In Safe Hands

Too close. She was too close to caring for this complete stranger. She needed to remind herself why she’d sought him out on this dark and icy night in the first place.

When Colin opened his eyes, it took him a moment to orient himself. He felt beneath his body and discovered he was lying on some sort of bed or mattress. But with the jumbled thoughts in his head, nothing else seemed clear.

The pain in his thigh was most definite, though, and sharp enough to make him more alert. The memory of the wall exploding behind him kept repeating, and the sound of Maggie Ryan’s voice begging him to get down echoed clear and true in his ears.

Was he still in danger? Probably not. Because wherever he was, everything seemed absurdly quiet after all the commotion. Colin’s survival instincts lay still. Nothing screamed in his gut to either run or fight.

Turning his head, he pried open his eyes and glanced around. He found himself in some sort of bland and inexpensive hotel room. He’d seen many of these same small rooms around the world.

“You’re awake again. Good. Do you think you can sit up?”

It was her voice. Maggie’s. That same smoky pitch he remembered from when she’d appeared at his doorway.

Colin tried to rise, but he had little strength in his arms and one hell of a pain in his leg. “Where am I?”

Her soft, feminine arms slid under his back, and with a surprising show of strength, Maggie lifted him to a sitting position. “There you go. You’re in my hotel room. Does it hurt very much?”

Clearing the fog from his head, Colin stared once again at the most striking-looking woman he had ever beheld. The fantastic mass of curls he remembered from before as being dark auburn looked the color of burnt cinnamon in this light. The ugly, pea-colored coat was gone. She wore a long-sleeved, western-cut shirt with blue and red stripes, tucked into dark-blue jeans.

He focused on her face, his gaze skimming across clear golden skin and a soft, full mouth. But it was the eyes that drew him in. Still startling. Still the vivid green of an Irish mist. Just looking at them produced a surprising and unwelcome reaction in his groin.

“I have a few questions for you.”

She had questions? Since Colin’s brain had begun working past the pain, a million blasted questions sat unasked on his tongue.

“But I need to finish working on your leg first,” she added.

“How did I get here?” He couldn’t let her get ahead of him. His control was shaky, but he didn’t trust her enough to close his eyes again.

“You and I sort of limped over here on the bus, after we got out of that room one step ahead of the fire-fighter first responders. You were a little shocked and dizzy, but we made it.”

He gave her a disbelieving look, but she seemed undeterred.

“The shot that hit you only nicked the fleshy part of your thigh. No bullet fragments were left behind, I checked. You’ve got a couple of cuts on your forehead, but none of them are deep.” She paused. “I was afraid to stick around and wait for the cops or the paramedics. Someone must want you dead pretty badly.”

“Yes, it does seem that way.” But was she in on it? He’d been waiting in that room all day, and the shooting had started only after she’d arrived. “Never mind. Where are my pants, love?”

“I had to cut them off you to get to the wound. But you packed another pair. I brought your duffel with us as I dragged you out of the fire. Thankfully, your leather jacket was only singed in a few spots, but it should be—”

“You dragged me out of the room? By yourself?”

She gave him a sharp smirk before turning her back to dig into his duffel. “I’m tougher than I look.”

Yeah, he would bet she was quite a lot of things underneath those exotic looks. Grace, strength and a sort of magical beauty must have been bestowed upon her at birth by the fairies. But something sinister seemed to lurk about her as well.

He’d already made up his mind to find out everything. She would tell him first whether she had been sent to do him harm, and then she would complete her tale about his brother. The truth. Every bit of it.

It mattered little that her appearance affected him like no other woman’s. With everything they’d been through, he couldn’t imagine why his body kept betraying him with primal, sexual reactions. But he swore to set all that aside.

“What are you up to, Maggie Ryan? How did you know where to find me?”

Maggie winced inwardly, not sure how to explain. “I’ll tell you everything as best I can. But let me work on your leg at the same time.”

He didn’t bat an eyelash, just continued staring her down.

“Please. I swear I can help you. Let me.”

Something must have gotten to him, either her words or the way she stood up to him, because he relented at last. “What are you planning then? Shall we cut off the blasted leg entirely?”

The words had been said without so much as a smile, but they made her chuckle. “Heavens no. I have some…um…lotions that I’ll make into a poultice. It’ll relieve the pain, I promise. And I can put a couple of sutures in, too, if need be.”

Maggie bent to paw through the denim backpack containing her medicines. “Can you lie back again, please?”

She took her bag into the bathroom and mixed up her healing concoctions. Back at his side, Maggie went straight to work, splashing blanquillo, a clear liquid, over his leg.

Ready now to apply the poultice she’d made, Maggie gazed into his eyes. “This shouldn’t hurt. Try not to move.”

He stopped her by holding up his hand. “Tell me what’s in the poultice first.”

Impatiently, Maggie shook her head. “Look, I have training as a curandera—a healer—in Texas and Mexico. I can take away your suffering.”

When he continued to stare at her, she sighed and went on, “The poultice contains herbs and dried plants, nothing harmful. Let me—”

“Which herbs and plants?”

Gritting her teeth, she told him. “It’s a basic mixture of basil, rosemary and rue, the holy trinity for Mexican witchcraft.” When he didn’t flinch at the word witchcraft, she went on. “To those I’ve added three specially dried plants. Mexican arnica—”

“Camphor weed. Yes, I can smell the astringent. What else?”

Surprised, she went on. “Spikenard for open sores and silk tassel for the pain reliever.”

“I recognize the name silk tassel, it’s called quinine bush in some places. But the other…”

“It’s rare. Also called elk clover, and found only in a few mountain areas in the Southwestern United States and Mexico.”

He nodded his head and lay back against the pillows. “Okay, go ahead. But I want your story at the same time. I’d wager you’re the kind of witch that can do at least two things at one time.”

“How do you know so much about the healing properties of some pretty obscure plants?”

With his eyes closed, he answered in a weak voice, “I’ve spent time in some pretty obscure places in the world. The uses for medicinal plants and herbs are not just the province of Mexican witches, you know.”

His eyes flickered open again for a brief moment. “But quit hedging, woman. Begin your story.”

She began applying the poultice. “I’m from a little town in south Texas near the Mexican border. A place called Zavala Springs. It’s a ranching town, surrounded by the multithousand-acre Delgado Ranch. You may have heard of the ranch, it’s pretty famous. The Delgado Ranch is my family’s heritage, but the whole area is a really nice place to live and grow up in.”

Was that a good enough recommendation to entice him to leave Emma there? Probably not.

Colin sat back, watching her work with icy-blue eyes that were becoming evermore sharp and clear.