he whispered. “Just … really tired.”
June removed his boots and wet socks and quickly unbuckled his belt once more. She edged his pants down over his hips and swallowed.
His thighs were large, all muscle, his legs in stunning shape apart from a massive scar across his left knee—looked as if he’d had some kind of surgery there.
She covered him with a soft blanket, pointedly ignoring the dark flare of hair between his thighs and trying not to think about how well-endowed he was. She put his wet boots in front of the cast-iron stove and hung his jeans over the back of a chair to dry. Flames glowed in the little stove window, and June realized she was perspiring, pulse racing.
She ran her hand over her damp hair, feeling edgy, perturbed. She hadn’t wanted sex since she’d lost Matt and had thrown herself wholly into cult and rescue work. And she preferred it that way. It helped her stay focused. She needed every ounce of her focus right now because that dark and rugged stranger lying naked on her bed could represent everything she’d devoted her life to fighting—he could be a cult enforcer, violent and potentially deadly to everyone she was trying to protect in this safe house.
June returned to his bedside and looked at him. He wore no wedding band, no jewelery, nothing that could clue her in to his identity. Apart from his watch. She removed it and studied it. It was high-tech, complete with altimeter, barometer and compass, the kind of equipment a serious outdoor enthusiast would wear. Her thoughts turned to his GPS and the route he’d save on it. She made a mental note to get it out of her pack and go through it thoroughly later.
“Do you need anything else?”
June spun round, startled by the male voice.
It was Davis. The middle-aged man had entered the room, placed a pile of clean clothes on the chair next to the bed.
June’s face felt hot. “Thanks, Davis. I think we should get someone out to stand guard at the canyon entrance for a while—I’m worried Samuel’s men might come looking for this guy, if he is actually one of them, and stumble upon our passageway. Can you do it?”
Davis looked at her oddly. “Are you okay, June?”
“I’m fine,” she said a little too crisply. Then she rubbed her brow. “I’m just really worried about Lacy and the twins. I should have found them by now. I—”
“You will find them, June. If anyone can, it’s you and Eager.”
Emotion surged into her eyes, and the burden of responsibility she’d undertaken, the amount of trust these people put in her, was suddenly overwhelming.
“Thanks, Davis.”
“I’ll take the first watch. Brad can replace me.”
“Don’t forget to take a radio. And one of the shotguns.”
He paused at the door. “You really think they’ll come?”
She glanced at Jesse. “I hope not.”
I hope I haven’t made the biggest mistake in my life by bringing him here.
“Make sure Molly has a receiving radio tuned in to the right frequency. Tell her to keep it with her at all times and to pass it on to someone else if she wants to sleep.”
Davis closed the door behind him as he left.
June busied herself cleaning and disinfecting the wounds on Jesse’s head and leg. She administered local anesthetic, stitched him up and applied dressing. He remained conscious but in a state of exhausted half sleep, which both puzzled and worried her.
She put dry track pants on him and took a moment to study the tattoo on his hip again.
With surprise she realized the D was fresh—maybe only seven to ten days old, the skin around the ink still pink and slightly inflamed.
She frowned. This didn’t fit the picture for one of Samuel’s henchmen. The enforcers Samuel used tended to be solidly entrenched Devotees who’d proved themselves to him and demonstrated they were able and prepared to defend Samuel’s empire violently. Or, at least, those were the henchmen she knew of.
June’s chest tightened with conflict as she covered the stranger with more blankets. She packed up her first-aid kit, and suddenly a wave of fatigue hit hard. She told herself it was just the adrenaline wearing off. She still had to go out and look for Lacy and the twins—she’d start along the west flank where she and Eager had found Jesse and his gun. There was no way she’d be able to put in even a cursory appearance with Fargo’s search party at this late stage of the morning, so she’d spend her time searching solo with her K9.
Molly entered the room carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming vegetable soup. She eyed Jesse with hostility as she set the tray on the table next to the bed.
June shook his shoulder, gently rousing him. “Jesse—Molly brought you some soup. I think you should get some warmth into you.”
His thick lashes fluttered and he turned his head from side to side.
He could hear her voice—soft, sexy, feminine—as if it were coming from a faraway place with warm light. He felt her hand on his bare shoulder—her skin soft, cool. So feminine. He struggled to swim up to full consciousness—to her—and his eyes fluttered open. But everything was a hazy blur, bright. Then slowly, the room came into focus. And he saw her, sitting beside his bed.
An angel. With flaming-red hair. Beautiful, fine-boned features. Porcelain-pale skin brushed by freckles, eyes the color of a pale summer sky that reminded him of the sound of bees and lawn mowers and watermelon by the pool. Her mouth was full, wide. Kissable.
He frowned, trying to place her face, his memories of summers past.
And, as he pulled things into focus, he realized her red hair was damp, tendrils drying in soft spirals around her face. The rest was pulled back in a braid, and there were bits of leaves stuck in it.
He remembered now—it had been pouring. She’d had a peaked cap on when she’d found him, and a headlamp, shining down into his face. Where was he?
He tried to get up. But she gently placed her hand on his shoulder, her willowy body belying a resilient strength he could sense in her touch, see in her clear eyes. He sagged back into the pillows, feeling as though he’d been hit by a ten-ton truck. His head throbbed. His leg hurt—his whole body felt stiff.
“Christ, what happened to me?”
“You fell down a ravine, hit your head and gashed your leg. I’ve sewn you up and the injuries look fine, but you need to take it easy, Jesse. You’ve lost blood.”
Jesse. That’s right—she’d named him Jesse because he couldn’t the hell remember who he was, where he was going or where he’d come from. Despair sank into him, along with a bite of frustration.
She was watching him intently. So was the young woman with straight mousey-blond hair she’d referred to as Molly. The kid looked hostile.
What did the redheaded angel with the porcelain skin say her name was … June. She’d said she worked as a part-time paramedic in a town called Cold Plains. Thank God—he wasn’t completely brain-dead. And he could recall hiking with her assistance through a narrowing rock canyon, into a cave and a tunnel. After that his memory was black again.
Cold Plains. Why did the name of that town seem so familiar, yet not? Another name came to him. Samuel Grayson. Tension reared up inside Jesse along with a gnawing urgency. He struggled to sit up—he had to go somewhere, but he couldn’t recall where, and it had something to do with a man named Samuel Grayson.
June pressed him gently back against the pillows. “Do you recall those three words I gave you earlier, Jesse?”
What words? Oh, wait … he did remember. He cleared his throat “Radio, belt and—” he gave a wry smile “—Jesse.”
“Your