He hadn’t planned to tell her all that. But maybe now she could understand the intensity of his loyalty to Bryan. Why he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that relationship.
Maybe she could also understand that he wasn’t exactly what anyone would consider a hero—just in case she had made the mistake of thinking of him in that light during the past few days.
“No more talk,” he said abruptly, twisting to arrange his injured leg in a slightly more comfortable position—which meant sticking it straight out into the rain. “Get some rest. You’re going to need it.”
Donovan waited until he was sure the rain had stopped for a while before he suggested they move on. It took all the strength Chloe had to make herself climb to her feet and start walking beside him. He hovered nearby to give her support, though he leaned so heavily on his walking stick that he looked as though he needed a great deal of support himself.
They made a pathetic sight, she couldn’t help thinking as they pushed on one halting step at a time. She didn’t want to think about what she must look like with her stringy hair, assorted bruises and clothes that would go straight into a trash can if she made it out of here. Donovan was unshaven, his hair limp and damp from the rain, his black clothing dirty and torn, his leg bound in boards and scraps of coral-colored cloth. Beneath his whiskers, she could see a dark bruise on his left cheek from his fight with the kidnapper.
Yet as battered as he looked at the moment, she had a feeling there wasn’t a woman alive who would dismiss him without a second glance. He was bruised and weary, but competence and power still seemed to surround him like an invisible mantle. A battle-scarred warrior, she mused. Battered, but unbroken.
And then she made a face and shook her head in response to her fanciful mental ramblings. Maybe her fever was climbing again.
“Is something funny?” Donovan asked, proving how closely he’d been watching her.
“Look at us,” she retorted. “Don’t you find us a funny sight?”
He glanced down at himself, then at her. His mouth twitched in that little smile she found herself watching for so often. “Not many women would find anything about this picture amusing.”
“I’ve decided to attribute my amusement to fever. I seem to be suffering delusions.”
“Don’t suppose you could hallucinate us a cup of coffee?”
“I’ll try. Having a caffeine attack?”
He reached out to push the low-hanging limbs of a tree out of their way. “There are a lot of things I’d like to have right now, but a cup of coffee definitely tops the—”
His words ended abruptly. From behind him, Chloe studied his suddenly still back. “What is it?”
“A road.”
“A road?” She hurried to catch up with him, hardly even wincing when she stepped on a rock. “Where?”
He nodded ahead. “An old logging road, from the look of it. But it’s been used recently. Four-wheelers, at a guess. ATVs.”
She stared in some dismay at the rutted dirt track Donovan had generously called a road. “How do we know which way to follow it?”
Limping forward, he studied the tracks, then pointed. “That way. South.”
Frowning, she looked in that direction. Trees, hills, and more trees lay ahead—both directions. “Why south?”
“It leads out.”
She looked again at the track. “And you know this how?”
He shrugged.
She studied his impassive face for a moment before asking, “Do you really have a reason to choose that direction, or are you just making a guess?”
“Look at it this way. I have a fifty-fifty chance of being right.”
After a moment, she nodded. “Okay. We’ll go south.”
Making a gallant motion with his left hand, he said, “After you.”
She drew a deep breath as she stepped onto one hard-packed track and turned to follow it. It was a road, she reminded herself. It had to lead somewhere.
It was no easier making their way along the old road than it had been across the forest floor. Thick mud made walking slippery and brush and vines tangled around their ankles.