Cabin Fever (3 page)

Stunned, he opened his eyes in time to find her dropping her hand from his chest. She swayed on her knees, catching herself on her palm on the ground. Her face was pale, the skin under her eyes bruised.

“Are you okay?” He felt much stronger than he had five minutes ago. No marathons yet, but he could speak without hurting now.

She waved a hand at him, breathing slow and measured. From experience, he knew she was trying to breathe through pain. Why did she suddenly look as sick as he had felt? What the hell had she done?

“Feeling better?” she bit out.

He focused on her. Easier to do that than consider the unexplainable. She seemed more stable now. “Yes. And you?”

She raised one finely arched eyebrow. “Always.”

His mind was so muddled, it felt like he had dozens of thoughts, all just out of reach. He grabbed for the most urgent. “I remember you.”

“Do you?”

“My angel.”

“I assure you, I’m no angel.”

He wasn’t going to argue with her. Despite all of her obvious fleshly charms, there was something a bit otherworldly about her. Combined with her oh-so-interesting little trick… “What’s your name?”

She hesitated. “Genevieve.”

Beautiful. It suited her, musical and soft. “Genevieve. I’m Alejandro—Alex.”

“I know. You told me that first night. Don’t even try to remember. You were out of it.”

“Yes. Where am I?”

“My home.”

He looked around the cabin. “Where is your home?”

“We’re deep in Harrison Woods.”

These woods were huge, miles and miles of unpaved roads and towering trees and mountains. More than a couple of the townspeople had warned him about wandering in, said they had a few hikers who got into trouble here in the past. And this one woman lived here? Surely she wasn’t all alone? “How did I get here?”

Her tone hardened. “You showed up on my porch in pretty sorry shape. Why don’t you tell me how you got there?”

“I have no idea.”

She raised her brow. “Amnesia only works in soap operas.”

He smiled. “I’m not claiming amnesia. What day is it?”

“Tuesday. I found you on Sunday.”

Tuesday? Granted, his concept of time was a bit wonky, but two days of recovery to be feeling as good as he was now? “I don’t understand…what did you do to save my life?”

“Just cleaned and bandaged you. When were you shot?”

Maybe he wasn’t injured as bad as he’d thought. Maybe she’d used some herbal drugs on him. Maybe he’d imagined the way her touch had given him strength. “Friday. Afternoon. I noticed a dog on the side of the road. He looked injured, so I pulled over to see if I could do anything. He got spooked and limped into the forest so I followed.”

“That was…very nice of you.” She sounded surprised.

He tried to keep his chest from puffing out a bit. He didn’t rescue animals to score points with pretty girls.

But he liked that it scored some points with Genevieve. “Anyway, next thing I know, bullets are flying all around me. I took a hit to the shoulder.” Back in the old days, before his nerves had failed him, he would have reacted immediately and probably avoided getting shot. The sound of the first bullet in the quiet clearing had sent him into flashback mode, leaving him dangerously vulnerable. Thanks, post-traumatic stress disorder.

Since he didn’t want to sound like a total wuss, he hurried to clarify. “That wouldn’t have been that bad, if I hadn’t fallen down and smacked my head against a tree. I passed out.”

Her gaze drifted to the knot on his head. “Concussion.”

“Probably. When I came to, the sun had set. I was so out of it, I guess I must have gotten turned around and crawled deeper into the woods.” There was more to the story of course, but he didn’t want to bore her with the gruesome details. Personally, he didn’t care if he ever remembered how he’d managed to staunch the bleeding of his shoulder and keep moving in the wild all while combating the horrible nausea, dizziness and unconsciousness his concussion had brought about. At least he could add “sucking on tree bark for water” to his resume, though. Small comfort.

“You don’t know who shot you?”

He shrugged. “There’s been a lot of talk about poachers in that area. That’s my best guess. All I know is, the person either didn’t see me or spooked and ran when they saw me lying there.” No need to tell her about his suspicion that the shooter had been following him after he had regained consciousness. The injuries must have made him paranoid. His job, since he’d moved to Bumfuck, West Virginia, consisted of very little excitement; just a lot of paper pushing and thumb twiddling.

The shooting had come from out of nowhere, and he truly believed it was the result of an unscrupulous hunter. Couldn’t have been premeditated. No way could anyone have known he would stop by the side of the road that day. “Accident or not, though, I’m pissed as hell. Some people shouldn’t be allowed to have a firearm.”

