Her Christmas Hero (2 page)

Why was she seeing such good qualities in this one? She didn't even know him. But what did she need to know? He'd risked his life to save hers. That was enough.

And it was good to know there were heroes. Maybe all men weren't scumbag jerks without moral fiber.

He stirred and she moved back on the wet ground, shiv
ering. Not from fear, but the cold. For the first time she realized she was chilled to the bone.

Yawning, he stretched his shoulders and opened his eyes. A wave of warmth shot through her. His eyes were the most beautiful color—sea blue, like she'd seen at the beach on Padre Island. She wanted to dive right in.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Bruised, but happy to be alive.” She gestured to the forest. “It's stopped raining.”

“Yeah.” He swiped a hand over his hair. “I could use a cup of coffee.”

Glancing around at the thick woods, she said, “If you find one out here, I'll fight you for it.”

A stellar grin turned up the heat like a furnace. Charm, too. The man had it all.

“You'd probably win. You're a fighter. Most women would have let go of that log.” He lightly stroked her black-and-blue forearm. “That should heal in no time.”

At his gentle touch a tiny jolt of pleasure lurched through her and she lost her voice.

She wasn't a naive teenager. She'd been touched before. What was wrong with her?

He rose to his feet in one lithe movement, his muddy jeans and knit pullover clinging to him like a second skin, emphasizing the taut muscles in his arms, legs and chest. “Are you ready to start walking?”

“Uh…yes.” She got to her feet rather slowly, and was unprepared for the weakness in her legs. Her knees buckled.

Quinn quickly caught her before she hit the ground. His arms were solid around her, and a telltale longing in her lower abdomen weakened her even more. She hated herself for that reaction.

To a stranger.

She pushed away. “Please don't touch me. I can stand on my own.” Her voice was sharp, something she hadn't intended.

His blue eyes flared. “Excuse me.”

His eyes narrowed on her face and she wanted to take a step backward, but didn't. She'd made a fool of herself, so now she had to take her medicine, which was preferable to explaining how he made her feel.

“I'm not a helpless person. I can take care of myself.” She heaved a breath. “I know it doesn't look like it. I made such a stupid decision coming out in the storm. Anyone else would have turned back. I feel like an idiot.”

His eyes narrowed even more. “We've been through a harrowing ordeal,” he finally said. “Let's push on.” He turned and then suddenly swung back. “I was just trying to help you. It was a reflex. That's all.”

“I know. I overreacted.”

Quinn looked at her, really looked at her for the first time. Her eyes were dark, like the elderberry wine he'd drunk in college that had made him loopy. She probably had the same power to make men crazy. Long, provocative eyelashes framed her eyes. For a moment he thought they were artificial, but nothing about the woman said false. An abundance of dark hair hung in soaked strands around an oval face with defined cheekbones.

Bearing in mind her reaction to his touch, he tried not to stare at her body, but couldn't seem to look anywhere else. The mud on her face and clothes couldn't disguise her
appeal. The sludge-coated jeans clung to her curves and the wet knit top left little to the imagination. The force of the water had ripped open three buttons and exposed the soft curve of her breasts. The words
sex kitten
played through his mind, but were immediately replaced with
sugar and spice and everything nice.
He didn't know anything about her, but somehow sensed the latter fit her to a T.

A clap of thunder diverted his thoughts.

“Oh, no, not more rain,” she cried.

“Looks like it. We better find some sort of shelter.” As he spoke a fresh onslaught began to fall. “Let's go.” He trudged through the deluge, with her a step behind him.

The weather was once again their enemy, and Quinn knew they couldn't continue to try to walk in it. Neither of them had shoes, and the ground was a muddy cesspool. He heard a cry and swung around to see that Britt had fallen headlong into the murky mess.

He rushed back to help, even though she probably didn't want it. Pushing to a sitting position, she wiped mud from her face. He couldn't tell if she was crying, but had a feeling she wasn't.

As he squatted beside her, he noticed some thick bushes around a tree. He pointed. “Shelter,” he said above the pounding rain.

She climbed to her feet and he didn't offer assistance. Sloshing through the mud in his bare feet, Quinn reached the bushes and held back their wet branches so she could crawl inside. He quickly joined her. The thick yaupons offered some respite. A damp, musky smell surrounded them.

She shivered.

“Are you cold?”

“A little.”

Without thinking, he put his arm around her. She didn't pull away as he expected, but nestled into him, their soaked bodies pressing together. Everything around them was wet, wet, wet, but an infusion of warmth eased through him just from holding her. Most women he knew would have crumpled into weeping hysteria by now.

