Chapter 5
Without opening her eyes, Sophie groaned, wishing the nurse who was grabbing at her hand would give it a rest. She was hospital-ed out. Vital-ed out. Everything-ed out.
“No more,” she mumbled, trying to sink back into sleep. God, she was so tired.
“Hey.”
The voice was a man’s, and his hand was still on hers. Her eyes popped open.
Her firefighter was here again.
Her defenses melted, and she turned her head toward him, grasping his hand, letting her eyes droop shut again.
Time passed, and she might have drifted off …
maybe for a minute. Maybe for five. When the bed dipped lower on his side by her waist, her brain fired up, and she opened her eyes.
He sat on the thin mattress, his butt warm and solid up against her middle in order to fit.
She gripped his fingers more tightly and tried to smile.
“Hi, Sophie. Okay if I move this?” He gestured to the rolling table with her cold dinner on it.
She nodded sleepily. “What time is it?”
“Little after eight p.m.”
Iona had sat with her for the whole afternoon and they’d done something Sophie hadn’t done for eons — watched a movie.
A chick flick, no less, just like girlfriends would.
And it’d been pretty flipping awesome once she’d relaxed and, well, gotten over herself.
Her assistant — friend — had taken off when they’d brought Sophie’s tray full of carbs plus a tiny slab of dry turkey, also known as dinner.
Sophie must have crashed not long after picking at the turkey and then pushing the tray away. Her stomach growled now.
The firefighter laughed quietly, and Sophie frowned, embarrassed. “The food here…” She made a face.
“Sucks?”
“I’m sure it’s fine if you don’t mind white grains. Bread. Noodles. Cookies.”
“You don’t eat cookies?”
“Not often.”
“Explains why you’re so light. You should eat cookies.”
He’d carried her, she remembered. “You know my approximate body weight. I should know your name.”
He laughed again, a low rumble that warmed her. “That and you should know the names of guys who sit on your hospital bed. Nate Rottinghaus.”
“Nate,” she repeated. She nodded, trying to find the right words for what she needed to say, even though she and Iona had discussed it at length. Owing someone her life was unfamiliar territory.
She attempted to clear her throat, but that hurt. Rough, unsexy voice it was, then. “Nate,” she said again. “Thank you for saving my life.” Her sore throat swelled up around the words and her eyes dampened. She swallowed hard in order to continue, but nothing else came to her. “Just … thanks.”
“I was just doing my job.” His tone was light, as if to brush off her thanks.
“Maybe, but…” She shook her head, afraid if she said more her voice would crack or one of those damn tears would actually run down her face and embarrass her.
Nate squeezed her hand and encased it between both of his.
She soaked up the reassurance, the security of his strong, tanned hands protecting her smaller one.
Tried to remember the last time she’d held a man’s hand and felt like this.
Scratch that — she hadn’t felt like this.
She’d held a few hands, been with a few guys, but she’d usually been too preoccupied or too worried about their next move to appreciate much.
“You seem to be doing better,” Nate said, saving her again, this time by changing the subject when she was so worked up. She wasn’t sure how she felt about this rescue habit of his.
“How’s your head feel?” he asked.
Sophie frowned. “How did you know I hit my head?”
“Nurse mentioned it when I was here yesterday.”
“Was that only yesterday? It seems like a week.”
“I would’ve come sooner today but I worked half a shift for a buddy. Just got done at seven.”
“You didn’t have to come,” Sophie said, feeling suddenly panicky because of his intent and the way it made her heart do a little dip. “You’ve gone over and above the call of duty. Way beyond.”
“Maybe this has nothing to do with duty.” He rubbed his thumb back and forth over her hand, his touch gentle. Soothing.
Too soothing.
She pulled her hand away, running it through her hair, trying to play it off. Which reminded her, her hair was bad news. She’d managed a shower earlier, but she’d been too worn out to blow-dry her hair or do anything to it.
“Your hair looks fine,” Nate said as if he’d known her for years and could read her every thought.
Sophie swallowed nervously. Summoned the energy to shift herself upward and over, putting a couple of inches between them. She fiddled with the bed controls, raising the head a few degrees.
Nate stood abruptly. Looked instantly uncomfortable, as if maybe he hadn’t planned on getting so cozy either. His eyes flicked to the floor, allowing a flash of insecurity to show before he shoved it aside. But she’d seen it. And it eased her mind a little. Allowed her to relax her shoulders.