She pursed her lips. “I thought you sounded like a
damn liberal
.”

He would have snorted with a laugh if he knew it wouldn’t hurt so much. Her deadpan tone was a perfect mimic of some of the more conservative townspeople. “I have no problem with people having guns if they know how to treat them properly and if they have a need for them—say, if they live in the middle of nowhere by themselves. Like you, right?”

Her lips twitched before her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why do you ask that?”

Oh, shit, he shouldn’t have asked such a personal question. He could practically see red flags going up in her brain.
Way to go putting her at ease. Why don’t you ask her if anyone’s going to miss her if she vanishes too?
“No reason. Just wondering. Anyway, I can’t wait to get my hands on the prick who shot me.”

“Might be a while.”

“It’s only been a couple of days, you said.”

“Yeah, well, paved roads are a bit of a luxury out here, and currently they’re all snowed out.”

“Snowed out? There wasn’t a flurry in the sky when I stopped on the side of that road.”

“Yeah, you were lucky. One more night outside, and you would have been dead. Temperatures change quickly in this area.” She gestured to the window. “It hasn’t let up since I found you.”

His mind instantly jumped to his poor mother and brother. If he’d been reported as missing, which, after three days of absence from work, he’d assume he was, they’d be frantic with worry. “Do you have a phone? Did you call for help?”

“No. Well, I do, but it seems to be out. Otherwise I would have tried to get you to a hospital before the roads snowed out. I’ve been checking it periodically, but no luck yet. The power’s been flickering in and out, but I have a generator, so that’s not that big of a deal.”

If you’d gone to a hospital, you’d be dead.
The thought popped up in his mind. He didn’t know why he was so certain, but he was. Genevieve had been able to save him when modern medicine probably would have given up on his sorry ass. “My family’s going to be worried sick.”

For the first time, her eyes softened. Her hand relaxed on the gun. “I’m sorry about that. I have an old ham radio, but unless you know more about fixing electronics than I do, I’m afraid it’s inoperable. If the phone isn’t working by the time the snow lets up, though, I can use my horse or dirt bike to get help. In the meantime, I’m afraid you’re pretty much stuck at this resort with me.”

All in all, not a bad prospect. In fact, if he didn’t know his mother was probably crying hysterically over her rosary at this very minute, he wouldn’t mind the forced vacation with this pretty woman at all. He didn’t remember much of his fevered dreams during the past couple of days, but he knew she’d been his rock through the hellish nightmare. “Well, at least the scenery is nice.”

She blinked. “Are you flirting with me?”

Alex grinned. He loved a direct woman, and Genevieve seemed upfront to the point of rudeness. “Yes. Why, is there a Mr. Hermit I should be worried about?”

She smiled back, and his heart skipped a beat. He’d heard of that happening, but Lord, it was a funny feeling. “No.”

“Me neither. I mean, I’m not married. No girlfriend. Or kids. Not that I don’t like them. Love kids.” He tried to clamp his mouth shut. He’d never been a smooth Latin lover, but he could hold his own in the flirtation arena normally. Something about her called out to the blushing fourteen-year-old in him, crazy over his first crush.

She was staring at him. “That’s…nice.”

“Sorry, I’m rambling a little. My brain’s still a bit messed up.”

“It’s okay. So, were you vacationing around here or something? It’s a little late in the season for tourists.” The admission of his weakness appeared to have relaxed her even more, because she settled onto the hardwood floor next to his bed. Her expression wasn’t exactly as soft and sweet as he would have liked, but the suspicion seemed to have eased a bit.

“No, I live down here.”

If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, he would have missed the stiffening of her body. “You don’t sound like you’re from around here. Besides, I’ve never seen you before. It’s a small county.”

“Brooklyn, born and raised. But I moved down here about three months ago.”

She was watching him with alarm. “You…you don’t know who I am?”

“Except for the woman who saved my life? No. Should I?”

“You must live in Newbury, then.”

She was referring to the larger, more cosmopolitan town a little farther south. “Nope. Harrison.”

There was no subtlety in her response this time. She physically withdrew from him.

“You really haven’t been there long then,” she said with no inflection. “Or you would have heard of me.”

Alex tried to figure out the new vibes in the room. Fear? Defiance? “Your reputation is so grand, then?”

Her eyes were hooded. “I wouldn’t call it grand.”

“Actually, I’m kind of pissed no one told me a young woman lived out here all alone. It’s a little too far for regular patrols, but it’s still under our jurisdiction.”

