Chapter 5
Five
Swayze
My rescuer—Colter, he’d said—deposited me gently into the front seat of a quad-cab pickup truck.
As he circled around to the driver’s side, I momentarily regretted the loss of contact.
He was broad and solid, and for those brief moments I was in his arms, I didn’t have to think, didn’t have to feel, didn’t have to do anything at all because he had me.
Which was patently ridiculous and probably some psychological hero worship complex as a result of the fact that he’d quite literally saved my life.
That hardly made him responsible for me.
And yet here he was, driving me to his grandmother’s house. Like that was a normal thing to do in the wake of rescuing a complete stranger from a fire.
Colter didn’t speak on the drive, and I was grateful.
I was way too jet-lagged to process all of this, and my head pounded like some kind of drunken drum circle.
Rather than heading back the way I’d come, he continued on up the mountain toward what I assumed was one of the higher ridges.
In what seemed like a blink, he turned into another long driveway.
My stomach bottomed out at the sight of all the cars parked all along the length of it.
“Oh my God. Were you first on the scene because you were in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Dessert, actually.” He glanced over and flashed what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile. “This is only about half of us. A bunch of the family will already have made a plate of leftovers and headed home for the ritual post-dinner football watching and nap.”
Good lord. How big was his family?
Abruptly, I realized I wore nothing but pajamas and a blanket made out of crinkly stuff that had no business being called a blanket, even if it did help with the cold.
I reached up with shaky fingers and tugged the hair tie off my braid.
Maybe I could do… something to help my appearance.
I combed my fingers through the strands and caught a fresh whiff of smoke. I definitely needed a shower.
By the time Colter pulled up in front of the wide, wraparound porch—ironically, one very similar to the dreamy porch that had made me book the disaster house—I’d rebraided my hair into something at least a little neater.
It probably didn’t do much. I wasn’t fit to meet people like this.
Every Southern belle ancestor in my family line was clutching her pearls in horror.
Can’t be helped. Nobody’s going to judge you for showing up like this. This isn’t a social visit. Your house burned down.
My head gave a fresh BA DUM BUM to underscore the point, and my brain helpfully conjured a fresh image of the smoke filled room I’d woken in. My fingers dug into the edge of the seat.
You’re safe. That’s the only thing that matters.
Colter leaned toward me, and I found myself whipping my head in his direction. But he was reaching past me, between the seats, to grab something from the back.
“Here. Put this on.” He draped something heavy across my lap.
A fleece-lined coat of some kind. I ran my fingers over it, noting the heavy canvas of a good work coat. His coat, no doubt.
“Thank you.”
Shrugging out of the thermal blanket, I worked my arms into the sleeves.
They extended several inches beyond my fingertips.
My hands were shaking again, so I didn’t even try to zip it, just wrapped the fabric tighter around me.
Finally, I could smell something other than smoke.
Something woodsy, like cedar and sandalwood.
Colter’s cologne? As he got out of the truck, I hunched tighter into the coat and took a good inhale.
The scent of it settled me. Anything was better than the acrid stench of smoke still clogging my sinuses.
He tugged open the truck door, and I tried to slide out. Apparently, he wasn’t okay with me walking barefoot here either, because his hands gripped my waist and lifted me easily. I flailed a little, my hands landing on his shoulders and squeezing until he set me down on the porch.
“Here we go.” His voice was a quiet rumble that vibrated through the coat and the hands he still had on me.
“Um, thanks.”
He had a good eight inches on me, and I had to tip my head back to see his face. It was a really nice face, even smeared with soot. Good, strong jaw and eyes so blue I could tell even in the halo of light spilling from the nearby window.
Let him go, dumbass.
My hands didn’t seem to get the memo, and I was still staring up at him when the door to the house opened behind us.
That did it. I jerked my hands away as if he’d burned me.
A pint-sized woman with silver hair came out of the house.
“Welcome! Welcome! Come inside out of the cold.” She put an arm around me and promptly ushered me into the house, still talking.
“I’m so sorry about what’s happened. We’ve got a room all made up for you, and we’re rounding up some clothes.
Have you eaten anything? Supper’s finished, but we’ve got enough leftovers to feed half the county. ”
“Maybe let her get her bearings first, Grandma Elsie,” Colter said drily.
My stomach had latched onto her offer of food and begun to audibly growl. A crushed protein bar from the bottom of my carry-on had been the only food I’d managed to turn up in my stuff before my ill-fated nap.
“Dee! Make a plate,” Elsie hollered. “This young lady is hungry.”
“Why, of course I will.” The smooth, comforting voice came from a handsome, well-dressed man in—holy shit, that really was a velvet smoking jacket, and he really was pulling it off. My brother, JP, would approve. “Do you have any food allergies, sugarplum?”
“Um, no. But you really don’t have to—”
“Nonsense! Of course we do. You’ve been through a trial.” The unmistakable tone of drama in his voice reminded me so much of my brother, some of the tension bled out.
“I appreciate it.”
“Where are we on clothes?” Colter asked.
“Got ’em.” A woman I pegged as around my own age trotted down the stairs with a stack of folded garments in her hand. “Not exactly exciting, but a clean set of sweats that will at least do until morning.” She flashed a smile. “I’m Everly. And you are?”
