* * *
Johnnie woke with a start. Low thundering vibrations shook the earth. Rose Marie and Mary had also jarred awake next to him. This would be the fourth aftershock, shearing off yet another layer of God's creation that could never be restored. The shocks were shorter, yes, but the intensity seemed to stay the same, escalating Johnnie's sense of urgency to get off this mountain. Jess never once stirred in spite of the havoc all around her, and Johnnie's yearning to get her medical attention was souring his stomach.
He probed his pocket for his watch, trying to ignore the earth's convulsions. He turned on the flashlight to note that the time was 4:03 AM. "Over two hours this time. Hopefully it will be daylight before the next one," he said aloud, though he doubted anyone heard him.
An abusing jar, a final shudder, and then the quake stopped. Several more boulders had rolled past them, but their pine tree stood, straight and true.
Mary stole the flashlight out of Johnnie's hand and shined it over Jess.
"How's she doing?" he asked, and ran a hand down his face.
"No change."
Just then a loud crash resounded from the back side of their pine, making Johnnie nearly jump out of his skin. He threw the blanket off and bounded to his feet. A quick peek around the trunk told him a huge boulder would have crushed them all but for the barrier of the tree. All at once the tension from the night's trauma exploded out of him. "Could this night get any longer? I can't take much more of this. We need daylight. We need to get off this damn mountain!"
"We should pray," Mary said. "God's the only one who can take care of us."
"Oh yeah," Rose Marie cut in. "I can see He's doing a great job of that!" She shoved to her feet to join Johnnie.
That statement wasn't going to bode well with Mary, Johnnie knew. He shined the light in Rose Marie's face.
"Now Rosie, whether you believe it or not, God is in control," Mary said. "He will see us through this. You must trust Him."
"How do you trust a God who allows unspeakable, horrific things to happen?" Her voice had raised a pitch. "Like when—" She stopped short, raised a hand up as if to halt a confession.
Like when, what? Johnnie wondered. He frowned as he watched her swallow and struggle to speak.
Her words finally broke free. "And now all of this destruction, and Jessica being hurt, and who knows who else. Look at your cabin, Grandma! It's gone. Everything is gone!" she said, her voice breaking on a sob. Rosie reached over and snatched the flashlight out of Johnnie's hands, then darted off into the woods.
Johnnie watched the flashlight's beam wave against the darkness until they heard a sucked in breath followed by a hardy curse. Johnnie saw the flashlight jumping around like she'd just stubbed the heck out of her toe.
Blasted woman! Johnnie thought as he remembered she was barefoot. He should have challenged her when she'd removed her boots earlier. But, she'd insisted she couldn't sleep one minute with the constricting things on. She probably had blisters, the crazy woman. Wearing new boots for a trip like this, he scoffed to himself.
Rose Marie continued on her course in spite of the pain she must be in, limping now according to the dipping and waving light beam.
Muttering, Johnnie stepped out to trail her.
"Stop following me," she bit out on a wobbly voice.
"If you insist on being stupid, someone has to watch out for you."
He heard a sob, then a huge gasp.
The trail went dark. Johnnie scanned the place where she just was. No beam of light anywhere. Shoot! He knew it. She'd fallen. His stomach climbed his throat as he trotted forward through rubble that was everywhere. When he saw her wedged, face down between two boulders, her rump wiggling in the effort to extract herself, he breathed a sigh of relief.
He should have felt amusement, but annoyance seemed to dominate. "Well, we knew that was going to happen," he couldn't help from grumbling.
She went rigid at his voice, then wilted completely. He halted as abruptly as if he'd hit a wall, every nerve in his body on high alert. He inhaled a steadying breath. She remained still, immobilized. Unconscious?
His heart hammered, and his legs covered the remaining distance in three running strides. He wanted to believe his sudden panic stemmed from pure practicality. One unconscious woman was hard; two would be impossible. But deep down he knew it was more than that. Much more.
He squatted and laid a hand at her back, felt movement, and exhaled a pent-up breath. "Let's get you out of there." He reached down to cradle her waist with his hands, and tried to carefully unwedge her. He figured by the resistance against his tug and her grunts of pain, she was getting scraped up pretty good, but at least she wasn't unconscious. "Hang on. Almost there." He winced, but kept tugging because it had to be done.
Once she was loose, he sat back on his haunches and drew her onto his lap. She immediately wriggled to be set free. "So, you're fine? Why in blazes did you act like you'd passed out?" He held tight, tugged the flashlight out of her hand, and shined it in her face. "Settle down."
She glanced at the light and squinted. "Will you quit shining that thing in my face?"
"Answer my question, Rose Marie."
"I thought you were a smart man. The rock was hard. I'm soft. I was no match for it!"