“Patrols?”

He shook his head and extended his hand, a bit ashamed to see the slight tremor in it. “We really need to introduce ourselves. What’s your last name?”

“Boden.”

“Genevieve Boden, meet Alex Rivera. I was just hired on as the new chief of police.”

If he’d thought the title would ease her misgivings about having a strange man who’d been shot lying in her house, he was dead wrong. He might as well have said he had become the new serial killer in town. Her face leached of color, and she stared at him with legitimate horror in her eyes. He reached for her arm in concern, but she crawled backwards.

“Are you okay?”

She swallowed. “Bainsworth finally retired?” Her voice was carefully casual, but the fear and worry in her eyes belied her tone.

“He died. Cancer.” Alex paused when he noticed her infinitesimal flinch. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear. It was almost four months ago. The position was open, and the council was desperate. Frankly, I think they just wanted some fresh blood in here.” He eyed her curiously. “I take it you didn’t like the previous chief very much.”

She gave a short, high laugh and stood. “I need to get breakfast together.” Her face, tight and hard, discouraged conversation. He much preferred her with her mouth soft and her face flushed. Actually, he preferred her best naked and writhing underneath him.

It looked as though he would need to work some serious sweet talking before that happened.

Well, hell.

T
he new chief of police
.

She’d saved the life of the new police chief. Oh, the irony.

She didn’t know why she’d convinced herself he couldn’t possibly live in Harrison. Maybe it was because she knew everyone who lived there and no one new ever moved to that damned place. Granted, she stayed far away from them, but she tried to keep up with what was going on in town. Why, the last time she’d spoken to Ron White, one of her mother’s only real friends…

Had been well before the summer. So Bainsworth hadn’t died yet, and the gossip on the exciting new hire wouldn’t have existed then. Since the rest of the townspeople and her avoided each other like the plague, she wouldn’t have gotten the news any other way. Newbury, where she went for all of her supplies and necessities, was far enough away and large enough not to bother with the rumor mill of its nearby neighbors.

Genevieve felt like throwing a good old-fashioned tantrum. In some weird corner of her mind, she’d entertained the notion she’d claimed a part of Alex when she’d saved his life. She didn’t want him tainted with the ugly brush she used to paint the residents of Harrison.

Not only a resident, but the police chief…ugh. Her irrational fear of lawmen was a bit ridiculous, she got it. Alex wasn’t Bainsworth, but still, he was a somebody, a man of influence and power. Men of influence and power plus small towns which looked the other way plus isolated women equaled nothing but disaster.

Should have let him die.
Genevieve rejected the thought as soon as it occurred to her. No, she was grateful her powers had returned long enough for her to help Alex.

Now she had to do some severe damage control, though. She couldn’t let word get back that she wasn’t the wicked witch of the woods. Her reputation was part of her protection.

While she picked at her breakfast at the kitchen table, she tried to think of what to do with her troublesome houseguest. Oddly enough, the fact he was from New York reassured her a bit. There were people in the small mountain town of Harrison who considered residents who lived there for ten years “outsiders”. If he’d lived here a couple of months, then it wasn’t likely he was in any inner circle of corruption. Still, she couldn’t trust him, could she?

She’d helped him prop his head up on his pillows before handing him his food. He had cast a mournful glance at the bacon and eggs on her plate, but accepted his bowl of almost-liquid oatmeal. Despite his clear preference, he had methodically eaten his way through two bowls before breaking the silence with a decidedly casual tone. “Are you an international jewel thief?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Just wondering why you hate cops.”

“What makes you think I hate cops?” she hedged.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the way you hung all those do-not-touch signs all over yourself as soon as I mentioned my occupation.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You pointed a gun at me.”

“I pointed a gun at you before you told me you were a cop.”

He started to speak, but then stopped and looked thoughtful. “Huh. You’re right. Still, before, it was like a friendly gun pointing. You got all icy after. If you’d picked up the gun then, it would have been a mean, scared gun pointing.”

“A friendly… You’re crazy. And I don’t hate all cops.” Just those who abused the system, the ones within the good-old-boy hierarchy who could get away with murder.

“You can tell me.”

She shot him an exasperated look. “Stop it.”

“Did you rob a casino?”

“Eat your breakfast.”

“This isn’t a breakfast. This is what the nuns served us in elementary school.”

“I’ll be sure to give your complaints to the chef.”

