around the neighborhood every single day.”
His face practically lights up, and for a moment, I see him as I never have before. Relaxed. Almost…happy. But then he digs into his packet of stew, and it’s like it reminds him where we are. His expression changes so quickly, I swear he flipped a switch.
“If the river’s still too high to cross, we’ll need to hike another two miles, at least. I’d carry you the whole way, but—“
“No, you won’t. For Pete’s sake, Austin. I know you’re built like a super hero, but you carried me all the way here last night, and even though I was unconscious for a lot of it, I saw your face a few times. How hard it was. I’m not exactly…tiny.”
“You’re perfect,” he says, almost automatically.
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Okay, Superman. You can stop with the compliments. I wasn’t putting myself down. Just stating the obvious. I’m not supermodel thin, and I don’t want to be.”
“I’m not Superman.” There’s an edge to his voice. Rough and dark and dangerous. “That’s Trevor.”
“Huh?” For a brief moment, I wonder if I hit my head harder than I thought last night. “You’re upset. What did I say?”
Austin crumples the stew pouch into a ball, tucks it into a plastic bag, and then runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I’m not. Not with you, anyway. A reflex, I guess. When we went to Venezuela, the guy who led the rescue mission—Ryker—he insisted everyone use code names in the field. Trev was Superman, Dani was Lois Lane.”
“Who were you? Don’t tell me you were Jimmy Olsen? That’s just…wrong. You’re nobody’s sidekick.”
He snorts, a hint of a smile curving the corners of his lips. “Perry White. Editor of the Daily Planet and the oldest guy in the movie. Except for Superman’s parents. At least Ry didn’t dub me Jor-El.”
“Well, you need a better nickname than Perry,” I say, nudging his shoulder. It feels good to joke, to relax, even though we’re about to leave this crumbling sanctuary, and I’ll have to hike several miles on an injured ankle, to a spot where men—including one of my students—might be waiting to kill us. But now that my mind’s gone there, I can’t muster the will to smile.
“When I was flying, my call sign was Danger.”
I scrape up the last of the stew, then ball up my pouch and let him pack it up with all the other trash—first aid supplies mostly, and a tiny energy drink bottle Austin drained almost as soon as he woke up. “There’s a story behind that I want to hear.”
“When we’re safe.” He’s all business now, withdrawing a roll of duct tape from his pack, along with a large knife, and going to work on the two branches he found earlier. “This isn’t going to be the most comfortable thing. But it’ll work well enough when I’m done.”
I watch, amazed, as he cuts notches in the wood, fits a thick, slightly curved short branch between aVat the end of the longer branch, and tapes them all together. Then, he cuts off several pieces of the camping mat we’re sitting on and secures them to the curved branch, giving the makeshift crutch some padding. After he tests it out to make sure it holds his weight, he nods once, then helps me up and shows me how best to use it.
Walking still hurts, but taking a lot of the weight off my injured ankle turns the sharp pain into more of an annoying twinge. “You’re right. You’re not Superman. Indiana Jones maybe. Or…MacGyver.”
“Just basic field training.” Guiding me over to what looks almost like an old table made out of thick, weathered pieces of stone, he eases me down. “Sit, and keep that foot up while I pack the rest of our stuff. Any time we stop, elevate your ankle, and if the wrap starts to feel tight, if you can feel your pulse around it, you have to tell me immediately. Understand?”
He’s back in full Air Force Major General mode, and though a small part of me bristles against the orders, this is the man he needs to be right now. This is the Austin who’ll keep me safe no matter what. I nod and maneuver my leg up onto the stone. But before he turns away, I reach for his hand and link our fingers. “You saved my life, Austin. You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to do anything to put myself in danger ever again if I can help it.”
His eyes darken, and he slides his fingers into my hair and presses a brief, hard kiss to my lips. “Good. Because when we get back to the States, I’m going with you to Edgewater. I want a second date with you, Mikayla. And a third. As many as you’ll give me.”
“I...I want that too.”
Relief flashes in his eyes, and he turns his focus to his backpack. No man has ever made me feel like he does, and a tiny spark of hope catches deep inside. Along with the idea that we just might get that tomorrow we both so desperately want.
Austin
The hike back up the mountain takes hours, and more than once, I sweep Mikayla into my arms and carry her for a few hundred feet just to give her a break. Her expression twists and tightens with every step, though she’s trying damn hard to hide it.
We’ve only spoken the few times we’ve stopped for water or when I’ve insisted she tell me her pain level. She says she’s fine, that it’s not much above a three, but I’d bet my hunting knife she’s closer to a five or six.
The river’s no longer roaring, though it’s still close to overflowing its banks. The bridge is gone, but I think I can get us across safely. Mik’s not going to like it, though. I drop my ruck and pull out the rope.
“What are you doing?” She asks, leaning against a tree twenty feet from the water.
“Something risky,” I mutter, then look up to meet her gaze. Fuck. She’s exhausted, and if she continues to put weight on that ankle much longer, she’s not going to be able to keep going. “I’m rigging up a guide rope between that tree behind you and the one across the river.”
“That’s…you’re going to have to… No. Austin, no.” She wedges the crutch under her arm again and straightens. “We’ll find another way.”
“Any other way across is going to take us at least two more hours. You need a doctor.” Passing the rope around the trunk, I fasten it off in a quick bowline knot, then give it a hard tug to make sure it holds. “I’ve been in rougher waters, sweetheart. And I’ve got the rope. I’m not going to drown.”