His mind seized on the word soft, and he didn't hear another thing. He cleared his throat. "Well, are you hurt . . ." He shifted her roughly in his lap, so he could get a good look at the front of her. ". . . or just gripey, as always?"
Her jaw rolled forward. He could see he'd better hurry this up. He shined the light from her face down to her chest and halted the beam right there. His blood lit on fire as his brain flipped from caregiver to just plain man. The bodice that was already low cut was torn and had flapped to one side, revealing way too much forbidden skin. The exposed, rounded crest looked silky-smooth, and too darned tempting. His fingertips itched to trace the contour of her chest and memorize every curve by feel.
Get hold of yourself, Williams! His mind was forever taking prohibited detours when it came to this woman. Behind that thought came the realization that he'd never thought of Jess in this way.
He shut his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to get a grip on his wayward thoughts. He was a Pinkerton, for crying out loud. He knew how to avoid entanglements with the opposite sex when he had to. It had never been this difficult before.
Skills back in place, he grasped the torn material with the intent to cover her. But his eyes caught sight of red, and it looked wet. He pressed his fingers to it and felt the slick warmth of it. Blood. "Rosie! You're hurt."
A blooming crimson line traveled along her chest from her collarbone to under her bodice, where red-stained lace peeked out. Without another thought, he shoved the butt of the flashlight into his mouth. He tipped her back, slipped a fingertip under the lace and lifted.
"What are you—Stop! You—you, miscreant!" She slapped his hand away, and glared. Wiggling with zeal now to get off his lap, she seemed to look for something to push off from. Huffing an agitated breath, she planted a hand on his chest and one at his thigh and started to push, causing another upsurge of desire to snap through him like a bullwhip.
Forcing indifference into his voice, he said, "Hold it right there, Princess." He seized her rising hips and replanted them on his lap.
She yelped and pummeled him with a flurry of fists, battering so hard he almost dropped her. "What the—! Stop fighting me!"
"Don't. Don't you touch me!" There was fierceness in her voice, but also fear.
What was that about? He caught her elbows, slid his hands down and clutched her wrists behind her back. Now her chest rose and fell with every labored breath just inches from his face.
He squeezed his eyes shut for a few beats, willing himself to calm down, hoping she would as well. "Easy now, Rosie. You're not going anywhere until I check this cut."
Thrashing about, she acted like he meant to hurt her. He seethed with frustration. "That's enough! Hold sti
ll."
Her eyes locked onto his. She blinked. A breath squeezed past her parted lips. She breathed again, chest heaving from exertion, but her arms went still. This he felt more than saw, because all of his attention spiraled in on her face. Her eyes were too bright, too glossy, glinting with the high sheen of unshed tears.
The strength melted out of his hands. He gave himself a mental shake. He should let her go. Let Mary handle her injury. Was it his excessive need to protect? Or just plain male pride? Not sure what, but he couldn't seem to release her, so he tightened his hold again. Rosie's back went rigid. He could feel her coiling up inside, readying herself for another battle. But her gaze never wavered from his, and his never wavered from hers. Not until he forced his eyes closed, drew in a deep breath through his nose, blew it out through taut lips, and repeated the process two more times. When he finally opened his eyes, he was ready with a steady voice. "Rose Marie. I need to take a look at how badly you're hurt. That's all. Are you going to let me? Calmly?"
She struggled against his hold with a little less gusto this time. "Let go!" Her voice even revealed her diminishing strength. She hesitated, the glare she held him with finally losing its fierceness.
He didn't know if she was acquiescing or was just plain fatigued, but he was glad when she relaxed. "Sweetheart, listen. I'm not trying to hurt you. Please, let me take care of this."
She looked away then, but he could see the rush of tears backing up in her eyes. His regard for her grew as she struggled to keep those tears from falling.
He released her hands, inserted the flashlight back in his mouth, and peeled back the lace of her slip. Heat climbed up his neck. He ignored the discomfort and finally got to the heart of the problem. Literally. Just over her heart and deep into the apex of her rounded cleavage, was a gouge. A good sized one. It was oozing blood, and it seemed to be dripping down her torso where he couldn't see.
With one hand, he took a good hold on her waist and tipped his hips to one side so he could grab the handkerchief out of his back pocket. He'd have to get this done quickly since his legs were falling asleep, and he was pretty sure his libido had stopped listening to reason.
Even more threatening, this scrapper with the vulnerability she bravely fought at every turn, was starting to make headway toward his locked-down heart, and that was death to him. Johnnie concentrated on feeding his anger toward belles. Taking the cloth in hand, he pressed on the scratch and ran it from her collarbone downward.
She gasped.
He tilted his head back so the light hit her face and realized by her expression that he'd been too rough. He knew better than to let emotions dictate his actions.