He grinned, his teeth very white against his brown skin. “I wasn’t complaining. Just correcting.”

He was damn charming when he was conscious. Then again, he’d been so charming when he was unconscious, she’d decided to snuggle up against him and fall asleep in his arms.

She tried to ignore him as she swallowed the bacon that settled like lumps in her stomach. When his bowl thunked onto the ground, she looked up in alarm. He lay against the pillows, his skin ashen below his natural color. His eyes were closed, the black lashes heavy fans against his cheekbones.

“You okay?”

He shook his head the slightest degree. “Tired.”

Well, sure he was tired. She felt the tiniest pang of remorse for grilling him unmercifully as soon as his eyes were open. The tiniest.

His breathing evened out and she continued to watch him. “So far, you haven’t been the best of houseguests.” Of its own accord, her mind spun an erotic fantasy about a handsome stranger who stumbled onto her porch. They would have wild monkey sex right away and then…

Alex snored.

She stared at him with a twinge of wry humor. Why was reality so complicated?

She studied the bandage on his shoulder, spotted with a couple drops of blood. Genevieve figured she should take advantage of his sleep to change the gauze. It would be easier to handle touching him if he wasn’t awake, easier to keep her distance. The cuts and bruises on his face were healing by the minute, revealing an even more attractive man. The white blankets had fallen when he’d sat up that little bit. They rode low on his hips, the snowy color highlighting his cut, naturally tanned abdomen.

The large bandage marred the beautiful landscape. She fetched her supplies, water and towels. As she unstuck the bandage from the wound, she did enough wincing for both of them. Genevieve dipped the washcloth in water and wiped away the blood and pus that had leaked under the gauze. She wrung the cloth out and grabbed a fresh towel, following the path the previous cloth had taken. Her vanity was more than pleased with the sight that greeted her. The torn flesh hadn’t completely fused together, not yet, but the red and angry edges looked a damn sight better than they had before.

She laid her hand directly on top of the wound, closed her eyes and directed another flow of energy into the healing flesh. When she opened her eyes, the skin along the jagged edges flared purple for an instant and then subsided to a pink that looked even better than it had before. She smiled in satisfaction, so proud she wanted to pick him up and stick him to the fridge.
I did that! Me, me, me.
The rebound she felt was only mild, a slight dizziness. Either she was getting better, or he didn’t need much help.

Don’t get too cocky, Genevieve.
She sobered at the recollection of her mother’s voice. Yes, she would cool it. No one knew better than her what happened when a person became arrogant and careless with what they’d been given.

She cast a quick glance at his face before she took the washcloth to his chest. She kept her motions efficient and practical when she really wanted to drag the towel slowly over his delineated muscles. Not even the many scars riddling his body could detract from the work of art that lay in front of her. She knew the explanation behind the newer ones, but she had a sudden desire to pepper him with questions about the others, like the big healed scar on his thigh. She had no right to any kind of information, but while she was touching him, and they were all alone, it was tough to remember that.

Yesterday she’d cleaned him more personally, even removing his boxers, laundering them and dressing him again. Somehow, though, this seemed far more intimate.

It was because he was no longer just a piece of meat, a generic male lying on the ground. He’d woken up and talked to her and looked at her with those beautiful black eyes and… Genevieve sighed.

“Why are you sad?”

His voice made her hand jerk, and she realized she’d simply rested it over his navel. Thank God the wet towel had been between their skin. His voice was rough, and she plopped the towel in the basin and grabbed the glass of water she’d meant for him to drink before he fell asleep. No IVs here, and he wouldn’t want to be dehydrated.

He drank, finished the glass and lay his head back down. “Why are you sad?”

“I’m not sad. I was just changing your bandage.”

They both looked down at the drying wetness on his abdomen. Far from the site of his wound. The skin around his eyes crinkled as he looked back at her. Her face flushed and she tried not to sound defensive. “You don’t want to smell sweaty, do you?”

“Nope. You can sponge bathe me if you like.”

His tone was low and brought all sorts of erotic thoughts to mind. She cleared her throat. “I did it yesterday. You should be fine now until you can do it on your own.”

“You sponge bathed me yesterday?”

“Well, I couldn’t just let you lay there all dirty, now could I?” Shoot, there went her vow not to sound defensive.

“Of course not. Thank you.”

“Anyway, I’m done. Let me just bind you up again.” She looked up in time to see his confused frown as he studied his gunshot wound. Uh-oh.

“What the fuck? I don’t see any stitches.”

