Page 24 of New Hope, Old Grudges

“Willow?” I murmured, wrapping her tightly with the blankets. “Can you wake up, baby?” I knew I had to get her somewhere warmer than the interior of the truck. She needed to change out of those clothes, get a hot drink. That’s if she wasn’t as far gone as I feared. Then she’d need serious medical attention. I pushed that thought out of my mind. For now.

I needed to get her awake and alert, get her body heat and heart rate up.

Her eyelids fluttered at my words, and my own heart pounded against my chest.

I kept rubbing her body on top of the blankets as she struggled to open her eyes. Once, twice, three times she blinked.

She was groggy, confused, and then, very quickly, she was pissed.

“You,” she croaked. “You are so not the knight in shining armor, so don’t even think about it.”

I wanted to smile. Fuck, this woman. Battling what I really fucking hoped wasn’t serious hypothermia, there was still enough fire in her body to spit at me.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I replied, hand on her face. “You keep being pissed about that, it’ll keep you warm.”

“Don’t you worry, I’m not going to stop being pissed at you.”

“Good.” Without thinking, I leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Let’s get you home, then.”

I had made a promise to her mother that I’d get her home.

I just hadn’t saidwhose.

Though I might’ve been a better man than I was a boy, I still wasn’t the good guy.

WILLOW

I went in and out of consciousness for what felt like hours. It could’ve been minutes, who knew? It was like when you laid down for a twenty-minute power nap in the afternoon then woke in the dark with no idea what day it was.

I remembered the blast of warm air in the truck, blankets, the vibration of the engine.

I remembered being very pissed off to see it was Brody Adams looking down at me, eyes smoldering with concern as he called me baby. What was that about?

And had he kissed my forehead tenderly?

I must’ve hallucinated that.

I lost a bit of time as we were in the truck in one blink, then I was back in his arms, walking through the warm, cozy interior of an unfamiliar house. There was an excited bark as lights went on.

“Velma, down,” Brody’s voice boomed with warm authority. Canine heels clicked against the hardwood floor, then I saw a flash of chocolate colored fur curled up in a bed by a fireplace.

We were in a living room with cozy looking brown sofas, floor to ceiling windows showcasing the snow that tried to kill me. I didn’t get to look more because soon we were ascending a staircase, walking down a hall and entering a spacious bathroom. It was tiled in white with deep sinks, large mirrors, a walk-in shower and a large tub.

It was the bathroom of my dreams.

Looking in the mirror, my eyes caught my reflection. I was still bundled in blankets, and I was shocked at how pale I looked, how my lips seemed like they’d been smeared with blood, and my nose was red. Purplish smudges underneath my eyes showed just how cold I was.

Then I stopped looking at myself and turned my attention to the owner of the muscled arms that were holding me to his chest.

Brody Adams.

Was holding me in his arms.

In his bathroom.

After saving my life.

We stayed like that, staring at each other in the mirror as if we were frozen in time.

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