"Saw-ry," he slurred around the flashlight.
She inhaled and nodded.
He wedged the handkerchief in between her skin and her slip, then dropped the slobbery flashlight in his hand. "That'll have to do until we get back to Mary. Do you think you can stand? Are you hurt anywhere else?"
She shook her head.
Johnnie gave her a little boost to help her stand, then stumbled to his feet, shaking one leg then the other to bring feeling back. With each stamp his wrath escalated at her irresponsibility and his own male weakness. He stuck the flashlight in his shirt pocket. It illuminated the space between him and Rosie with a light blue glow.
Moving to within a foot of her, he stared down in her face. "What made you run off like that? You knew about the rubble. What were you thinking?"
She blinked at his sharp tone. Her eyes started to tear up again, but her pretty mouth was smashed into a thin line. She was struggling. It was clear she didn't want to lose this fight with her persistently rising tears. He saw the moment the battle was lost, when she swallowed hard and her face contorted.
Shoot, shoot, shoot. No! Cursing himself for his insensitivity when he knew she was already at the edge of lost control, the likely reason she'd run off in the first place. He watched helplessly as the waterworks she'd been holding back balled up in the corners of her baby blues, then slipped down her cheeks one at a time, as if politely waiting their turn.
Step back. Give her space. But he didn't quite make it when she thrust her forehead into his hard chest with a whump. Her action surprised the heck out of him, her real tears dismantled him. The wall of anger he'd worked so hard to keep erected crashed down in a second. Less than a second. Blast! He was such a sucker when it came to women's real tears. A true pushover.
He groaned loudly, then wrapped her in a sound embrace, resting his chin on the top of her head, raining small kisses in her hair. The smell of roses teased his nose. He drew in a deep satisfying breath. "Aw, Rosie. I know this has been tough. Stop crying now, okay? Let's get you back to Mary so she can clean that scrape. We don't want it to scar, now do we?"
She leaned back and looked at him inquisitively, and he knew his distraction had worked. "Scar?"
"It'll heal. Just may scar."
"What? No, that can't be. I can't have a scar on my—" She tucked her chin in to look at her cleavage.
His lips twitched. "Why not? It won't hurt anything," he said, feeling his resistance to her begin to fortify again.
"You know why not."
"No, I don't."
"Scars are fine for men, everyone likes scars on men. But, not on women! And, not . . . not on their . . ."
He bit his lip to keep from smiling. "Fine, let's get back to Mary so she can take a look."
After a few steps, Rose Marie managed to stub her toes twice in spite of Johnnie's hand on her elbow. Not wanting to spend all night getting her back, Johnnie bent down to grasp her behind her knees and lift her into his arms.
She screeched. "Now what are you doing? Put me down!"
"Stop wiggling or I might just drop you on your rump right here on the rocks. You think you have bruises now? Be still!"
As if she knew he would do exactly what he said, she acquiesced, slipping her arms around his neck snugly. That move weakened his knees, and nearly sent them both to the ground. Thankfully, she didn't move or say another word until they were back at the tree.
Mary took one look at them and smiled.
He scowled at her. "She hurt herself, Mary. You'll have to fix her."
"I didn't hurt myself. That big rock did, and you—" she thumped his chest "—for distracting me!"
He glared into her eyes, which were just inches from his own. "If you didn't think of yourself all the time and quit doing foolish things, you'd be fine right now."
"Ohooo..." The sound came from deep in her throat.
Johnnie drew up to the blanket. Leaning over, but not quite low enough, he dropped her on her tush.
"Ow!" She reached around and massaged her backside. "You, you . . . wretch!"
He hated doing that. It wasn't like he wanted to hurt her. But, in truth, he needed conflict between them in order to scrape her out from under his skin. He tossed the flashlight to Mary, then stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and stepped back.
"Now, children. Let's behave." Mary flicked the light over Rose Marie's chest. "Here." She handed the flashlight to Rosie. "Shine this towards you." Mary carefully tugged on the handkerchief.
The princess grimaced as it unstuck from her wound. As much as that might have hurt, Johnnie knew it was a good sign. It showed the bleeding had stopped.
Next, Mary peeled back the bloodied lace and took a good look. "It's not too bad. We'll clean it and it'll be fine in a day or so. You won't even know it was there."
Princess shifted her eyes up to him and sneered. "A scar, huh?"
Johnnie tried not to smile, he really did. But, lo and behold, there it came, plastered all over his face. Well, good. It served her right, after all those tears exposed his weak side.
She didn't make another peep while Mary cleaned the blood off her soft skin and peroxided it.
When she finished, they settled down next to Jessica to sleep. Johnnie lay on his back and crooked an arm over his eyes, mentally preparing himself for the next nig
htmare to come.
And, it was sure to come.
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