Page 16 of Double Exposure

I hear him moving around me, tucking me back in, the mattress lifting, and then I open my eyes.

He is right above my face, his mouth slightly open. I want to take his face in my hands and bring him to me, but I’m not sure I can even raise my arms. He smiles.

“Hey, you're awake.”

I swallow and nod. Carter helps me sit up. Slowly.

“How about the sofa?” he asks.

I nod.

“What about your ankles? Any pain?”

I shake my head.

He lifts me to my feet, one arm supporting my waist, the other wrapped around my back. Holding onto his arm, I gingerly put weight on my left ankle. Not bad.

Glancing up at him, I catch his profile and swallow. Who is this guy?

He smiles, and my stomach slips again, this time in a good way. He’s unbelievably handsome. Tender blue eyes. Rugged face. The juxtaposition sends a tingle down my spine.

I catch my breath with my first step and wobble from the mattress to a beat-up sofa. He settles me with a pillow behind my back and I let go of his arm. The solid muscle of his bicep is almost unnerving. The soft outer layer of his undershirt shows the clefts in his arms and back. It takes me a moment to get my bearings again.

“You were with your dad.”

I shake my head no and see him visibly relax. I’m sure he was thinking he’d have to go back out there in the snow to look for him in this storm.

That’s my job.

“I'm melting snow on the stove,” he says, lifting a black iron kettle on the woodstove. “First, you can have a mug of warm water, then a cup of tea.”

I need something stronger and clear my throat. “What about brandy? I thought all you guys carried brandy.” My voice sounds small to my own ears.

Carter grins—and his smile makes my belly quiver. His mere presence is making me need something stronger. He disappears around the corner for a moment and returns with a black chipped ceramic mug. There’s something comforting about the sound of water being poured into a cup.

He hands it to me, but as soon as my fingers wrap around the mug, I know the question I don’t want to answer is coming soon.

“You feel better?”

I nod and take a sip of warm water. It feels like my throat is unclenching. There’s a hint of iron from the kettle. The next two lines jumble together as we talk over each other.

“I’m so sorry,” I start.

“You were damn lucky,” he says. “Sorry,” he adds.

“Sorry, again,” I say.

“You don't need to be sorry, but you do realize you were on restricted grounds, right?” He swings the kettle around for emphasis before setting it back on the woodstove. Then he moves into the kitchen.

“When you finish the hot water, there’s gunpowder tea. That’s it.”

I’ve never heard of gunpowder tea. He sits down next to me and hands me a tea bag for later. I ignore his question.

“You are lucky we saw you when we did,” he says.

I shiver. He jumps up and pulls a blanket from the mattress on the floor and wraps it over my shoulders. Then he sits down again, even closer. And then it comes, the question I don’t want to answer.

“What were you doing out there?”