“I didn’t use any.”

“You should be able to see even a Steri-Strip.”

She stroked a cloth along the injury to dry any wetness. His muscles contracted. “Really?”

“I was shot
four
days ago. There was a hole in my shoulder. I felt it when I was trying to staunch the blood. So where the fuck did that hole go, Genevieve?”

“You went from thanking me to yelling at me? And they call women temperamental.”

She watched as he visibly tried to control his temper. “I’m sorry I raised my voice. I’m just trying to understand how you made a bullet wound practically disappear overnight.”

Right, ’cause then he could run back to town and tell people what she could do. She’d have every Tom, Dick and Harry on her doorstep, looking for a cure for their sprained ankle and headache. “Just used some herbs my mom taught me about.”

“No way herbs brought about this kind of healing. I know a little something about injuries. I want to know what you really did.”

“What could I possibly have done, except use medicine and cleanliness?” she asked mildly.

“I don’t know.” He glanced up at her, his eyes unreadable. “Maybe you’re a witch. Maybe you have some sort of healing power.”

With every word he spoke, she could envision the hordes of people who would start creeping around her precious hideout. She forced a laugh. “Nice one. Do you know how crazy that sounds?”

“I’ve seen some crazy stuff. And I remember things, from after you found me, about my body burning—”

“You were feverish.”

His jaw set stubbornly. “There’s no way I could be this far along in my recovery unless you did something funny. The injury barely hurts.”

Genevieve dropped the towel at her side and stroked over the edge of the wound. Then she pressed down at just the right angle.

He inhaled. “Oh, fu—okay, okay. Let go.”

She increased the pressure the tiniest bit and blinked at him. “What?”

He grimaced. “So it’s not completely healed. I get it. Stop.”

Good enough. She ducked her head and tried to hide the slight smile playing on her lips.

When she looked up, he was studying the old shotgun leaning against the kitchen cabinet. His expression was serious as he glanced back at her. “You know how to use it?”

Genevieve snorted. “I can probably outshoot you.”

Alex’s eyes twinkled. “Them’s fightin’ words, sweetheart.”

She rolled her eyes and pressed a fresh bandage over his wound. He arched his back a bit, making it easier for her to wrap it around him. She didn’t realize how much she had to lean over him until she felt his breath on her neck.

Genevieve sat back and finished tying the bandage. “Are you thirsty?”

He suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Actually…”

“Yes?” she prompted when he trailed off.

“I—that is, I kind of need to, you know, use the bathroom. Do you have indoor plumbing?”

Genevieve cast him an exasperated glance. “Of course I do.”

“Just checking. Okay. Point me in the right direction.”

“You can’t get up!” She rested her hand against his chest. “I’ll get you a bedpan.”

The tips of his ears turned red. “I am not pissing in bed. If my injury looks as good as it does, I can get up and walk.”

“Your head was hit pretty badly.”

“I’m sure you rubbed whatever super-mushroom you used on my head as well.”

“Okay. Fine.” She pressed her hands against his chest. “If you can push against me and get up, I’ll let you use the toilet.”

He smiled grimly. It was clear that he was none too pleased that she was requiring the test, but he needed to stay prone for another day, at the very least.

If she could supply energy to heal, she could take it away without it adversely affecting her.
Let’s see if you still remember how to do this.

Of course, he’d know for sure after this that she wasn’t normal. However, it was far better if he viewed her gifts negatively instead of positively. If her reputation as the creepy witch of the woods suffered, she’d have no protection.

Her hand heated, recapturing the little boost she’d offered him earlier.

When he pushed up against her, she had no trouble pressing back. Apparently, she’d given him even more than she realized. His body flinched and he collapsed against the mattress. Tiny beads of sweat popped out on his brow. He grimaced in pain. “What the fuck?”

She kept her hands on his chest and opened the door in her mind, pouring the fission of energy back into his body. The pain receded from his expression. Despite the way her head spun from the back and forth, it couldn’t have happened fast enough for her. There had been no joy in delivering that hurt to him.

It took her a couple of minutes to compose herself before she could look him in the eye. The anger was expected, a strong man’s response to having his pride compromised, but the shadow of fear just about punched her soul. “What are you?”

Her body stilled. Each beat of her heart sounded like cymbals crashing in her head. What, not who. Damn him to hell.

She was what they had made her. Him and his cronies.

Not him,
reason interjected.
Anyway, you should be happy. This is what you wanted.