Sunrise Canyon (New Americana 1)

He mouthed a string of profanities, but he didn’t fight her as she turned him toward the open doorway of the cabin. Still swearing, he allowed her to guide him onto the stoop and over the threshold until she was able to let go and close the door behind them. The security light shone through the loose weave of the curtain, illuminating the upended chair and the broken TV, with a gaping, glass-edged hole where the screen had been.

Glass shards were scattered on the floor. Jake wasn’t wearing shoes. He could have glass embedded in his feet and not even be aware of it. She would have to check, but first she needed to get him calm and comfortable.

She thought about flipping on the overhead light switch next to the door, but decided to wait. The sudden brightness might startle Jake.

He was shivering in his rain-soaked sweats. Kira noticed a basket of clean, folded laundry on the luggage rack next to the bathroom door. After rummaging for a towel, a cotton tee and a pair of boxer shorts, she hurried back to him. “We’ve got to get you out of those wet clothes. I’m going to need your help. All right?”

When he didn’t answer, she grabbed the hem of his dripping sweatshirt and pulled it partway up. His skin was icy. At the touch of her fingers on his bare ribs, he shuddered as if coming to life. With a rough exhalation, he took over the job, pulling the sopping garment over his head, then tossing it on the tile floor.

The soaked sweatpants would have to come off next. Kira tugged at the knotted cord that held the waistband, preparing to avert her eyes when the pants dropped. He pushed her hand away. His chilled fingers fumbled with the tight, wet knot until, with a muttered curse, he yanked the frayed string with his fist and broke it.

The uneasy moment was saved when the timer turned off the security light outside, plunging the room into darkness. Stepping back, Kira heard the sound of fumbling, heard something wet dropping to the floor. Moments later the three-way lamp on the nightstand came on low, throwing a soft light into the room. Jake had turned it on. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, wear

ing the shirt and shorts and toweling his wet hair. His eyes were bloodshot, his expression unspeakably weary. The worst of the episode appeared to be over, but the haunted look was still there.

“I can handle this.” His voice was a rasp. “Go back in the house.”

“Not yet.” Kira stood her ground. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re all right.”

“I’ll be fine. And I don’t need a damned audience. I like to keep my craziness private.”

“I’ve seen far worse,” she said. “Right now, I need to look at your feet. You could’ve stepped on glass from the TV.”

“I’ll look.” Still sitting, he inspected one foot, then the other. “No glass. And I’ll pay for the TV.”

“Don’t worry about it. That old set was junk before you broke it.”

“I’m not your charity case. I’ll buy you a new one.”

Kira hung the wet clothes over a rod in the shower, then found a broom and dustpan in the back of the closet and swept up the broken glass. She was wet, too. The rain had soaked her bathrobe and dampened the pajamas she wore underneath. Even in the warm room, she was beginning to shiver.

“You need to get some sleep, Jake.” She replaced the broom in the closet.

“I can handle this like I always do. So leave me the hell alone.” He was a wounded animal, still defiant.

“I’ll leave when you’re calm and resting—really resting.”

“I’m not your patient—or your problem!” he snapped. “Why can’t you just mind your own damned business?”

“Because I care. I care about you. And I want you safe.”

Had she pushed him too far?

His expression darkened as he rose and moved toward her. Kira resisted the impulse to back away. She couldn’t let herself believe that Jake might hurt her.

Facing her, he caged her jaw between his hands. His eyes burned into hers. “Sweet Kira.” The words held an edge. “Taking care of everything and everybody. Tell me something. Who takes care of you?”

Her heart seemed to stop as his lips closed on hers in a deep, rough, searching kiss. This was a mistake, the voice of caution shrilled. The man had no real feelings for her. He’d learned that his wife had been unfaithful, and he was reacting to the pain, that was all. He wasn’t in his right mind.

But the hunger that rose in her body was too powerful to be denied. The need surged and burned as she stretched onto her toes to deepen the kiss. His hands released her face as his arms slid around her, molding her body to his. He was big and hard-muscled, his skin cool and firm, his body smelling of clean rain. Heaven help her, she wanted him. All of him.

The voice was still shouting in her head. Don’t be a fool! He’s ill! You can’t let this happen!

Kira forced herself to listen this time. She steeled her resolve to pull away, but before she could move, he released her and stepped back. They faced each other in the soft glow of lamplight, both of them quivering.

“I should go,” she said, turning toward the door.

“Yes, maybe you should.” His voice was flat. He made no move to stop her. “Go on. I’ll be fine.”