He was an honorable guy — she knew it instinctively. He apparently felt compelled to make sure she was okay. There was no reason for the tension in her gut.
Lie.
He was too good-looking, with his quiet concern in those beautiful hazel eyes and his stubbled, square jaw that, if she was honest, made her want to reach out and run her fingers over it.
And the arms, oh, my God, the arms. He wore a plain hunter-green T-shirt, and his biceps bulged out of the sleeves for all the world to admire.
No wonder he’d said she was light — he could probably lift four times her weight with those muscles.
He turned toward her, and she took in the broadness of his shoulders, the narrowness of his hips. She forced her eyes to meet his.
“You never answered my question,” he said.
Her brain felt scrambled, and it wasn’t from her head injury. Her mouth was suddenly dry, so dry, and she couldn’t for the life of her remember what he’d asked. “What…?”
“Your head? Better?”
“Oh.” She nodded. “Everything’s good enough that I get to go home tomorrow.”
“That’s great. What time?”
“As soon as the doctor releases me. After his morning rounds, the nurse said.”
“I’ll give you a ride.”
“You don’t need to do that.” It was one thing to be with him here, in the hospital room. Here, she was the fire victim he’d saved, the patient he was checking on. Outside these walls, she didn’t know what they were, but the way he made her insides warm and melty … that was scary.
He glanced around the room. “You don’t… Where’s your family, Sophie?”
“I don’t have any.”
Nate frowned. “None?”
“My mom died a week after I turned eighteen. I’ve been on my own ever since.” All true. Her dad hadn’t even been there for her years ago when he’d lived with them. And her brother… Who knew where he was these days? She hadn’t laid eyes on him for years.
“I’m sorry—”
“It’s okay. It’s been a long time.”
“It’s just my dad and me,” Nate said, pulling the chair close to her bed and sitting. “He’s a fire lieutenant, so we’re tight.”
“You work together?” She gladly latched onto the topic of his family to get away from hers.
“Yep. We worked together all day.”
“Have you heard if they figured out the cause of the fire?” She’d been curious, couldn’t help wondering during the endless hours by herself before Iona had come.
She’d questioned Iona, as well, but if anyone knew the cause, it hadn’t hit the media yet.
The more she wondered, the more she needed to know.
Nate pressed his lips together, a minute movement, before he spoke. “There’s always talk.” He didn’t meet her gaze, and she wouldn’t have thought anything of it if she hadn’t noticed his unwavering eye contact up until now.
“You know, don’t you?” she said.
“It’s early. No conclusive evidence the last I heard.”
She narrowed her eyes, studying him. He was speaking too carefully. And he hadn’t given her a flat-out no. Which she suspected meant yes. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “A few more minutes and you wouldn’t have made it out of that fire alive, Sophie. I’d say that’s bad.” His voice was thick with emotion, and that got to her. A knot pulsed in her throat, threatening to prevent her lungs from getting enough air.
Because of him, she was here. Alive.
She fought the deluge of emotion — gratitude, fear, even some anger that either of them had been put in that position. She massaged her temples and forced air into her windpipe, past the lump in her throat. Refocused her mind on the facts, which were always safer than feelings.
“Was it Mrs. Forester?”
“Was what Mrs. Forester?” Finally, Nate looked at her.
“The fire. Did she leave a candle burning or something?” At his blank look, she explained, “The old woman in the office suite next to mine. She proclaims to be a psychic. She brings her cat, Nefertiti, to the office on a leash. I … worry about her.”
“Worry how?”
“I don’t think she’s all there. She used to forget which door was hers until she put the foil door cover of the sparkly, gold angel up.”
The room phone rang, startling both of them. Nate motioned to the nightstand against the wall, back behind and to her left, and she nodded, knowing it was Iona and that Iona would get a kick out of “her firefighter” answering her phone after the way Sophie had rattled on about him earlier.
“Sophie’s room.” He stood next to her shoulders and listened. “Just a moment, sir.”
Sophie was trying to figure out what “sir” would be calling her when Nate held out the phone with a puzzled look.
“William Alexander would like to speak to his daughter,” he said. “I assume that’s you.”
Her blood went cold at the name. “Technically speaking.” She stared at the receiver, searching her mind for a way to avoid talking to the man. Finding none, she took it as her stomach tightened into a rock.
“Yes?”
“Sophie, sweetheart, I just heard what happened. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Sweetheart? Were they putting hallucinogens in her IV? “I’m fine.” Or she had been until she’d heard the sound of his voice.