Page 8 of Miles

4

Savannah

The pain.The pain. Nothing in the world existed but the pain.

I couldn’t be dead. Dead people didn’t feel pain. But I wasn’t floating in the water or curled up on the rocks at the base of the cliff, either.

If there hadn’t been fiery, hot pain originating from my right side, I might have been comfortable. My head rested on a soft, thick pillow. There was a mattress beneath me. I was inside—a fan whirred above me, stirring the otherwise still air. How in the world did I survive the fall?

Footsteps.

I stiffened when their sound met my ears. A hard floor. Heavy feet.

Oh, God, what if Papa somehow found me? Or, worse, Antonio?

What if I went through all that soul-searching and the pain of having hit whatever it was I hit for nothing?

I gritted my teeth against the fresh wave of agony which slammed into me when I remembered hitting the rock or branch.

I couldn’t move my arm or my leg, not that I wanted to try very hard. Wherever I was, I was trapped here. What if I had leaped into an even worse fate than the one I had imagined for myself?

“Are you awake?” A male voice. Deep, but soothing. “You don’t have to be afraid. There’s nothing to be afraid of. We just want to help you.”

We? Who was we?

I didn’t open my eyes and struggled to stay as still as possible. My writer’s imagination whirled out of control, coming up with one terrible scenario after another. It would be like that movie about the writer who gets taken hostage by the woman who’d saved him from freezing to death. Only I was nowhere near famous, and whoever had gone to the trouble of rescuing me deserved more than my automatic distrust.

So, I allowed my eyes to flutter open.

The walls were white, the curtains at the French doors a thin, gauzy material which stirred prettily as the afternoon breeze wafted in. It was a beautiful room. Serene.

I took a chance and turned my head from one side to the other, to get a look at the person belonging to that deep voice.

He sat beside the bed, leaning over with his elbows on his knees. An absolutely massive man. Broad-shouldered, impossibly thick with muscle. A bodybuilder or professional athlete.

This was probably his vacation home or private retreat. There were plenty of people like that on the islands. Hair that reminded me of cherry wood—dark, with a few deep red highlights that showed when the light caught him just right. Set deep in his rugged, handsome face were eyes the color of black coffee. But they were kind eyes. Understanding. Full of apprehension. Over me? I was merely a stranger.

“You gave us a scare,” he murmured, smiling. When was the last time I saw a smile without any hint of an ulterior motive behind it? “It’s been a long few days.”

A few days? I had been unconscious for that long?

My forehead furrowed as I frowned, struggling to find the words to express my confusion.

“You don’t have to speak right away,” he offered, raising a glass with a straw sticking up over the rim. “You must be thirsty.”

He was correct on that count. My mouth felt like somebody had replaced the interior with sandpaper. It was an awkward affair, trying to sip the water he so clumsily-yet-ardently offered.

I tried to express my thanks with my eyes, and the look of relief I saw in response told me the message was received.

My eyes darted back and forth, as if to ask where I was.

He understood that, too. I wondered if we would ever have to exchange a single word.

“You’re on St. Lucia, at a resort run by a good friend of mine.”

A resort? I needed to be in a hospital, if anything. But…

No. This was just fine. A hospital would want to know who I was. They would contact Papa.

He continued. “Don’t worry about your care, either. There are medics here.” He indicated the IV port in my left arm. “Fluids to keep you hydrated, pain meds. They’re probably what kept you out for so long, but you did a lot of damage to yourself. It was better for you to sleep while your broken bones were set. It shouldn’t take long for you to heal now.”

Shouldn’t take long? I’d broken bones, according to him. Did he know something I didn’t?

“I’ll let you rest now,” he said, unfolding his body as he stood.

The man was a giant—at least, he looked that way from where I looked up at him. I should’ve been afraid of him. A hulking beast. But there was nothing beastly about him. Strength? Power? Yes, both, in spades.

An energy I had never felt before circled around him, radiated from his pores, but it didn’t intimidate me. If anything, it left me feeling warm and secure. I was safe, at least for the time being.

It was what would happen once my savior found out who I was that kept me from falling asleep when I was alone again.

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