bones and was relieved that despite numerous bloody scratches along her arms and legs—incredibly long and shapely legs—her wounds appeared to be mostly superficial. All except for that bump on the head. She might be suffering from a concussion.
Holding her carefully, he shrugged free of his wind-breaker, then very gently cradled her again, slipping it around her shoulders. As he did so her eyes flew open—enormous green eyes, if the color wasn’t a shadowy trick of the headlights.
Her oval face paled with terror. “No! No! No!” she screamed, fighting him with almost superhuman strength. Her fingers curled as if to scratch him.
Liam released her, afraid to further frighten her, and scooted back. “Hey, lady! I’m one of the good guys. I’m here to help.” As she struggled to her feet, her long hair swung forward, and he saw bits of leaves and twigs embedded in it. The jeans she wore were ripped, and her yellow T-shirt looked as if she’d fought her way out of a bramble bush.
“What happened? Were you in an accident?”
He knew this isolated stretch of dunes, dubbed “lovers’ lane,” was a favorite with the local teenagers. But she looked much older. Twenty-five or so? Still, who could tell? Maybe her boyfriend had dumped her because her answer to Romeo was no. Or, Liam thought with a sickening twist in his gut, had she been raped?
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said gently, setting aside his fury at sick bastards who got their kicks from violating and abusing women. “I have a phone in my car. I’m going to call for help.”
“No!” She screamed the word and stepped back, her hands shielding her eyes from the car’s headlights.
“I want to help you. Are you hurt?” Liam asked, afraid to touch her. He feared she might be going into shock. “Are you alone? Can you tell me what happened?”
Instead of answering, she turned and bolted toward the dunes. But before she had taken three steps, she staggered, struggling for balance. Her arms flailed like a child learning how to ice-skate. Liam rushed to her side just before her knees buckled. He leaned her against his chest and, for a moment, she appeared too weak to protest. Her moist breath fanned his neck as she laid her head against the V of his open sport shirt. He sensed she was only resting long enough to regain her equilibrium, then she’d try to escape once more. Damn, he wished she’d let him help her.
Liam glanced along the deserted dunes that lined the road, hoping for some sign of a car, but all he saw was deepening shadows and fog. He knew that at this time of early morning, in early spring, the chance of someone coming along this stretch of summer cottages was practically nil.
He glanced down at the woman in his arms. “Look, miss,” he said, noticing that she wasn’t wearing a gold band or any kind of ring. Nor was there an indentation on her ring finger from a discarded wedding band. “My sister is a doctor. I’m on my way to see her at the family cottage, a few miles up the road. She can help you.”
“No! Leave me alone.” Her fists rapped his chest in a futile attempt to push him away. He winced inwardly, knowing her protests took every ounce of what little strength she had left.
“You’re in no condition to be alone,” he said, grasping her by the shoulders. “I grew up in these parts and I know that no one lives here this time of year. We’re on a narrow peninsula with an isolated bird sanctuary on one side and the ocean on the other.” His gaze took in her T-shirt and jeans. “You’re not dressed for this weather, either.”
She dragged air into her lungs and lifted her head, gazing blindly into his eyes. The whimpering sound she made at the back of her throat reminded him of a wounded puppy. Something twisted in his gut. She needed his protection, whether she wanted it or not. For a moment she quieted, and he was filled with hope that maybe she understood that he was trying to help her.
He put his arm around her as he led her toward his car. “There, that’s not so bad, is it?” he said. She took several steps beside him, then suddenly jerked away again, as though his touch were deadly. Then she totally collapsed.
GRAVEL CRUNCHED ALONG the driveway as Liam’s convertible pulled to a stop in front of the weathered clapboard cottage at the end of the peninsula. He honked the horn several times. Almost immediately, the porch lights sprang to life, and a blond woman poked her head around the screen door.
“Is that you, Liam?” Dr. Bridget O’Shea Thomas flung open the door and, when he called to her, she wrapped her chenille robe tightly around herself and ran down the steps. A collie lumbered beside her heels, barking a welcome. “Quiet, Bounder!” Bridget ordered, her feet beating a tattoo along the seashell-lined path. “With this fog I didn’t expect you until morning,” she said, “but…” She stopped when she saw Liam wasn’t alone.
His sister sighed. “I wish you’d have told me before bringing a…” Her words trailed off when she saw the woman slumped against Liam’s shoulder, in the front seat of the sports car, apparently asleep.
Liam turned off the ignition, pulled on the emergency brake and turned to the unconscious woman beside him. “Get a bed ready, Bridget. I found her alongside the road. She may be going into shock.”
Bridget ordered the collie back to the porch. Then she dashed around the passenger side of the car and leaned over the woman. Her movements deft and professional, she lifted the woman’s eyelids. “I’ll call Willie,” she said. “Luckily she drove down with me yesterday.”
Liam should have known that Bridget would have brought Dr. Wilhelmina Prescott, the O’Shea family’s long-time friend and summer neighbor since Liam and his sisters were babies.
“Carry her upstairs,” Bridget ordered. “Put her in your room.” The look she gave Liam was cautiously controlled, but he recognized the concern in his sister’s eyes. Without another word, Bridget turned and made a beeline to the cottage.
Carrying the woman, Liam followed his sister up the porch steps. “Are David and the girls here with you?” he asked Bridget, knowing that her husband loved the old family cottage as much as his wife.
“No. Linda had basketball practice and Kathy had a swim meet. David is driving them later this morning.”
When Liam approached the stairway, Bridget called out, “Watch your step. Kate waxed the floors yesterday and they’re as slippery as an ice rink.” Bridget stood on the first-floor landing and punched numbers into her cell phone.
Liam’s boots clomped loudly on the polished oak steps as the familiar smells of furniture wax, mothballs and pine cleaning solution filled his nostrils. As he carried the slight body up the stairs, the woman’s arms dangled lifelessly.
The collie was waiting on the landing, his tail thumping loudly on the floorboards. Then the dog raced excitedly down the hall and whined outside Liam’s closed bedroom door.
“Don’t jump on the bed,” Liam warned as he opened it.
The collie scampered inside and leaped on the bed. Liam scowled at the animal as he pressed the light switch with his elbow. The room sprang to life, and with it memories of his boyhood summers. Army football pennants and posters of rock-and-roll icons shared wall space with models of fighter jets and helicopters.
“Let me help you,” Bridget said as she came up beside him, her medical bag in hand. “I called Willie,” she added, folding back the red plaid bedspread on the double bed.
The injured woman groaned softly as Liam gently laid her down. Against the pristine white sheets, her scratches and cuts stood out like red flags along her arms and legs. Above her right temple, the goose-egg-size lump he’d felt earlier was visible now. Her fingernails were dirty, ripped and bleeding. She moaned, her head thrashing back and forth against the pillows.
“Did she have a purse or any ID?” Bridget asked, fumbling inside her leather medical bag.
“Not that I could see in the car headlights,” Liam said, reaching for the cell phone hooked to his belt. “As soon as it’s light, I’ll go back and check