and alone, Olivia Laughton shuffled aimlessly through the dark streets of Denver. A stiff November wind rattled the last of the dead, dry leaves clinging to the branches, and she clutched the broken zipper on the front of her borrowed sweatshirt, a navy blue rag she’d discovered in the hospital lost and found office. She’d left her bloodstained parka behind.
She couldn’t throw away her memories so easily. In horrible detail, she recalled the scene of the car accident in the mountains, the chopper that brought her and the victims into town and the E.R. staff who told her there was nothing more she could do for them. There was always something more. She was a nurse. She should have tried one more procedure. She should have found a way to save them.
A sob crawled up her throat but she was too numb to make a sound. All she could do was keep walking, step after step, mile after mile. If she stood still, the gathering sorrow would rise up and roll over her like an avalanche. Would she still feel pain when she was frozen in a solid block of ice?
Though she hadn’t planned her destination, her surroundings were familiar. Stumbling to a halt, she looked to her right and saw the beige brick bungalow where Alex Weathers lived. Alex was a doctor; he’d hold her hand and tell her that everything was okay. It’s not your fault. That was what he’d say. And she wouldn’t believe him.
Seeing Alex wouldn’t help her. His brother, Troy, was a different story. When she thought of him, she felt a burst of heat in her belly. Troy Weathers would give her what she needed. He’d take her in his arms and make her forget what happened. With Troy, she could purge her memory.
Did she dare approach him? They’d been on only two dates. Once for coffee. Once for lunch. There had been a fiery kiss that left her craving more, and he’d promised that he’d call her the next time he was in Denver. In spite of their nearly combustible chemistry, she didn’t make the mistake of thinking they were headed toward a relationship. They had nothing in common. She was a nurse midwife, a healer. And he was a career marine in special ops, a dangerous man.
Unaware of moving toward the porch light, she found herself standing at the front door. She pressed the buzzer.
Troy opened the door. “Olivia?”
Through the screen door, she stared into his dark brown eyes. “I need you.”
He pulled her inside. The light from a table lamp glared in her eyes, and she blinked until the room came into focus—a typical bachelor pad with mismatched furniture. The lamplight shone on the spine of an open book. Odd. She never would have thought a man of action like Troy would spend his spare time reading.
“Alex isn’t here,” he said. “He’s working a night shift.”
“I don’t want Alex.”
The warmth inside the house penetrated the cold that wrapped around her like a shroud. Her skin prickled as her heart began to pump and her blood began to flow.
“You look like hell,” he said.
She couldn’t say the same about him. He looked damn good. With his wide shoulders and narrow hips, he made the black Mickey Mouse T-shirt he wore seem sexy. Even in his bare feet, he towered over her. His sinewy, tanned forearms were cut to perfection. She wanted his arms around her, wanted to feel him inside her.
Was she really doing this? Showing up on the doorstep of a casual acquaintance and demanding sex? Never before had she done anything so desperate. She was the type of person who took care of others, not the other way around. She prided herself on being able to handle any crisis. Not this time. Never before had she felt so shattered.
Her arms fell loosely to her sides, and the oversize sweatshirt gaped open. Troy stared at her T-shirt.
“That’s blood,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Are you injured?”
“It’s not mine.”
“Do I need to call 911?”
She was puzzled. “Why?”
“Well, if it’s not your blood, there’s somebody else out there who’s in need of first aid.”
“You think I killed someone?”
“Did you?”
If she could have mustered the energy, she would have laughed at the absurdity of his suggestion. “No.”
“What happened?”
He deserved an explanation, and she wanted to give him one. But she couldn’t force herself to tell him. She gasped. Her lungs ached, and her throat was raw. The sobs she’d been holding back threatened to gush from her. She shook her head, and her vision blurred. She felt herself beginning to hyperventilate.
“Hey,” he said. “Pull it together, woman.”
His voice was like a slap in the face. “What?”
“You heard me. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s to see a woman cry.”
“Don’t worry.” With an effort, she stiffened her spine. “I’m not going to have a breakdown.”
“Good.” He took her hand. His gentle touch contrasted the authority in his voice. “You’re freezing. Come with me.”
She followed him down the hallway, glad to let him take control. In the bathroom, he flicked on the overhead light. The clear shower curtain was decorated with a map of the world, and the countertop was littered with shaving supplies, which Troy hadn’t been using lately. His square jaw was covered with stubble, a rugged contrast to his neat-trimmed black hair.
“You’ve got blood all over,” he said. “It’s on your shirt and your jeans. Even in your hair.”
She glanced into the mirror. A brownish smear matted in the tangles of long blond hair that had escaped her ponytail. Quickly, she looked away. “I’m a mess.”
“I’ve seen worse,” he said. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen. First, you need to get cleaned up. You’re going to strip and take a shower. Okay? And I’ll bring you something to wear.”
She stumbled toward the toilet, flipped down the seat and sat. The prospect of washing up felt like a monumental undertaking. She stared at the shower curtain map, wishing she were somewhere else, somewhere far away. Was coming here a mistake?
“Come on, Olivia. You’ve got to get out of those clothes.”
“I know.”
“Just relax. Talk to me.” He knelt on the tile floor in front of her and untied the laces on her sneakers. “Tell me what you’re doing in Denver. You live up in the mountains, right?”
“In Dillon.” She had a private practice as a midwife and also worked at the hospitals in Summit County, but she came to Denver twice a month to assist at a clinic for the homeless. That was where she’d met Alex.
“What are you doing in town?” he repeated as he pulled off her right shoe and sock. “You can tell me anything. Where did the blood come from? Was there an accident?”
“Car accident. Then the helicopter came.” She remembered the roar of the rotors, shouts from the crew, the endless scream. “It was loud.”
“Yeah, choppers are like that.” He took off her other shoe and sock. “You went to the hospital.”
She nodded. “E.R.”
“And then what?”
A mental door slammed shut. “I can’t. I don’t want to talk about it.”
His large hand rested on her knee, and he gazed into her eyes. “You might find this hard to believe, but I know where you’re coming from.”
Anger whipped through her. “How can you possibly know?”
“I can see that you’ve been through something bad,