“I feel like I'm in a nightmare,” she murmured, tucking her head beneath his chin.

“Let's talk to get our minds on something else,” he suggested. Lightning crackled in the distance, followed by booming thunder. Rain trickled from the branches on to them, but it wasn't bad.

“Men never like to talk.”

“My mom says I was born talking.”

“Are you close to your mother?”

“Kind of,” he hedged, and wondered why. Maybe there were some things he didn't like to talk about.

“What does that mean?”

Before he could stop them, the words came pouring out, much like the rain—without warning. “When my sister and I were growing up, our mother worked for some very influential people in politics. She was gone a lot, running campaigns, doing whatever she needed to get a candidate elected. My dad raised us.”

“But it worked for them, right?”

“On the surface.”

This time Britt didn't ask what that meant. The rain drummed on, lulling him into a surreal state of mind. Sitting in the downpour holding her seemed natural. It wasn't, but it kept him talking.

“My dad was fifteen years older than my mother. They had a great deal of respect for each other and stayed together for the sake of their children.” He paused. “Mom was very discreet about her affairs.”

Quinn couldn't believe he'd told Britt that. He'd never even told Peyton. Maybe he needed to say the words out loud to rid himself of any lingering negative feelings.

“But they hurt you?”

He swallowed, and his throat felt raw. He had told his mother he understood, but he hadn't. Love wasn't supposed to be like that.

When he didn't respond, Britt turned her face to look at him. Her dark eyes were concerned, inviting confidences he somehow knew she'd never tell another soul. Being a defense attorney, he was good at judging people. He sensed she was a woman to be trusted. His instincts never failed him.

“I suppose,” he murmured. “But we got through it. My dad died about seven years ago and my mom remarried. Life goes on.”

The whirl of a helicopter interrupted him.

Britt sat up as well as she could in the confined area. “Is that…?”

“Hot damn. I believe it is, and it's stopped raining again.” Neither had noticed while they were talking.

They scurried out like two squirrels and glanced toward the sky, which was barely visible through the weblike branches.

“They're searching,” he said. “We have to find a clearing so they can see us.” He took off through the trees and she followed.

The woods were thick and he held low limbs so they wouldn't slap her in the face. He didn't think twice about doing it; that was his nature. If she had a problem, then it was her own. But she didn't say a word and she didn't falter during their flight through the thicket.

When they finally came to a clearing, everything was quiet. The helicopter had moved on.

“Do you think it will come back?” she asked, an edge of desperation in her voice.

“They'll keep searching,” he replied, staring at the gray sky.

She didn't panic or cry, and he liked that. She was strong, just as she'd said. But he wondered why she was so sensitive about being touched. The obvious answer was that some man had hurt her. With her pinup looks, he could imagine a lot of men losing their minds over her.

And he was getting into treacherous waters.

He'd had enough of that for one night.

Gulping a breath, he sank onto the damp grass. “We can wait here until it comes back. They'll probably make routine circles along the creek, checking for people in trouble.”

“I hope so.” She sat beside him. “My mother needs to know I'm okay. She's probably worried sick.” Realizing her blouse was open, Britt pulled it together. “I feel like a drowned rat.”

As she said the words, the sun poked through the clouds in a burst of warmth.

“Oh, my. Can you believe this?” She held her face up to it like a virgin worshipping the gods. “That feels so-o-o good.” Tugging her fingers through her tangled hair, she tossed it about to help it dry.

He could only stare. He'd seen beautiful women before, but this one was different, and he didn't know why.
Real
came to mind. Natural. Fresh. And an aversion to being touched. That was like a rare piece of art never being seen or admired. Sacrilege, to his way of thinking.

Why he was thinking it at all surprised him.

After today, he'd never see the woman again.

He stretched out his legs in the drenched leaves, his bare
feet stinging from stepping on sharp sticks. Raising one foot, he rubbed it.

“How are your feet?” he asked.

“They're okay.” She stopped fiddling with her hair. “But I don't think I'll ever get this mud out of my hair.”

“Sure. Soap and water does the trick every time.”

She cocked her head and seemed to relax a little. “So practical.”

“That's me.”

She twisted her body in discomfort. “I'm caked with mud. I've heard it said that mud wraps are good for the skin. Mine should be glowing.”

His eyes traveled over the smooth lines of her face and neck. “It is.” The words were in his head and it jolted him to realize he'd said them out loud.

