Page 49 of Nicole's Shelter

“Are you sure it’s temporary?” Nicole asked.

“As sure as I can be with the tools available here. But it would be foolish to go haring off in case your condition requires more extensive treatment.”

Rick cleared his throat. “I understand. But—”

Doc cut him off again. “Ms. Livingston must stay at least for tonight. You can go and do as you please.”

Nicole pressed her lips shut. There was no point in protesting. She hated being so out of control, so utterly useless. As if she hadn’t been enough of a burden for him already.

“Then we’ll need a room upstairs.”

“You can have one. There’s a perfectly good observation room down here for Ms. Livingston.”

“We stay together.”

His words, the sheer certainty of the statement, sent a tremor through her system. She felt Rick’s gaze on her as he thought it through. Blind, the stairs would be a hazard for her if they were found. Of course, blind meant she would hamper any escape if they had to run.

Blind also meant she couldn’t help Rick look for the arsonist’s signature in all those photos. Good grief, she couldn’t get out of this room or change clothes without help. Blind meant she couldn’t identify Clifton in a court room or a line up.

Her rabbiting thoughts skidded to a stop. Did that mean she was off the hook if her vision didn’t return? It was the first happy thought she’d had since waking up ‘in the dark’.

She’d planned to run, had meticulously prepared an escape route, but the end result had been elusive. The new life she’d envisioned had varied from beach side cottage to mountain hideaway.

The only consistency had been her camera.

Rick’s masculine, woodsy scent—laced with antiseptic—wafted over her, and she felt his presence just before his big palms landed on her knees again. He squeezed gently, bringing a half smile to her lips.

“We’ll get through it.”

“Right,” she whispered.

“I’m going to check the accommodations and then I’ll help you change.”

She could only nod. His hands covered hers where she gripped his jacket.

“You’ll be okay?”

“Of course.” She listened as he and the doctor left the exam room. Waiting a few seconds more to be sure she was alone, she lifted the jacket to her face and inhaled deeply.

Other odors—gasoline, the sharp tang of gun powder, and the copper of blood—altered it slightly, but overall the jacket smelled of Rick. It brought her more comfort than it should, but she refused to deny herself the small pleasure.

She lowered the jacket at the first sound of footsteps in the hall. Rick’s boots, she was sure.

“Nicole?”

Turning toward his voice, she smiled. “Is the perimeter secure?”

“Only one comedian per relationship,” he said. “Isn’t that the rule?”

Relationship? Butterflies whirled in a happy circle in her belly at the thought. “Hmm.” She did her best to match his light tone. He probably didn’t mean it quite the way her vulnerable, clingy heart wanted him to mean it. “Someone must have torn that page out of my rulebook.”

His warm hands covered hers where they rested on his jacket. “Think you can stand up?”

“Of course.” She pushed to her feet, but went too far and he caught her, steadied her until she had her balance.

“I could carry you.”

That sounded delightful. “I’m fine.” He maintained contact as he moved to her side. The support was welcome since her knees wanted to buckle. “Feels like the room is spinning.”

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