In Close

Suddenly she realized she might not have been the only one who’d had a run-in with her attacker. “The man who hit me…he didn’t…shoot you or…or anything, did he?”

Obviously intent on making progress, he didn’t respond.

“Hello?” she said.

“Just take it easy.” It came out as a command, which didn’t surprise her. He was always in charge.

On second thought, she had to admit there’d been plenty of give-and-take in the bedroom. But she couldn’t admire that without undermining her efforts to maintain some self-respect.

Fortunately—or unfortunately—there were plenty of other things to think about. Maybe he was struggling because the ground was so uneven. Or he’d been carrying her for too long.

Regardless, Claire knew she shouldn’t let herself rely on him. He was dangerous for her, probably even more dangerous now that she had such a vacuum in her life. She missed David, but David was gone and Isaac was very much alive—as alive and capable as he’d ever been. Far too many times in the past six months her thoughts had gravitated to him and how quickly he could put an end to her lonely nights. Maybe he was a cheap substitute for David, but there were times when that seemed better than nothing.

“Put me down,” she said.

He switched the flashlight to his other hand. “We’re almost…there.”

“I can walk.” She wasn’t really sure of that, but she pushed on his chest to convince him to let her go—and immediately regretted it. They both gasped as her hand touched a wet, sticky substance.

He was bleeding. She’d been right; he was hurt.

With a curse, he tightened his hold but didn’t seem to be getting over what she’d done as quickly as she would’ve liked. “Shit, Claire, will you hold still?”

“Claire?” she echoed.

“Isn’t that your name?”

It just sounded funny, coming from his lips after so long. Except for a few incidents when she’d found him staring at her at the tavern, or she’d glanced up while she was getting gas at the Fill ’n’ Go to realize he was there, too, he’d made it look darn easy to forget her.

“Considering all the women you’ve been with, I figured you’d have a harder time keeping us straight, that’s all.” She was trying to hide how shaken she was to have his blood on her hand, not knowing how serious his wound was. He was always getting hurt; he’d often said he had nine lives. But she suspected he’d already used up that many.

Because of the pain in her head and her distress, she had to relax against his shoulder or risk throwing up. Closing her eyes, she shut out the shifting light, which only made her dizzier.

“How bad is it?” she mumbled when her concern for his well-being overcame her resistance to letting him know she cared.

“You’re going to be fine.”

“I was talking about you.”

“We’ll see.”

Then the most terrible thing in the world happened—tears filled her eyes. She wasn’t even sure why, except that she felt so helpless in the face of everything that had gone wrong. When would it end? First her mother’s disappearance, then her sister’s accident, then David’s death, and now she’d been attacked. To top it all, she was being carried through the woods by the one person she’d do anything to hide her pain from—and couldn’t because he was right there to witness it.

Damn it, she didn’t want to be this transparent, didn’t want Isaac to see her so near the breaking point.

Clenching her jaw, she blinked fast, but the tears came, anyway. So she began to pray he wouldn’t notice—and knew that prayer hadn’t been answered when he spoke to her in the same gentle tone she’d once heard him use with a lame horse.

“Shh, it’s okay. Don’t cry.”

3

Although Isaac had called John Hunt, the only doctor in the area, and Sheriff King at the same time, Hunt arrived first. John, who lived nearby, worked in the emergency room in Libby, but kept his medical bag handy and helped out where he could. Emergencies were taken to the hospital by Life Flight, but once Isaac had had a chance to look at Claire and realized she had only one injury that didn’t seem too bad, he’d been hesitant to call for the helicopter.

“How’s she doing?” Hunt asked.

Isaac angled his head toward his bedroom, where he’d deposited Claire when he reached the cabin. “I’m pretty sure she’s okay, that it’s just your run-of-the-mill knock on the head, but…” He wanted to be positive. Head injuries could be tricky. “You can see for yourself.”

Expecting him to walk past, Isaac waited so he could close the door, but the doctor didn’t budge. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the bloody rag Isaac held to his bare chest, and his eyebrows rose. “You didn’t mention you were hurt, too. But I guess you’re due. You’re my best customer. What happened this time?”

Once he’d cleaned the blood from Claire’s head and made her as comfortable as he could, Isaac had removed his torn and bloodied shirt and attempted to clean his own injury, but it was too deep. He couldn’t get the bleeding to stop. “Branch caught me as I was running through the woods. It’s nothing serious.”

But it was embarrassing. All the other injuries he’d sustained had been connected to his work and had an interesting story to go with them. The time he’d accidentally interrupted several wolves feeding on an elk, for instance. Or the confrontation he’d had with a mother bear. Folks around town asked him to tell and retell those stories, never seemed to grow tired of them. So he wasn’t thrilled to admit he’d been injured by something that shouldn’t have been a threat.

Hunt pulled the rag away so he could have a look. “Not serious, huh? It’s serious enough to need quite a few stitches. Lie down on that couch. I’ll get to you in a minute.”

“I’m fine,” Isaac insisted, and followed him into the bedroom.

Claire had fallen asleep. She lay in his bed—not unusual, at least in the past. That she was still wearing her clothes was a first, however. With her hair mussed and her mascara smeared, she wasn’t at her best. But that made no difference. She was damned pretty. Isaac wished he didn’t think so, but he did.

“Hey…” Hunt shook her arm. “Claire, can I have a minute?”

Her hand went to her head as if it hurt—and it probably did. Isaac hadn’t offered her any painkillers. He’d wanted to wait until Hunt gave the all-clear.

When her fingers encountered the gauze he’d used to cover the wound, she frowned in confusion. “I’m wearing a headband?”

She didn’t remember him putting that on? She’d seemed lucid at the time....

“That’s a bandage,” Hunt explained. “Let’s leave it alone for a few seconds, okay?” He guided her hand away. “Do you know who I am?”

“Of course. You’re…” She struggled with the name and settled for “Lila’s husband.”

“That’s right. Lila goes to your book group, doesn’t she?”

This drew a faint smile. “Every Thursday night.”

Isaac wondered what that smile meant. He got the impression she was making fun of herself and Lila, as if book group was the most exciting thing they ever did.

“Isaac says you have a bump above your ear. Would you mind letting me take a look?”

When she hesitated, he added, “Your other option would be to have us call the helicopter so you can be transported to the hospital.”

“No, there’s no need for that.” She winced as she attempted to sit up, but he pressed her back.

“All you have to do is relax.” Hunt unwound the gauze and gently prodded the area behind her left temple. Fresh blood gushed out of a small cut. “Scalps are notorious bleeders,” he murmured. “This could use a couple stitches, but it isn’t a concern. I’m more worried about the possibility of a concussion.” He rested a hand on her arm to get her to focus on him, probably because her gaze kept straying to Isaac as if she thought he’d done this to her. “Can you tell me what happened?”

She seemed distracted by his presence so Isaac retreated a few steps and leaned against the wall, where he could observe from a distance.

“I was trying to get some…some paintings of my mother’s.”