Chapter Twenty-Seven
I n the morning, Becca was thrilled to find that Rio’s body temperature remained normal, with no return of his fever. He was still weak, but coherent. After changing his wound’s dressing with fresh gauze and tape, she prepared food. He took his pill, and she sat beside him in bed and asked about his home life.
“Guess there’s no harm in telling you.” He rubbed his jaw. “My dad—or at least the man who raised me—is Jim. Big Jim. And he raised my sister, too. Sarah. They’re my family.”
“Where are your real parents?”
“Don’t know.”
Becca decided prying wouldn’t be prudent. “Do you see Big Jim and Sarah often?”
“Not much.”
Thinking of how close she and her brothers were, she wondered why not. “Where are they?”
“Cattle ranch,” he said. “In Montana. I don’t go home much,” he offered. “In my line of work, I’ve made some enemies. It’s best if my connection to them is kept quiet.”
She frowned. “You think your family is in danger?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Honestly? No, but it’s not smart to take chances.” His mouth curved up at one corner. “Anyway, my dad’s a rancher and a hunter. He’s sharp, proficient with guns. And Sarah’s tough. Anybody tangling with them might wish they hadn’t.”
Becca thought about how she’d like to meet the people who’d influenced Rio. But she dared not speak those thoughts aloud. The subject was too personal. It didn’t seem appropriate to keep probing.
“Where’s your mom, Becca? I’ve met your father and brothers. She still around?”
Becca lowered her gaze. “She passed. Six years ago. Lymphoma.”
“That’s too bad,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
Accepting his condolences, she thought about the year-long ordeal her family had endured while her mother sickened and died. She didn’t like thinking about it.
Instead, she asked a pressing question. “Do you know if there are any clear water streams or creeks nearby? We’re getting low on water.”
“Sure, only maybe a hundred yards to the west there’s a pretty creek. The water’s drinkable.” He yawned, tiring.
“All right.” She began to scoot off the bed. “I’ll take our empty bottles and refill them.”
“Wait.” Still flat on his back, he put a hand on her leg. “I’m not up to doing anything more right now, but how about a little kiss?” He smiled at her and her heart melted.
Leaning over him, she pressed her lips to his. “Get better and we’ll see about doing something more .” With a deliberate movement, she brushed her breasts across his chest.
His eyes alight, he leaned up an inch, groaned in pain and fell back. “Are you trying to kill me?”
She giggled, delighting in teasing him. “I’m off to refill our water, and maybe wash my hair in your creek. While I’m gone, you sleep, okay? The sooner you get better, the sooner we can get busy.”
His eyes briefly flamed, then his lids drifted closed, and she could tell she was already losing him to sleep. “Kiss me again, Becca,” he whispered. “Kiss me.”
“I’ll kiss you when I get back,” she promised. “Now, you just rest.” Gathering empty bottles, her coat and the shampoo, she eased out the door.
Taking her time, she made a wide-ranging tour of the area. She wanted to familiarize herself with the surrounding landscape, have a better understanding of their location. She learned where the taller trees leaned into the wind, where the squirrels chittered and ran across branches. She discovered a flock of green-feathered, redheaded, thick-billed parrots roosting in a wild oak. Across the mountainside, she saw a single, small gray fox trotting along his way. The mountain was breathtaking.
At last she found Rio’s creek, wending its way down the mountainside, cold from melted snow above, and clean. First, she refilled their bottles, capped them, and then leaned from the side to wash her hair.
It felt heavenly. Fluffing it with her fingers, after sitting in the sunshine for a bit, she had it half-dry before returning to the shack.
Rio was awake and propped up in bed against the wall.
“Honey, I’m home,” she sang out, smiling.
He grinned. “Welcome back. Your hair looks pretty.”
She swung its heavy weight, still damp from the washing. “Thanks! You have a severe case of bed head.” He didn’t, though. His hair just looked artfully tousled, as though for a romantic film scene in a chick flick. How did he do that?
He ran a hand though the blond strands and rubbed his three-day stubble. “Sorry. Do I look like hell?”
She nearly burst out laughing. Since she’d already decided he belonged in Hollywood, or in the pages of Gentleman’s Quarterly magazine, she couldn’t imagine him looking like hell .
But she wouldn’t tell him. “You look like a hot mess,” she said instead. Setting the water bottles on the floor, she hid a new grin.
“At least you think I’m hot,” he said, showing his dimple. “I’ll take that.”
She busied herself rebuilding the fire and replenishing their wood from the huge pile she’d made just outside the door. At last lowering the latch, she turned to him. “Rio, who was trying to kill us, back at my condo? If not Tim, who?”
“I’ve been working that out,” he said. “Trouble is, my brain isn’t operating real well. Feels like mush.”
“I’m so upset about those poor girls, chained in the truck. Hopefully the authorities were able to rescue them.”