“Swayze Parish.”
“Swayze.” Dee rolled the name around in his mouth like chocolate. “Not like the inimitable Patrick?”
My lips twitched. “The one and only. My mama was kind of obsessed. My brother is John Patrick.”
He clutched his chest, eyes dancing. “After the man himself and one of his most famous roles. Sugar, clearly your mama had good taste.”
“She likes to think so. And at least I wasn’t one of a hundred Jennifers in my class.”
“The essential question, though, is how many men have attempted the lift?” A stunning, statuesque blonde woman emerged from… somewhere and pressed a beautifully manicured hand to her chest. “Blair. So how many? Inquiring minds want to know.”
I couldn’t help myself. A rusty laugh escaped. “Many have tried. None have succeeded.”
Blair pouted. “Well, now, that’s just a damned shame.”
“Mama’s told me all my life that if I manage to find one who can pull it off, I should marry him.”
“Oh, but only if he’s got the pelvis to go with it,” Dee purred.
“Does that make it Chekhov’s pelvis until he proves he knows what to do with it?” Blair asked.
“I think technically that might be Schrodinger’s pelvis,” Everly opined.
Another wheeze of laughter burst out. “Chek… hov’s… pelvis. Oh my God, my sister is going to love that.”
Unfortunately, the laughter made way for another round of coughing that left my eyes streaming.
Colter’s hand landed on my back as he glared around the room. “I apologize for my family.”
When I managed to catch my breath, I blinked up at him, wiping away the tears. “Please don’t. They’re wonderful.”
“Does that mean we can come out of hiding?” another male voice asked.
Colter heaved a sigh, and the room filled with three other men who clearly came from the same gene pool as he did. It was a very, very fine gene pool indeed, judging from the four of them.
They gave scattershot introductions.
“Dean.”
“Fletcher.”
“Gunner.” He appeared to be the youngest. “Grandma, we’ve got the extra chairs and tables put away.”
“Thank you, baby. Now y’all get on home. Our guest is not prepared for a full-court-Gibson press.”
“How many of you are there?” I asked.
“Eight before spouses,” Everly explained. “And then there are the might-as-well-be-blood kin.”
She and Blair shared some kind of across the room fist bump that ended in jazz hands.
I was bracing for more people to appear when Colter spoke up again. “Uncle Dee, why don’t you start rounding up that plate. Swayze, I expect you’d like to clean up a bit before eating.”
“I would, thanks.” I glanced around at all the people. “Nice to meet you, even if the circumstances are… not ideal.”
They all called out replies as I followed Everly up the stairs.
She led me down a long hallway to a bedroom. “There’s an attached Jack-and-Jill bath. Fresh towels laid out on the counter, and I’m through in the other room. My shampoo, conditioner, and such are all in there, so use as much as you need. There are new toothbrushes in that top drawer there.”
My throat tightened. “Thank you. Y’all have all been so kind. This is really above and beyond.”
Everly flashed a smile. “It’s the least we could do. Take your time.”
Then I was alone.
I stepped into the bathroom and immediately winced at the sight of myself in the mirror.
Even rebraided, my hair was a disaster. Soot streaked my face and arms, and Colter’s coat swallowed me.
I slipped it off and laid it neatly on the counter beside the fluffy blue towels.
There was more soot and who knew what all over my pajamas, including some singe marks.
It was a freaking miracle I hadn’t been burned more than in small isolated spots from falling cinders.
If Colter hadn’t been there…
I shut that thought down and turned on the shower.
I washed my hair twice and gently scrubbed my skin until no trace of black remained. I wanted to linger beneath the spray, but my knees had the structural integrity of Jell-O, and the last thing I needed to add to the adventure of the past three days was a fall in the shower of a stranger’s house.
I towel dried my hair and combed it out before pulling on the clothes. The soft sweats felt like heaven. The sweatshirt had Vanderbilt University across the front. I wondered if that was where Everly had gone to school. These seemed like they were probably her size.
Someone knocked on the bedroom door just as I emerged from the bathroom.
Elsie was in the hall with a tray. “Here now, I brought up some supper for you. Thought you might appreciate being able to eat without an audience and just go right on to sleep. I’m sure you’re worn out.”
“You have no idea.” The plate was heaped with turkey, dressin’, sweet potatoes, at least two vegetables, and what had to be a fluffy homemade roll. My throat went tight again. “This looks amazing. Thank you.”
She set the tray on the dresser and paused to squeeze my shoulder. “You eat and rest. Take all the time you need. And if you need anything at all, no matter what time, I’m just down the hall and across. Last door on the right.” She backed toward the door. “Good night, Swayze.”
“Good night.”
Left alone again in the quiet, I focused on the food and tried not to let my brain come back online. There were a million things I’d need to take care of, and I wasn’t remotely prepared to deal with any of them. For now, food and sleep were the immediate priorities.
But as I slid beneath the covers, I thought again of the people I’d met downstairs. “Chekhov’s pelvis.” I snickered again at the statement, which left me, impossibly, smiling as exhaustion pulled me under again.