Page 12 of Emi's Hero

“That I’m alive,” she finished.

He shook his head. “You made me promise not to.”

Her brow furrowed, and she looked back at him. “I did? When?”

“After I pulled you out of the water and before you passed out.” He stared into her eyes. “I keep my promises.” George held up a finger. “I need to know more if I’m to help you, but first, let’s get some food into you.”

She gave him a weak smile. “Thank you.”

He hurried out of the bedroom, his thoughts pouring over what little she’d said. He would have continued questioning her, but she needed food and liquid. All she’d had since he’d pulled her out of the ocean was a few sips of water.

What she needed was a hospital, a doctor to check her over and an IV to push fluid and nutrients back into her body. George had no idea how long she’d been out there. It was one of the many questions he wanted to ask.

With a ladle, he loaded two bowls with the chicken soup he’d made from the rotisserie chicken and vegetables he’d picked up at the local market. Placing the two bowls onto a tray, he grabbed a bottle of water and an energy drink full of electrolytes from the refrigerator and carried everything into the bedroom.

He'd been gone maybe five or six minutes, but he worried that any time away from the woman was too long. She needed so much more than chicken soup. What other kind of damage couldnearly drowning inflict on her body, along with the bruises? Did she have internal injuries?

She lay still, her face pale, drying hair splayed out on the white pillowcase, a deep shade of auburn.

Once again, he held his breath and waited for her chest's reassuring rise and fall before he crossed to the side of the bed.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Her eyelids fluttered open.

“Hungry?”

She nodded.

When she tried to sit up, she fell back against the mattress.

George set the tray on the nightstand and then moved toward her. “I can help you sit up, but it means I have to touch you.”

Her brow pinched. She looked up at his face for a long, quiet moment.

Her stomach rumbled loudly, breaking the silence. She gave a tight nod.

“It’s not like I haven’t touched you,” he spoke softly as he wrapped his arms around her body and leaned her up into a seated position. “I did drag you out of the ocean, and I carried you to this cabin.”

“And picked me up off the floor,” she said, her breath warm and soft against his cheek.

His face heated, warmth from where her breath brushed his face spread through his body, heading south. Holding her up with one hand, he fluffed the pillows behind her and eased her back against them.

As soon as he had her positioned and she could hold herself up, he stepped back and tipped his head toward the tray.

“Are you up to holding a spoon and a cup of soup?”

She nodded. “I think so.”

His brow wrinkled. “Tell you what, let me pull a chair close, and we can have dinner together. That is if you don’t mind some company.”

George pulled the chair from the corner of the room and positioned it beside the bed. He sat on the edge of the seat, lifted a bowl of the soup from the tray and smiled. “It’s not special or anything, but it tastes almost as good as Grandma Lois’s.”

He draped a cloth napkin over her lap with a flourish that would make a maître de proud. Then he held out a bowl.

Emi raised her hands to take it.

George laid the bowl gently into her palms, not quite ready to let go.

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