Silence hung between them for a few seconds and a telltale shade of pink crept under her skin. “I get my olive complexion from my mom and grandmother. My grandmother is part Italian and part Polish, and has a fiery temper.”

He raised his knees and rested his forearms on them. “Do you have a temper, as well?”

“Not really. I'm more like my father. It takes a lot to make me angry.” Her eyes darkened.

“From the look on your face, I'd say someone in particular makes you angry.”

“My ex.” She picked mud from her jeans with a broken fingernail.

“Ex-boyfriend or ex-husband?” Quinn didn't know why he was inquiring about her personal life. Had to be the lawyer in him, he told himself. He was used to asking questions.

“Husband,” she said under her breath.

“Bad split, huh?”

Her mouth tightened. “You could say that.”

“You see?” He sat up straight. “That's why I avoid the much-sought-after institution. All my married friends are miserable.”

She looked at him, those dark eyes spearing him like a helpless fish. He had the urge to squirm, and he hadn't squirmed in years. “Not all married couples are miserable. Your parents are not the norm. Mine were happily married until my father's death. Mom still misses him and she's never remarried.”

Quinn met her glance. “So you still believe in love?”

She gazed off into the distance, not answering for a moment. “Right now I don't trust any man, but I still believe there is such a thing as real, everlasting love. I just chose the wrong man.”

“Bargain basement type flashing a Neiman Marcus smile?”

Her mouth curved into a smile and he felt a sucker punch to his heart. “I have no idea what that means, but it fits. He was a phony, a liar, a deceiver, a cheater, a cruel jealous egoistical excuse for a man.”

“And the reason you're sensitive about being touched.”

Instantly, denial rose in her throat. Answering that question and exposing her weaknesses couldn't happen. Some things were private…and painful. She sat perfectly still, forcing the words down. She wouldn't share intimate details of her life with a stranger. But her ex brought out the worst in her. She just wanted to get out of this place and to her son.

“Wouldn't it be better to start walking?” she asked, to get her mind on something else.

Quinn flung out a hand. “We should head upstream. But rescue teams will be searching along the flooded creek, so we need to stay close.”

Two deer emerged from the woods and, startled at the
sight of people, leaped across the meadow. They were so graceful, and Britt watched until she couldn't see them any more. Silence stretched. Crows landed in a tree, their calls echoing. An armadillo lumbered away into the grass. Animals were leaving their shelters after the storm.

She wiggled her toes, trying to dislodge the caked mud. “How about you—have you ever been married?” It seemed natural to question him, as if they'd been talking all their lives.

“A confirmed happy bachelor.”

It was hard to believe that someone as handsome and courageous as Quinn was still available. The good ones were supposed to be taken.

“That's hard to believe.”

“The lady has doubts,” he mocked with a lifted eyebrow.

“You bet. Trusting men is not my strong suit.”

He leaned back on his elbows. “I've had this off-and-on relationship with someone. It suits us both and neither one of us has been eager to tie the knot. I had a date with her last night and she's going to be royally pissed at my no-show.”

“I'm sorry.” Britt felt responsible.

“Don't be. There have been plenty of times when Deidre hasn't shown up.”

Britt frowned. “Sounds as if you don't have much respect for one another.”

“Mmm.” He sat up. “I'm consumed with my work and she's consumed with spending her father's money. We're aware of each other's faults, but we still get together when the need arises. Bottom line, we're comfortable together.”

“That's very candid,” Britt said. And routine. And safe. He didn't seem the type of man to choose safe.

“My sister tells me that all the time.” He glanced at her, a gleam in his eyes.

That lazy, infectious gaze made her stomach wobble. She cleared her throat. “Are you close to your sister?”

“Yes. I'm five years older and her protector. When she was in her teens I was the one to get her out of trouble before our parents could find out. It became a major job while she was in college. She loved to party and have fun.”

“What happened to her?”

“She got arrested.”

“What?” That gleam in his eyes intensified. “You're joking.”

“Absolutely not. She was arrested for attempting to bribe a sheriff.”

“Is she in jail?”

“No. She married the sheriff.”

Britt stared at him, not sure whether to believe him or not.

Leaning toward her, Quinn said, “It's true. Peyton was tired of being a party girl, and when she had to look at her self through the sheriff's eyes, she didn't like what she saw. She changed her life. Not for him, but for herself, so she could feel good about her life.”

Britt started to speak and he held up a hand, stopping her. “In case you're going to remind me, yes, I know someone who is happily married.”

“There's hope for you then.”