Nine Months to Change His Life. Marion LennoxЧитать онлайн книгу.
He was leaning on his stick but his left leg was useless and he was forced to lean on her heavily. His weight was almost unbearable.
‘Leave me and come back when the storm’s done,’ he gasped.
‘No way,’ she said, and then, as he propped himself up on the walking-stick, turning stubborn, she hauled out the big guns. ‘Keep going. Jake needs you even if I don’t.’ She didn’t have a clue who Jake was but it shut him up. He went back to concentrating on one ghastly step at a time, and so did she.
His leg seemed useless. He was totally dependent on one leg, his stick and her support. Compound fracture? Blocked blood supply? There hadn’t been the time or visibility on the beach to see. She’d simply ripped her coat into strips and tied the stick on his leg to keep it as steady as she could.
But it was bad. He was dragging it behind him and she could feel that every step took him to the edge.
She felt close to the edge herself. How much worse must it be for him?
‘If I were you, I’d be screaming in agony,’ she managed, and she felt him stiffen. She could feel his tension, his fear—and now his shock.
‘Smash...Smash ’em Mary screams in agony?’
‘I’m good at it,’ she confessed. ‘It’s great for getting free points from the referee.’
‘You’re...kidding me.’
‘Nope.’ She was trying desperately to sound normal, to keep the exhaustion from her voice as they hauled themselves one appalling step after another. Dizziness was washing over her in waves, but she wouldn’t succumb. ‘I’ve watched wrestlers on the telly. I swear their agony is pretend but they make millions. Some day I might.’
‘As a wrestler, or with roller derby?’
‘I might need to work on my muscles a bit for wrestling. I should have done it earlier. Muscles’d be helping now.’
They surely would. He was doing his best but she was practically dragging him.
Left to his own devices, he’d have lain where he was until the storm passed. Or not. This diminutive woman was giving him no choice.
‘Mary—’
‘Shut up and keep going.’
‘You don’t have to—’
‘Lie down and we lie down together,’ she muttered, grim with determination. ‘I don’t give up. I might get it horribly wrong, but I don’t give up. Ever.’
He had no clue what that meant. All he knew was that she was iron. She wasn’t faltering. No matter how steep the ground grew, she wasn’t slowing.
But she stopped talking. She must be as close to the edge as he was, he thought. If he could only help...
And then suddenly, blessedly, the ground flattened. His leg jolted with the shock of a change of levels but she didn’t pause.
‘Heinz... Heinz’s waiting just round this corner.’ She was gasping for breath, not bothering to disguise her distress now they were on level ground.
‘Heinz?’
‘My...my guard dog.’
Somehow she hauled him another few steps, around a bluff that instantly, magically chopped off the screaming wind. Ten more steps took them towards darkness...the mouth of a cave? Five more steps and they were inside. The rain ceased. The light dimmed.
‘Welcome to my lair,’ Mary managed, and that was all she could get out.
‘I can’t...’ she muttered—and she folded into a crumpled heap.
What the...?
Somehow he dropped beside her, fumbling to lift her head, to clear her face from the sandy ground. Was this a faint? Please, God, let this just be exhaustion. To have hauled him so far...
This woman had put her own life on the line to save his. She’d given her all and more. Her faint had to be from sheer exhaustion, he told himself fiercely. It had to be. If it was worse, he’d carry the guilt for the rest of his life.
Her eyes were open, dazed, confused.
‘Hey,’ he managed. ‘It’s okay. We’re safe now. You’ve saved me, now it’s your turn to relax.’
He was so close to the edge himself. He could do so little but he did his best. Somehow he got his arm under her shoulders. He lifted her head so her face was resting on his chest instead of the rock and sand. He felt her heartbeat against his.
Somehow he hauled her deeper into the cave, tugging her along with him. His leg jabbed like a red-hot poker smashing down.
They were out of the wind. They were out of danger.
He held her but he could do no more. The darkness was closing in. The pain in his leg... He couldn’t think past it.
Exhaustion held sway. He closed his eyes and the dim light became dark.
CHAPTER TWO
SOMETHING WARM AND rough was washing his face.
Someone was hauling away his clothes.
How long had he let darkness enfold him? Too long, it seemed. Things were happening that were out of his control.
Who was he kidding? He’d been out of control ever since the yacht’s mast had snapped. Or ever since the cyclone had turned and headed straight for them.
His sodden jacket and sweater were off. There was a towel around his chest.
His pants were coming off. He grabbed at them but too late—they were down past his knees and further.
The face washer was working faster.
‘Heinz, leave the man alone. He’s all sandy,’ a voice said. ‘He’ll taste disgusting.’
His rescuing angel was alive and bossy again, and for a moment relief threatened to overwhelm him. She’d survived. They both had.
He opened his eyes. There was a light to his left, a flame, a crackling of wood catching fire.
A dog was between him and the flame. A scruffy-looking terrier-type dog, knee-high, tongue dangling for future use and his tail waving hopefully, like adventure was just around the corner.
His pants disappeared. He had what seemed like a towel around his torso. Nothing else?
A blanket was lowered over his chest on top of the towel. Fuzzy. Dry. Bliss!
Not over his legs.
‘Now let’s see the damage.’ The bossy, prosaic voice was becoming almost a part of him. He wanted to hold on to that voice. It seemed all that stood between him and the abyss. ‘But first let me wriggle a blanket under you. I need to get you warm.’
Two hands held him, hip and chest. They rolled, slowly but firmly, just enough to haul him on his side. His leg responded with even more pain, but her body held him close enough to her to stop his leg flopping. The rolled blanket slipped under, unrolling so he had a base that wasn’t sand. Her hands rolled him the other way and he was on a makeshift bed.
It had been a professional move.
She was a roller-derbying medic?
‘Who...who are you?’
‘I told you. Mary to my friends. Smash ’em Mary to those who get in my way.’ She hauled something else over the top of him, some kind of quilt. Soft and deep.
He was naked? How had that happened?
He wasn’t asking questions. The blanket was under him. The quilt was on top. The beginnings of warmth...
If it wasn’t for his leg he could give in to it but his leg was reminding him of damage with one vicious jolt after another.