Page 5 of Rescued by the Captain

The cabin is small. It’s clearly pretty old, considering the sagging panels on the roof. I ignore the obvious signs of disrepair as I rest the woman on the couch, then wrap her in a wool blanket.

Rubbing my hands for warmth, I figure that the cabin could afford some more heat. I get down by the fireplace and light the logs aflame.

“That should help her temperature go up,” I say to no one but myself, circling back to the couch. I press a palm on her forehead. She’s still cold, but her cheeks are starting to flush.

“It wasn’t my fault,” she mumbles. I brush her hair out of her face, my eyebrows knit sympathetically. The cycle repeats with her— the droplets of cryptic messages, before she goes unconscious. I know that she isn’t doing this to spook me, that this is a fault of her weakened state. Yet, I can’t help recalling my own unwanted memories.

When I found out about my wife’s death, I felt like her blood was on my hands. That if I’d been with her, the tragedy would’ve never happened. War stole so much from me.

Drip. Drip.

Huh. This place has a working faucet.

It’s funny how a chance encounter can trigger painful flashbacks. I boil water on the stove, training my thoughts to not wander to the past. I have a woman to care for right now. Searching the cabinets, I grasp cocoa powder, powderedmilk, and sugar that I use to prepare hot chocolate. I bring the steaming drink over to the woman.

“Mmmm,” she says as I crouch by her side. I place the mug on the counter, then take her hand to wrap it in gauze. She doesn’t fade out of consciousness as quickly. This time, she gathers enough energy that our gazes meet— and I’m given a pause as she examines me and I do the same to her.

Her hazel eyes remind me of Nina’s. They’re speckled with gold, like dots of sunshine reside in her irises.

I harden my jaw and look away.

I’m not here to do anything but my job.

Only to rescue this woman…

3

BRIA

My head poundslike someone took a jackhammer to my skull. If you told me I’d fallen head-first from a mountain top, I’d believe you. It takes everything in me not to howl in pain. Not because I want to punish myself, but there’s a piercing set of eyes staring at me.

I study the man. He’s buff, could swallow me in his muscles and he crouches on the floor. For a split second, I question if I’m in danger or comfort. His expression doesn’tlookthreatening. Although it’s hard not to be intimidated by a man whose features are so razor sharp, I fluster holding his gaze.

But I can't let my judgment get caught up in his attractiveness. Or… I can’t remember —ugh, but that’s not the focus right now. Glancing at his clothes, I see he’s wearing a uniform that’s stitched with SC Rescue Team on the breast pocket. Maybe he is here to help me after all. I push myself upright on the couch, smelling the cocoa that invites me for a sip. Oddly, I feel drawn towards the man, so much so that I pay no mind to the drink. He’s got the textbook-charming face, but I think there’s more to it than that. The way his thick eyebrows furrow in worry. It’s familiar.

Could it be that my father was a police officer?

Something from the past gives me an ounce of trust. I watch as he rises to his feet, removing his jacket that has already been unzipped. As the sleeves slide down his arms, I notice that his muscles are even bigger underneath. I also learn a new part of his identity — his name is Donte, emblazoned right where his jacket had been covered by his chest.

Donte. His lips are pulled in a straight line, so I can’t read his thoughts.

Why was he out in the woods?

Why did I need rescuing?

Who is he?

The air about him is mysterious. When his gaze lands on me, it burns through my skin —penetrates me, as if he has the power to wrench my every emotion to the surface.

After making a visual sweep of me from head to toe, his eyes lingering a bit longer once they reach my chest, he gets the mug and brings it to me. I sip dutifully and mostly out of need on the drink.

“I’m Donte, I work for the SC Rescue team,” he says. His voice is husky and commanding.

I perch the mug on my lap. I’ve learned one more fact about Donte. He can make a killer hot chocolate. “Thank you,” I reply. “Do you know who I am?”

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down his throat as he speaks. “No. There was nothing in the rental car that gave me your identity. Do you remember anything?”

“I think my dad was a police officer or fireman. I remember bright lights in my rearview mirror.”

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