Chapter 27
Hoot woke with the distinct impression that death had already claimed him and was simply waiting for the paperwork. Every muscle hurt. His head throbbed. His mouth felt like sandpaper, and something deep in his shoulder burned with every breath.
For several seconds, he had no idea where he was. Then memory came rushing back. The shot that sent him into the river. The trek to the cabin. Lark.
His eyes opened fully. He took stock automatically, the way he’d been trained to do. Pain in his shoulder. Limited movement. No immediate threat. Strange cabin. Fire nearly extinguished.
Then he noticed something on the floor beside the couch. A lump. No, a person. Lark.
His heart kicked. He felt something warm against his hand. Her fingers. He turned his hand beneath hers until his palm covered the back of it and squeezed. Lark’s head shot up. Her eyes found his. For one second, she simply stared.
Then her face crumpled with relief. “Oh, thank God.”
Hoot studied her. She looked terrible. Her hair was tangled and mussed, her eyes bloodshot with exhaustion, and dark circles bruised the skin beneath them. Dirt streaked one cheek, and scratches marked her arms.
She’d never looked more beautiful. Because she was alive. Unharmed. She’d survived.
He tried to sit up. Lark immediately pushed a hand against his chest. “No.”
“I’m fine.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t start with that again. You’re absolutely not.”
He managed a weak grin. “Nice to see you, too.”
“You have a hole in your shoulder and a fever.”
The corners of his lips rose. “I’ve had worse.”
She stared at him. “That’s not funny.” He wasn’t sure he’d intended it to be. Lark grabbed the water bottle and held it to his lips. “Drink.” He took a couple of swallows. “More.”
He balked, knowing their supplies were limited. “I’ve been refilling it with rainwater,” she explained. “We have more outside. Drink.” He complied.
His brain slowly caught up. His clever girl. She’d figured out water. A fire. Shelter. She’d kept him alive.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Her eyes filled instantly. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What?”
“You’re asking me if I’m okay?” She stood abruptly. “You’re the one with a bullet hole in your shoulder and a fever.”
That’s when Hoot noticed she wasn’t wearing much. His gaze dropped before he could stop it. She wore a sports tank top and a pair of panties. A very small, lacy, black pair of panties. Fuck me.
His eyes traveled over her shapely legs and the soft, feminine curves of her figure. She wasn’t fragile or impossibly thin. She was simply... Lark. A woman with a body that fit her perfectly.
And apparently one his fever-addled brain was more than capable of appreciating.
He shifted uncomfortably. Then noticed something else. His pants were gone. He looked down. Briefs. Nothing else. He closed his eyes for half a second.
Lark followed his gaze. Her cheeks turned bright red. “I—”
She hurried across the cabin and grabbed her jeans. Hoot couldn’t help smiling. “Morning.”
“Stop.” She pulled them on as quickly as possible. Then glanced at him. “Do you want help with yours?”
He looked toward the pants lying beside the fire. “Probably better if I don’t move that much yet.”
“Right.” She nodded and immediately busied herself with the fireplace.
“I’ll get the fire going again. Then I’ll bring in more wood.”
Hoot watched her move toward the door. “Be careful.”
She looked back. “I will.”
Hoot hated this. Hated feeling so useless.
Hated lying there, helpless while Lark did everything.
Taking care of their water, keeping the fire going, making sure he had what he needed.
It went against everything drilled into him during his years in the military.
He was supposed to be the one carrying the weight, assessing the danger, making sure everyone under his protection had what they needed.
Especially her. Not being able to take care of Lark, to shield her from the fear and uncertainty surrounding them, left him feeling more vulnerable than the bullet ever had.
Once she disappeared outside, Hoot slowly looked around the cabin. Blood-soaked towels. The contents of his gear from his pockets scattered around.
Then something caught his eye. A tiny metallic object lay on the floor. He frowned, blinking several times to bring it into focus. Recognition hit suddenly. The bullet.
Except it wasn’t whole anymore. It was mangled. Hoot stared at it. Then his gaze dropped to his shoulder. And back to the bullet. Lark had pulled it out.
The door opened. She came inside carrying an armful of firewood. She dropped it beside the fireplace and looked up. Hoot was still staring at her.
“What?”
He pointed toward the floor. “Did you pull that out of me?”
She followed his gaze. Her expression became wary. “I had to.”
“You pulled a bullet out of my shoulder.”
“You had a fever.”
“Lark.”
“I didn’t know what else to do.” She dropped onto the floor beside him. “You were burning up. The wound was still bleeding, and I could feel something hard underneath the skin. I could see the bullet. So...” She shrugged helplessly.
