Page 51 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

Blood had seeped from the wounds, mixing with the dirt that coated his skin. Judging from the state of his body, he was already close to death. I needed to get him warm and take care of his injuries before they became infected.

I glanced ruefully at the tile floor. It would be easiest to clean him in here, but the floor was cold and hard. He’d already endured something horrific; even though he was unconscious, I didn’t want to cause him more harm. The next best place would be the bedroom.

Dragging him the way I had before wasn’t going to work. I needed something that would help him slide easier. Grabbing up a blanket from the living room, I spread it out on the floor next to the man.

As gently as possible I rolled him onto his back, sliding the blanket under him as I did so. His body flopped bonelessly, and my cheeks flared bright red at the sight of his genitalia. It felt wrong to see him this way, but I had no other choice.

Maneuvering him to the middle of the blanket, I finally got him positioned properly and began to drag him toward the bedroom. It seemed to take forever, and my muscles screamed at me by the time we reached the doorway of the single bedroom.

Taking a moment to stretch, I stared at the bed. There was no way I could get him up there. I would just have to put the mattress on the floor. But first things first—the man’s wounds needed to be cleaned and cared for.

As I took a step backward, my gaze strayed to the window and the black void beyond. Goosebumps sprouted over my skin. Crossing the room, I quickly tugged the curtains closed. Just in case.

Retracing my steps to the kitchen, I gathered a large bowl of water and medical supplies, then pulled several towels from the bathroom as I passed. The man hadn’t moved a single inch by the time I returned. Probably a good thing, because this next part was going to hurt.

Starting at the top of his body, I cleaned each cut before applying antibiotic ointment and bandages. My hands stilled over a puckered patch of flesh on his torso, and a chill swept down my spine.

He’d been shot.

The top layer of skin appeared to have healed, at least a little, but I wasn’t an expert with gunshot wounds. Was he a soldier or an officer of the law? Or… was he on the wrong side of the law entirely?

I knew gunshot wounds had to be reported to the authorities. And yet, I was reluctant to bring it to anyone’s attention. The various lacerations inflicted on his body told me there was far more to the story. Once he woke up, I would find out what had happened. But, for now, he was safe.

Nearly an hour later, I was finished. I put the supplies away and moved the mattress to the floor next to the bed. The blanket was now soaked, so I left it on the floor as I pulled the man the few feet up onto the mattress.

Once he was in place, I covered him with the comforter from my bed. I didn’t have any men’s clothing in the house, but this would at least preserve his modesty a little bit. Snatching up the wet blanket, I put it in the washing machine then headed back to the bedroom.

Resting against the doorframe, I stared at the man for a long moment. Would he make it through the night? My heart twisted, and I ventured closer. If he needed anything, I wanted to be close by.

I settled on the edge of the mattress, stretching out next to him. His face was turned toward me, but he remained utterly still aside from the steady rise and fall of his chest. Closing my eyes, I let exhaustion take over and pull me to sleep.

Three

LILY

I bolted upright, heart racing, pulse pounding so hard I could feel it in my fingertips. I’d had the strangest dream about a stranger showing up in the middle of the night, stumbling into the kitchen and?—

The sheets rustled softly, and I froze, suddenly realizing I wasn’t alone. And it hadn’t been a dream. Ever so slowly, I swiveled my head to the left, my wide-eyed stare raking over the man sprawled next to me.

He lay there almost unnaturally still, and my heart dropped to my stomach. Tentatively, hand shaking, I reached out and settled my fingers ever so lightly on his broad chest. A relieved breath whooshed from my lungs when I felt the slight rise and fall of his torso as he drew in a breath.

Could he feel my touch? I skimmed my fingers over his collarbone, up to the wiry hair that covered his face and neck.

I waited for him to stir, to open his eyes or even grab my hand. But he never moved, completely unaware of everything around him.

Did he have a concussion? Or, worse, was he in a coma? My stomach swooped. Maybe I should have called a doctor. I bit my lip. I would have to deal with it one thing at a time. At least he’d made it through the night and wasn’t feeling any pain right now. But he would definitely need painkillers when—if—he woke up.

I slipped from the mattress as quietly as possible, then crept to my closet. Taking my clothes with me, I headed to the bathroom where I dressed and got ready for work. After grabbing a cereal bar, I peeked in on the man once more. He lay in the same position, and I bit my bottom lip.

Would he be okay here all by himself? What if he woke up while I was gone? In all honesty, he would probably sneak out. Though I wasn’t entirely sure why, my heart gave a hard thump at the thought. I hoped he would recognize this as a safe haven, a place where he could stay safe while he healed.

For reasons I couldn’t begin to explain, a pang of sadness ricocheted through my heart.

I could at least rest in the knowledge that I’d done what I could to care for him. Whatever happened now was out of my control.

Throwing one last look his way, I headed down the hall and out the front door. Summer was in full swing, even up here in the mountains, and I slid my sunglasses into place before climbing into my car.

I lived on the outskirts of Pine Ridge, a picturesque little town in the Salish Hills of Montana. When I’d arrived several years ago, I wasn’t entirely sure what to think of the place. But the people had drawn me in, and I couldn’t imagine myself anywhere else.

---