Chapter 2 #2
"Well, there isn't much I can do for you if I can't see you." She strove to keep her voice, calm, businesslike. "We'll just have to get you into the light."
A resigned sigh echoed through the tunnel. "All right."
"You can lean on me. I'll help you up." She wrapped her arm around his chest and felt his arm drape heavily across her shoulders.
"You ready?" He groaned in answer and she felt him nod.
"All right then, on three. One…two…" She shifted her weight to her inside leg and pushed up with the other one. "Three."
He was heavy and the smell of him enveloped her—raw male mixed with the sick, sweet smell of blood. He groaned again, but managed to pull himself to his feet. They stood for a minute, getting their balance, then slowly began to move forward.
Cara kept her hand against the wall, following it as the path wound its way upward. Finally, turning the bend, they stepped into the weak light of the entrance tunnel. The man stopped, eyeing the opening with concern. "This is far enough."
"But we need to get you to a doctor."
"No doctors." It was too dark to see his face, but she could sense his stubbornness.
Exasperation flooded through her. "Fine." She glared at him. "But we still need to get you out of here." They could argue about doctors later. "Look, my house is just down the creek a bit. It's an easy walk." Without a wounded man. But she had to stay positive. "Do you think you can make it?"
"I can try. But first you'll have to help me stop the bleeding." He motioned to the rapidly spreading stain on his shirt.
"Here?" She tried to keep the panic out of her voice. First aid wasn't a strong point.
He smiled weakly, the white of his teeth gleaming in the dark. "Don't think I have a choice."
"All right." She nodded, accepting the inevitable.
Carefully, she lowered him to a sitting position, the strain making her muscles ache.
He stretched out his long legs and leaned back against the rock wall.
She gingerly pulled his shirt open, exposing a broad expanse of male chest covered with a light dusting of dark hair.
The wound lay just to the right of his shoulder. His shirt had fused itself to the skin.
"This is going to hurt." She looked up, trying to see his eyes, but the shadows were too deep.
"Just do it." His voice was taut, and she could feel his muscles bunching in preparation.
Gritting her teeth, she pulled the blood soaked cloth away with a quick tug. She felt him flinch. "Sorry." His skin was raw and covered with blood, some of it dried and crusty. This wasn't a new wound. "How long have you been here?"
"Don't know, really." He closed his eyes, his voice fading.
"Come on. Stay with me."
He nodded, rallying a bit. "You can use my shirt for a bandage."
She eyed the dirty remnants, shaking her head. "I'll use mine. It's cleaner."
"You'll freeze."
"I'll be fine." She slipped out of the shirt.
"I've got a tee shirt on underneath." With a forced breath, she turned back to the task at hand.
After ripping the bottom of the shirt into makeshift bandages, she tore a sleeve off to use for padding, then, gingerly, bound the wound with the strips she had torn.
Satisfied that she had at least staunched the bleeding, she sat back on her heels. He was breathing rapidly and even in the shadows she could see that he was deathly white. Alarmed, she ran a hand across his cheek. His skin was on fire. "You've got a fever. We've got to get you out of here. Now."
"I know." The words were incredibly weak, and she shivered at the thought of trying to get him out of the tunnel. He wasn't a small man.
She wrapped an arm around him, deliberately keeping her voice light, "First thing to do is to get you on your feet without reopening your injury."
Together they struggled to their feet, then, precariously balanced, tried a few steps forward. Sweat trickled down between her breasts as she supported his weight. At this rate, she'd need a miracle to get him home.
What had been a few easy steps for her was like an obstacle course with a man draped across her shoulders. There was no question of using the rocks to cross the stream. The man remained stoically silent, but she felt his muscles tense as they plunged into the frigid creek.
Icy water soaked through her tennis shoes. "Are you okay?"
The answer was more of a groan than a word, but she was grateful that he was still conscious. They struggled up the rocky embankment on the other side and she prayed that she had the strength to get him home.
They stopped for a moment at the top of the rise, Cara shifting to more comfortably support his weight. The afternoon sun caught him in its light, his haggard features illuminated. His face clearly visible for the first time. Her breath stuttered to a stop, her heart following suit.
She knew this face. She'd memorized it in her dreams.
"Your name?" The words came out on a whisper as she fought for air, for control.
"Michael. Michael Macpherson." Blue eyes snapped opened, his gaze colliding with hers. She could see the recognition there. Feel it.
She swallowed, a wave of dizziness washing through her.
Her heart rejoiced.
Her mind rebelled.
Michael Macpherson didn't exist.