Page 49 of Catch and Release Groom

And Gator, of course.

Every single muscle ached and complained, and he was a mess, head to toe. Mud and muck and a fair amount of blood.

Seven people had been injured in the boating accident that’d gone from summer vacation to nightmare in the blink of an eye. Between the low tide and the relentless agitating and redistribution of sediment so common in marshy rivers, a sand bar had formed. When the boat hit it, one of the men had been thrown out, only to be run over by the hull.

The driver attempted to swerve—too late—and that’d caused the entire vessel to capsize. Every person aboard sustained bumps and bruises, and a few had scrapes and lacerations, made worse by the silty cloudiness of the water. Once Easton and the rest of the search and rescue team had everyone gathered, the crew informed them they didn’t actually have everyone, and that’d led to a manhunt he’d feared would end badly.

With the help of Ford’s dogs, they located the missing passenger, a woman in her thirties. Despite the weeping gash over her eye and a badly broken leg, she’d swum an impressive distance—to the opposite shoreline, almost a mile away.

From that neck of the woods, it would’ve been faster for Easton to head straight home to Uncertainty. But he couldn’t leave Gator with Imogen overnight. His blasted cell had also died at some point, and he didn’t have her number memorized, which supported his theory that smartphones made people dumber.

By the time he’d charged it enough to complete a call, it’d been a quarter till one, so he’d dictated a text letting her know he was on his way. That was forty minutes ago. Since she hadn’t replied, he assumed she was sleeping and cut the lights so he wouldn’t awaken her.

Then again, he’d have to knock anyway.

Unless she’d left the place unlocked, and while the crime rate was extremely low, a person with bad intentions could come along and take advantage.

A protective surge fired through him, hastening his movements as he killed the engine, leaped out of the truck, and strode up the porch to the door. As quiet as he tried to be, his footsteps still sounded loud in the quiet, and he lifted a knuckle and rapped on the wood.

Nothing.

He tested the knob, hoping it’d be unlocked and locked at the same time.

Locked.

This time he knocked harder and heard Gator stir.

Seconds later, the padding of human feet joined the clack of canine claws. Imogen burst from the cabin, flinging her arms around his neck and coiling around him as tightly as a python and its soon-to-be dinner.

If it meant being wrapped in her life-giving embrace, he’d go ahead and offer himself up on a silver platter.

“I was so worried,” she said, her sleep-roughened voice cracking at the end, and a tight band formed around his chest.

“I told you I’d be fine,” he replied with a soothing stroke to her hair. He’d never been greeted with such care and concern before.

“Yeah, but that’s exactly what I’d expect from a cocky guy who’d never admit that things might go wrong.”

Too many thingshadgone wrong tonight, so he drew her closer and buried his face in the crook of her neck. God, she smelled good and felt even better. He used to think nothing compared to coming home after a long, stressful day to sink onto the couch and get lost in mindless TV and the occasional beer.

But this? So. Much. Better.

“Wait, is that blood?” Imogen frowned at the crimson smear on his shirt. His discarded jacket had sopped up the majority, but evidently, some had seeped through.

“It’s not mine,” he assured her, carefully picking his words, as he didn’t want to scare her or make light of a situation with lasting repercussions.

She squeezed him again and slowly lowered herself to her bare feet.

Gator whimpered, and Easton bent to show her that everything was in working order.

It wasn’t until he straightened with a tired grunt that he got a full look at what Imogen was wearing. “What’s with the straitjacket getup?”

“Oh,” she said, glancing down and laughing. “I got cold, so I dipped into the petty reserves I nearly depleted my first night with dinner and put on both robes. See, now the joke’s on them.”

Between her explanation and the dim glow from the porch light, the bizarre, terry cloth details made more sense. In the way only Imogen could twist such ridiculousness.

“Sure.” Easton tried to stifle a yawn, only for it to insist. The gorgeous woman in front of him was naked beneath those two bathrobes, and all he wanted to do was carry her inside, throw her onto the bed…

And fucking sleep like the dead.

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