“So you performed surgery.”
“I wouldn’t call it surgery.”
“What would you call it?”
“Desperation.”
Hoot stared at her. She’d saved his life.
Again. He frowned. The last person who’d thrown himself into danger to keep Hoot alive had died moments later, leaving him with a memory that had haunted him for years.
Now Lark had done the same thing—put herself in harm’s way without hesitation—and Hoot couldn’t shake the fear that fate had a twisted sense of repetition.
He couldn’t lose her. Not after she’d fought so damn hard to keep him alive.
Not when he’d only just begun to realize how much she mattered to him.
“What happened after I passed out?” He asked, trying to shake himself out of his spiraling thoughts.
She told him everything she’d been doing since they’d arrived at the cabin. Everything. And beneath all of it, he could hear how scared she’d been.
“You need a hospital,” she finished.
“I know.”
“No arguing? No ‘I’m fine’?”
“No arguing.”
“Good.”
Then he remembered his phone. “Where’s my phone?”
She handed it over. “Right here.” He frowned at the screen. “You don’t have Face ID.” She folded her arms. “You were unconscious. I needed help. Your stupid phone wouldn’t unlock.”
He almost smiled. “Password protected and encrypted.”
She gaped at him. “You could have told me.”
“I was busy getting shot.”
She rolled her eyes. He entered the code and immediately called Condor’s Overwatch. Haley answered on the first ring. “Hoot?”
“I’m here.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, “Where the hell have you been?”
“Long story.”
“Everyone’s been looking for you.”
Hoot listened as Haley explained what they’d found. Lark’s boat. His boat. The evidence men hadn’t been able to cover up in a hurry. The signs of his struggle with the men who’d kidnapped Lark. They’d even found drops of blood which he assumed were his.
They’d been searching the river and surrounding woods ever since. Hoot gave her their location as best he could. “I’ve got Lark with me. I’m wounded, but stable.”
“Stable?”
“I’m alive.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“He’s been shot,” Lark yelled, shooting him a glare as he downplayed his injury.
“Fuck. Okay then. That changes things.” He heard voices in the background. “Flint and the others are still searching,” Haley continued. “They’ll get vehicles in. It’ll take a few hours to reach you.”
“Understood.”
“We’re coming, Hoot.”
“I know.” He ended the call, and Lark’s shoulders visibly relaxed. The relief on her face hit him harder than the pain.
He should’ve arranged the rescue before he’d passed out. He’d left her to handle everything alone. Again. His gaze landed on the two granola bars he’d packed. Both untouched.
He picked one up. “Eat.”
She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s my line.”
Her lips twitched. “Apparently, it works.” She sighed and took one. “Happy?”
“Very.”
She broke it in half. “Here.”
He frowned. “That’s yours.”
“And now I’m sharing.” She held half out.
Hoot took it. “Stubborn.”
“Occupational hazard.”
He smiled. There she goes, using his own words against him again.
They ate in companionable silence. A little more water. A little more wood on the fire. Eventually Lark carried the empty jars back outside to collect more rainwater.
When she returned, Hoot was fading again. He shifted carefully on the couch. “Lark.” She looked over. “Come here.”
“I’ll let you sleep.”
“Come here.” She hesitated. Then approached. He shifted as much as the cramped couch allowed. “Lie down.”
“There’s barely room.”
“I’ve slept in worse.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “That’s not exactly comforting.” Still, she eased onto the couch beside him.
They ended up facing each other, bodies curled into the limited space. Hoot wrapped his injured arm around her while she laid her head on his good shoulder. She fit perfectly against him. Warm. Soft. A so very real.
He brushed damp strands of hair away from her face. “Thank you.”
Her eyes softened. “For what?”
“Everything.”
He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Then her temple. “Keeping me alive.” Another kiss. He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “For jumping into that river.”
She frowned. “You’re still mad about that.”
“Terrified.” He kissed her forehead again. “There’s a difference.”
“Why terrified?”
“Makes me wonder what else you’d do for those you care about.”
“Anything,” she confessed.
“And that’s what terrifies me.” Her eyes drifted closed. “Get some sleep,” he murmured.
“So should you.”
“I will.” He pulled her a little closer. She settled against him without hesitation.
And as exhaustion dragged him under again, Hoot found himself thinking something he’d never expected to think about anyone. He could get used to this. Waking up with Lark in his arms. Falling asleep with her there. Having someone waiting for him at the end of the day.
The thought should have scared him. Instead, it felt dangerously close to the first glimpse of something he’d never believed he needed.
Home.