“Exactly what I had in mind.”
He helped her over the stream, then led her a short distance farther to a bluff that rose straight above them. Surely he wasn’t expecting her to climb now.
Instead, he pushed a low-hanging branch out of the way to reveal a darker area on the shadowed face of the bluff. “A cave,” he said. “I spotted it when I bent down to drink.”
Apparently his night vision was better than hers—which shouldn’t surprise her. She eyed the dark hole warily. “What if there’s a bear or a mountain lion or a family of snakes in there?”
“I’ll check.” He bent to pick up a good-sized branch at his feet, then moved forward. “Wait here.”
Chewing her lower lip, she watched as he bent to poke cautiously around in the hole. She held her breath when he moved farther into the opening. She didn’t like having him out of her sight even for that short time, and she was relieved when he reappeared in front of her.
“It looks clean,” he said. “And it’s well hidden. We’ll be safe in there for a while.”
When she hesitated, he flashed her a smile, his teeth gleaming for a moment in the darkness. “Have I led you wrong so far?”
It was the first time she actually remembered seeing him smile—and he’d picked a hell of a time for it, she thought with a shake of her head. And yet it disarmed her enough that she moved with him toward the cave.
Cave was a generous description, she discovered when she ducked into the opening with him. Hole was more fitting. Indentation, maybe. There was just enough room for the two of them to sit side by side with their legs stretched in front of them. The back of the cave was a bit damp and slimy. For all she knew it could be covered with creepy-crawlies.
She didn’t care. She leaned gratefully back, her body going limp against the rock. Shoulder to shoulder, she and Donovan sat in silence while they let their breathing and heartbeats slow from the strenuous hike.
She couldn’t see him at all now. No light penetrated the opening. She was glad their shoulders were touching—just for the reassurance of contact, she told herself, closing her eyes. No other reason, of course.
When she opened her eyes again, the gray light of a cloudy dawn was filtering into the cave and she was lying curled on her side with her head on Donovan’s thigh.
With a slight gasp, she lifted her head.
“It
’s okay.” Donovan sounded completely alert, making her doubt that he’d slept at all. “We’re safe.”
Had he sat there guarding her all this time? She cleared her throat as she righted herself, pushing a hand through her tangled hair. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how I ended up in that position—”
“I put you there.” He shifted his weight, indicating that he’d gotten a bit cramped serving as her pillow. “You fell asleep. You looked uncomfortable, so I shifted you a little.”
She tried to put the feel of his solid thigh out of her mind. “Did you get any rest?”
He shrugged. “Just sitting still felt good.”
Maybe their arduous trek had been more difficult for him than he had allowed her to see.
Now that she had a little light, Chloe decided to risk a look at her feet. Sitting cross-legged, she turned her soles toward her. The sight made her grimace.
The bottoms of her once-white socks were now black with dirt and dried blood, with gaping holes revealing the bruised and shredded skin beneath. She didn’t even want to think about removing the socks yet. When that time came, they would have to be peeled away—and that was going to hurt.
Still leaning back against the cave wall, Donovan watched her. “You haven’t walked barefoot much, have you?”
“Not much,” she admitted. “When I was young, I stepped on a nail once. It tore into my skin and I had to have a tetanus shot. I was so traumatized by that experience that I refused to go barefoot for years. I never got into the habit. Even at home I always wear slippers.”
“That explains your delicate feet. The walk last night must have been hell for you.”
“It wasn’t easy. What about you? Are you in the habit of going barefoot outdoors?”
Again, his shoulders moved in a shrug. “I almost never wore shoes when I was a kid. Typical Arkansas redneck kid—wild and barefoot.”
She found it hard to reconcile the composed and sophisticated man who had arrived at her doorstep—the man who had just returned from Venice, who moved among politicians and captains of industry, Bryan Falcon’s best friend and trusted confidant—with his description of a wild, barefoot “redneck kid.”
“So, did you spend much time in the woods?” she asked lightly.