Page 63 of Second Chance Serenity

But then he surprises me and lowers his weapon all the way.

“All right. You both look rather rough.”

“Thank you,” she says. “Can you tell us where we are?”

“Florida. Come on in. I got supper cooking, and there will be plenty. I also have a first aid kit so we can take a look at that there wound.” In a move that is all trust, he holds the shotgun out to Reyna. “You carry this, and I’ll get him. I’m more sprightly than I seem.”

She looks to me in surprise, then accepts the weapon and helps the man get me to my feet. He wraps my good arm around his shoulder and guides me toward the cabin.

God, please don’t let this be a mistake.

We reach it in minutes, and Reyna rushes ahead to push open the door. I watch as she peeks her head in, then steps inside. For the brief seconds she’s not in my line of sight, terror creeps into my mind.

But then I see her, setting the shotgun aside and rushing to shut the door behind us.

The man leads me to a bed, and I hiss through clenched teeth as he sets me down. Something is cooking over an open fire in the corner, and my mouth waters, my stomach growling with hunger even as pain makes me nauseous.

On one wall, shelving is full of various types of packaged foods. From the kind you get from a store to some he’s probably preserved himself.

There’s a small refrigerator, but no TV, no lights aside from lanterns hung throughout the cabin, and only a single twin-sized bed. Just over the bed, multiple war medals hang, as well as a black-and-white photograph of soldiers. So he’s military.

“Solar panels,” he says as he mixes whatever’s cooking. “Keeps my food cold.” When he smiles, I notice a few missing teeth. Crossing back over to me, he reaches beneath the bed and withdraws a tactical backpack. “This is the medical kit, but I need a look at your wound before I can assess it.”

“Okay.”

He starts to remove the gauze, and it sticks to the injured flesh. Reyna grips my free hand as I hiss through clenched teeth, groaning when the air hits my wound. “Whoever bandaged this didn’t care if you lived or died,” he comments as he reaches into his pack. “You?—”

“Reyna,” she says. “This is Michael.” Her tone is pained, and she sniffles. She’s crying? For me? Or is she hurting?

“Reyna,” he repeats. “My name is Caleb. There’s a bucket over there. It has freshly boiled water, should still be somewhat warm. Can you soak some of the rags on the shelf right there and bring them to me?”

“Yes. Of course.” She offers me a tight smile, then leaves my side. I watch her go, my vision wavering yet again.

The man presses his hand to my forehead. “You’re feverish. There’s infection. I’m going to need to clean this, and it’s going to hurt.”

“Doctor?” I ask.

He laughs. “Medic. Former military. You’re in good hands. I’ll do what I can to keep you alive.”

“Protect her,” I choke out as darkness ebbs my vision. “Please.”

“Don’t you give up, Michael Anderson,” Reyna says. She’s back again, but I can’t see her.

I can’t see anything.

But I can feel the pain.

CHAPTER 20

Reyna

With how late it is, Caleb said traveling to the truck he keeps parked on the other side of the swamp would be far more dangerous than waiting until morning. But he says he’ll drive us to the nearest town so we can call for help then.

Knowing that we’ll be on our way home soon is more of a relief than I can even put into words. Especially since Michael’s fever is getting worse, his complexion far paler than it should be. I gently dab the washcloth on his forehead, and he groans.

I’ve cleaned the blood from his bare chest, trying my hardest not to focus on all the scarring I hadn’t noticed before. Multiple scars from bullet holes mar his muscled torso, and my heart aches for the pain he must have suffered when he’d been deployed.

How many times did he nearly die?

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