“No doubt they did. I gave a full description of the truck and the license plate.”
“But there must be others.”
He didn’t answer.
“Okay,” she said. Perhaps she was pushing him too hard. “Don’t worry about any of this right now. You’re getting better. We’ll be here for a few more days. Maybe all week. I want you much improved before we go back.”
“I need to talk to my boss. Haven’t called him in days. I gotta see what’s going on.” He scowled.
“Both our phones are charged, but I turned them off.” When he continued to frown, she asked, “What?” She’d grown intuitive to his moods. “What is it?”
“Not sure. Maybe I’ll call tomorrow.”
“Or in a couple of days,” she said, correcting him. There was no way he’d be able to travel far enough to get cell reception for at least that long.
“Can I have some food?” he asked. Clearly he wouldn’t discuss whatever was bothering him.
Becca went to the cooler and pulled out a can of nuts, peeled another orange, and unwrapped granola bars. She didn’t mind waiting on him. Doing things for him felt nice. It seemed ironic, how the first time they’d come to the mountain shack she’d been the one cold, sick, needing care. Now, their roles had reversed and she was taking care of him.
Happily so. If she weren’t careful, she could get used to it.
That day they spent the time chatting and napping, only venturing outside to go in the trees, or take a short sunbath. Rio tired quickly and needed a lot of sleep. When he slumbered, Becca watched his face, knowing he was improving each hour, and would continue to each day that she managed to keep him quiet. There’d be time for action later, when he was better, and when he could think properly again.
Meanwhile, she decided to enjoy this interlude. It seemed an idyllic time, when no one knew where they were, couldn’t contact them by phone, couldn’t shoot at them. There in the mountains, there was no intrigue, no threat, no fear. There was only Becca, and Rio.
Was she falling in love?
She didn’t know, but found taking her eyes off him for more than moments seemed painful. At every opportunity, she ran her hands over his back, through his thick hair. She touched him, petted him, and caressed him.
He appeared to enjoy the attention, and when he could, he held her hand and kissed her back.
That night she lay facing the wall, and he curved his body to hers, his wounded side facing up, his arm around her. Before falling asleep, he brushed his fingers over her breasts, and predictably her nipples responded. She felt the rising of his desire against her bottom. In seconds, he was asleep, but she smiled to herself.
Rio was getting better.
****
O n the fourth day, Becca told Rio she intended to hike back up the mountain again, to fetch the blue ice packs and more ice. In the cooler, most of it had melted. They still had a good store of food, and with careful management, enough left for a few more days. She wanted to make certain it remained safe to eat.
“I’ll go with you,” Rio said, swinging his legs over the bed with care. He grimaced.
“The trail is almost straight up,” Becca said. “You stay here. We can’t have your stitches pulling out.” She put on her coat and collected the plastic bags.
He studied her for a long moment. “Take the Glock. I don’t want you going out alone anymore without it.” From the floor, he picked up the gun, checked the chamber. “You know how to shoot, right?”
“I’ve been to the shooting range a few times.” She wouldn’t tell him it was with an ex-boyfriend. “But I won’t need the gun.”
“With the break in the weather, that mountain lion has probably moved on, but I don’t want you taking any chances. We don’t know who or what could be out there.” Showing her the gun’s safe action system, he explained that to fire it, she must depress both the trigger safety and the trigger itself at the same time. He pushed the weapon into her hands. “You’re taking it.”
Not liking to argue with him, she tucked the gun into her coat pocket and brushed her lips over his mouth. “Be back in a few hours.”
With difficulty, he got off the bed and followed her to the door. “Be careful,” he said.
“Yup!” As she let herself out of the cabin, he surprised her by coming with her, and although he moved slowly and carefully, he walked a few yards. After a dozen more steps, she stopped him with a hand on his chest. “I’ll be fine. Now go back inside. Rest.”
He scowled down at her. “I don’t want you to go.”
“You’ll probably die of loneliness,” she said, and gave him a saucy smile. “You’ll miss me something awful.”
“I’ll miss you something awful,” he repeated, searching her eyes. “I should be the one getting ice,” he said. “I should be taking care of you.”
Something inside her warmed. “For now, I want to take care of you.”
“ Becca ,” he said, and pulled her to him. His eyes lit to shimmering blue flames. Bending his neck, he kissed her thoroughly.
Her body flooded with pleasure. She pulled away an inch. “You’re feeling that good, huh? Well, when I get back, if I’m not too tired, and if you’re up to it, I could take care of you in a more interesting way.” With that, she deliberately ran her tongue across her upper lip. She allowed her eyes to half close with come-hither allure.
His gaze glowed. “I hope you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”
“Oh, I am,” she promised. “I am.” Turning, she walked away, toward the incline, and allowed her hips to gently sway.
Over her shoulder, she gave him a last smile.
“Hurry back, Buttercup,” he said, looking stronger than he had in days.