Rescue Me!. Elda Minger

her first thought on seeing him had been that he was a useless drunk, another complication. Another problem. Instead he’d saved her life with no regard for his own.

      Somehow she had to make him understand.

      “I thought—I thought—” her words hiccupped on a sob “—you were drunk.”

      He continued to smooth her hair. He simply held her, offering no judgement concerning her crying, simply being there for her. It had been so long since anyone had truly been there for her, and Jen clung tighter. She couldn’t let him go. Not yet. Not now.

      “But when—when you came in—” She choked on another sob, and he patted her back as if she were an infant needing to be burped. Then he rubbed her back, his hands soothing, knowing exactly how to release the tightness. His touch both soothed and comforted. This man’s touch was like none she’d ever felt before.

      “I thought—I thought we were all going to die,” she gasped out, fresh tears filling her eyes, running down her face.

      “I know,” he said. “Me, too.”

      Still those strong arms held her as she buried her face against his chest, her cheek smashed flat against his blue denim shirt. He smelled of coffee and sugar—the powdered sugar that had spilled on the front of his shirt. She held on tighter as she cried.

      “Honey, honey,” he said softly, his low voice almost crooning. “Tell me where your family is and I’ll get you safely home. You shouldn’t be alone—”

      “No!” She clutched at his shirt harder, then, almost as if seeing herself and what she was doing for the first time, Jen felt embarrassment. Shame. She was out of control, in an anonymous motel room with a virtual stranger, dressed in nothing but a thin silk robe.

      She pulled away slightly, gazed up at the man’s face.

      He doesn’t feel like a stranger.

      She couldn’t stop staring at him. Couldn’t tear her gaze away. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. She heard the sound of a car drive by on the highway, then another. A door slammed.

      She couldn’t look away from him. The strong line of his jaw. His mouth. Those incredibly blue eyes.

      Why had he been put in her path? No, not merely put there. Flung there. She remembered the way he’d stumbled into the convenience store and suddenly realized—

      “You knew,” she whispered. “Before you came in that door, you knew there was a robbery going down.”

      He tried to look away, as if embarrassed by what he’d done, but she slid her hand up, cupped the side of his face, held his gaze. Her fingers seemed to burn where she touched him, almost vibrate with energy, it felt so intense between them.

      “You did.”

      He finally, almost reluctantly, nodded his head.

      She continued to study him, knowing she would be able to see his face in her mind’s eye for the rest of her life. Those eyes. The dark brown hair with that spark of auburn shot through it. The slight stubble on his chin. His strong, warm, muscular body.

      But it was his eyes…Something about them haunted her. More than the slight redness, more than the weariness she saw there. She sensed something inside him had died or had very nearly been extinguished. She studied him, and he let her look until his own eyes filled and he glanced away. Over at the window. Down at the floor.

      Anywhere, she knew, but at her.

      She didn’t know exactly how she came to the realization, but Jen knew he’d been ready to die for her and Johnny. Because this man who couldn’t look at her felt there wasn’t anything left for him. She’d seen it in his eyes. He was just marking time on this planet. He’d essentially kicked in that convenience store’s door this morning and begun a death mission. He hadn’t cared if he’d lived or died.

      He’d saved her life, and now she knew he was suffering. A lost soul. And yet as lost as she sensed he was, he’d still helped her when that help had meant life and death to her. He’d still been a hero, his actions totally unselfish, his only thoughts to help her and Johnny survive that robbery.

      She couldn’t stand the fact that he’d done such a heroic thing and was now suffering for it.

      “Oh, no,” she whispered, stroking the side of his face with her fingertips. “No, don’t feel that way.”

      He blinked, and it might have been as if those tears had never shimmered in his eyes. She watched as he slid the social mask into place. Almost like an actor’s mask. And she wondered if anyone close to him knew how badly this man was hurting.

      “No,” she whispered, stroking the side of his face, then gently touching his split lip. Easing him back on the queen-size bed. Sliding beside him, all the while touching him. Her arms around him. Her body pressed against his. Simple human comfort. Simple touching. Letting him know he wasn’t alone, she was with him. She would be with him now and help him through this.

      He lay back beside her, his boots still on, fully dressed. She snuggled against him, her cheek on his chest, and felt his hands in her hair. Stroking her, sliding his fingers through the damp strands.

      “I don’t think either of us should be alone right now,” she said. How odd that she should recognize this stranger’s despair. Probably because it was so close to her own. She shifted closer, held him. Listened until his breathing became deep and regular and she knew he had finally found solace in sleep.

      Just before she drifted off, a thought flitted into consciousness.

      How strange. I don’t even know his name….

      Then another.

      But I do know him…. I do….

      CODY CAME AWAKE ALMOST THREE hours later. It took him a few seconds to reorient himself, to remember how he’d come to this hotel room, to this time and place.

      And this woman.

      All of it came back to him, and he lay in bed, thankful to be alive. And thankful that this woman had been perceptive enough to know he was in no shape to hit the road.

      He glanced at the bedside clock. He had just enough time to call Trevor and explain why he wouldn’t be at work today. Trevor would have to shoot around him, but unless Cody made that call, the director would believe he was out there, coming off a bender. The best thing he could do was clean up and be on time tomorrow, ready for work.

      But he had to call him.

      Cody reached for his jacket, found his cell phone and punched in the number. He waited, hoping to get Trevor directly but getting the director’s voice mail instead. At the beep Cody left a message, swiftly and succinctly explaining why he wouldn’t be on the set today. He told Trevor about the robbery attempt but asked him not to say anything to anyone. Then he made his apologies and hung up.

      Perhaps he’d go to his director’s hotel room tonight when he returned and apologize for holding him up. He probably could have really pushed and made it back to the set, but intuition told him not to leave this woman alone today.

      He eased himself out of bed, then looked down at the sleeping woman, her hair spread out around her head like a blond halo. She lay curled on her side in the large bed, the silky robe barely covering her. They’d both fallen asleep on top of the coverlet. Now he studied her, that fall of silky blond hair, those slender, perfect legs.

      After a moment he eased the bedspread, blanket and top sheet down, then tucked her in. The air-conditioning in the motel room had kicked in as it had gotten hotter outside, and he didn’t want her to catch a chill.

      He settled the bedding around her shoulders, up to her chin, and she snuggled deeper into the bed in sleep, then smiled. He watched her face, committing it to memory.

      That hair. He’d loved touching it. Comforting her. And he wondered again how a woman so delicate came to be out on the road by herself. There was a piece to this