wriggled a bit. Nothing seemed to hurt desperately but…‘I seem to be pinned around my waist. I can move my legs, but I can’t get out—oh, no,’ she cried, as there was another crack and more rubble cascaded down the hillside.
‘Bridget—Bridget, listen to me,’ he instructed. ‘Protect your head with your arms, if you can, while I get you out. Try not to move. I will get you out, believe me.’
But she didn’t believe him, even as she heard chopping and sawing noises, even though she knew there would be more tools in the shed he could use, even though she’d seen what he’d done to another tree. That one had been much smaller…
There was something about being trapped that seemed to convince her she was going to die under the weight of all the rubble the hillside could rain down on her—including, she suddenly remembered, the ruins of the old building she’d seen while showering under the rainwater tank.
For a terrible moment even her legs wouldn’t move, she couldn’t feel them, and she all but convinced herself she must have broken her back. Later she was to realise it was hysterical paralysis, but at the time her life started to unfold itself in front of her. During the half-hour it took Adam to release her she became more and more convinced this dreadful night was finally going to claim her.
Her ridiculously short life, with no goals achieved, rolled before her eyes. Nothing much of importance to report at all, she thought groggily, and tears flowed down her cheeks.
She didn’t immediately believe she was free, until Adam scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the shed.
‘Am I dreaming? Is this heaven? Or the other place?’ she asked dazedly.
He didn’t answer, but put her gently down on the bed. Then he said, ‘I’m going to undress you and assess any damage there may be. Try not to make a fuss.’
Bridget heard herself laugh huskily. ‘I don’t think I’m capable of making a fuss. I got such a fright—I thought I was going to die.’
Adam turned away and put the kettle on the stove. Then he turned back and pulled off the rain jacket and the sodden, torn pyjamas with as much clinical precision as he was capable of. He tested her limbs and her ribs. And when he was assured nothing was broken or twisted he told her she extremely lucky.
Bridget bore it all in silence, even when he filled a bucket with warm water and washed her. She was still grappling with the horrible feeling that she’d been about to die.
She hadn’t noticed that he’d warmed one of the towels in front of the stove until he wrapped her in it and put her under the blanket.
She slipped her hand under her cheek and stared unseeingly into the shadows.
Adam gazed down at her for a long moment, then turned away to load the last of the wood into the stove. She had been extremely lucky, he thought to himself.
The strong PVC material of the rain jacket, even while it had actually become impaled on a sharp piece of wood and trapped her as much as the branch had, had also protected her from the debris. And the branch that had come down on her had had a slight bow in it, which had landed above her waist—thereby pinning her, but not crushing her. All the rocks that had come with it had miraculously missed her, although the other debris—leaves, twigs, grass and earth—had almost smothered her.
He looked down at himself. Once again he was a torn muddy mess, so he stripped, washed himself economically, then wound a towel round his waist. He doused the lamps, as the fire in the stove still roared and provided some light, and climbed into the bed beside her.
She didn’t resist when he pulled her gently into his arms. If anything she sighed with relief, and he felt her relax slowly.
Finally she said, as their bodies touched, ‘Thank you so much.’
‘It was my pleasure,’ he answered, with a wry twist to his lips. ‘Go to sleep if you can.’
She did drift into an uneasy slumber for a while, but then she woke, shaking and obviously distressed, and suffering a reaction.
‘Bridget—Bridget,’ he said softly. ‘You’re safe.’
But she moved jerkily in his arms.
‘Hey,’ he added, ‘it’s me—Adam. Your axeman and wood-chopper. Remember?’
Her green eyes focused slowly and she started to relax. ‘Oh, thank heavens,’ she breathed. ‘I thought I was out there again, with things falling down on me and suffocating me.’
‘No. I have you in my arms. We’re in bed in the shed—remember the shed?—and although the elements are playing havoc outside—’ he paused to grimace as another storm cell erupted overhead ‘—we’re warm and dry.’
But she grew anxious again. ‘Is that more thunder and lightning? When is it going to stop?’ she asked tearfully.
Adam studied her face in the dim light and felt that protective urge run through him again. She’d been through so much, and had borne most of it with a mixture of composure and humour, he thought. But how to comfort her now? More talk?
It came to him that there was only one way he wanted to comfort her—and the thought translated itself instinctively. He pulled her closer and ran his hands over her body.
She stilled, and her lips parted as her eyes grew uncertain, mirroring all her doubts. Was she dreaming again? And, if she wasn’t, was she going to be any good at this?
And Adam discovered he couldn’t help himself. He lowered his head to kiss her, with the express intention of not only comforting her but at the same time chasing away that look of uncertainty, proving to her she was infinitely desirable.
Bridget remained quite still in his arms for a long moment, then she seemed to melt against him and her lips parted softly beneath his.
Not only did she accept his kiss, but her senses flowered and brought her to a tingling awareness of his body against hers. And as that translated to a wave of desire for him, up and down the length of her, she felt soft and pliant. She felt as if none of her bruises or scrapes even existed, as if it would be the most natural, lovely thing in the world to open her legs and receive him.
And as all hell broke loose above them again, as thunder ricocheted around the ether and lightning flashed sparks of light through the old shed’s dirty, high windows, they came together in the timeless act of love. Because, as both were to think later, they just didn’t seem to have much say in the matter.
If anyone had told her how exquisite the act of love could be after her unhappy experience of it she would not have believed them. Not even when she’d felt herself come alive in that particular way in his arms had she expected such rapture.
The way he touched her breasts and teased her nipples was divinely thrilling. The way his fingers sought her warm, silken, most erotic spots almost took her breath away. And because he was extra-gentle, not only in deference to her scrapes and bruises, his final claiming of her and their subsequent climax was so different from what she’d known it was the most amazing, joyfilled revelation.
Most of all, the knowledge that she’d brought him equal pleasure was the cause of deep, deep satisfaction to her.
She was just about to tell him this when another huge crack tore the night air and the big old gum outside gave up its struggle to stay upright in the rain-sodden earth. With a crash, it cannoned down the hillside into the side of the shed.
They both moved convulsively, and Adam wrapped her securely in his arms. But although everything rattled, and a few things fell down, the shed withstood the impact.
‘How do you feel?’ he asked, after they’d waited with bated breath for more mayhem and none had come.
‘Wonderful,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve never felt like that before. I can’t believe it.’ Little lines of laughter creased beside her eyes. ‘I mean…’ She hesitated and changed tack. ‘How about