But the dark and the pain triggered other memories. A flood of them.
Suddenly she was in a dark forest. Red eyes watched her, hunted her from every direction. The electrical jolt of a Taser brought fresh pain. And the paralysis lingered, making her feel even more helpless. She felt herself curl into a bed of leaves that crumpled. The wet soil underneath made her cold — so very cold.
Then a gunshot made her jerk. Searing pain raced along her scalp, tearing, ripping, burning, until she could smell the scorched flesh. This memory was worse than the scorpion stings, and it pushed her to the surface of consciousness.
This time when O’Dell woke and opened her eyes she was able to focus. There were no trees, no forest. A high ceiling with polished wood planks. She was in a bed surrounded by cool sheets. Someone stirred behind her, and the panic grabbed hold for a second until she felt the wet tongue on her bare shoulder. She reached back, comforted by the touch.
“Hey, Grace.” She petted the dog as she relaxed back into the pillows.
Her eyes searched her surroundings. The bed was at the far end of a large loft apartment. A wonderful scent of something cooking came from the kitchen at the other end. She lifted her arm out from under the covers and in doing so saw that she was wearing only her panties and an oversized T-shirt, the V-neck stretched out and slipped down off her shoulder. The backs of her hands and her arms were covered with a sticky white paste. She could feel it on her neck and her cheek, as well.
Grace now sat on the edge of the bed staring at her. O’Dell’s eyes searched the apartment again: the overstuffed sofa, the wall of bookshelves, the desk in a corner.
“Where’s your owner?” she asked Grace.
The dog cocked her head.
“Where’s Ryder?”
Grace’s ears slicked back and she started to wag. She jumped off the bed and glanced back over her shoulder, ready to lead O’Dell to what she had asked for.
She was surprised to find her head quite clear. No swirling. Just a slight throb at her temples. There was no longer the deep, burning pain. Only an ache and soreness. Her knees didn’t wobble, and she was able to stand without assistance. The T-shirt’s hem came only to mid-thigh, and immediately she looked around the bed for her clothes.
Grace scampered across the room, her entire hind end wagging impatiently for O’Dell to follow her.
“You have any idea what happened to my pants?” she asked the dog.
Grace’s only answer was a two-step prance and twirl.
“No, I didn’t think so.” O’Dell couldn’t help but smile.
Grace led her to a door off the kitchen that had been left open.
The stairs were polished wood and spiraled down to a balcony that ran the length of the outer walls. It overlooked an atrium of a large warehouse-like building. Despite the open rafters and silver air-duct piping along the ceiling, windows at the top brought in streams of sunlight that sent shadows dancing across the earth-toned walls and the stamped cement floor. The place could easily be someone’s warehouse-style home. It was obviously the living space for Creed’s dogs.
From her stance on the balcony’s landing, O’Dell could see a full kitchen in one corner with stainless steel commercial-sized appliances and shiny countertops. But instead of a table and chairs, rows of different-sized bowls were arranged on the floor with decorative mats underneath.
There was a buzz and she saw a line of dog doors, several going up electronically now as dogs came in and immediately looked up at her. In the opposite corner, kennels lined the wall; more than a dozen dogs were sleeping or watching Grace and O’Dell from dog beds that were scattered around the floor. And in the middle of them she spotted Creed curled up — shirtless with only jeans on — nestled up between two large brown dogs. His head lay against the bigger dog’s back.
Despite the tousled hair and bristled jaw, she couldn’t help thinking how much he reminded her of a young boy, fast asleep and at peace among the friends he knew he could count on and trust most.
46
She had been stung by scorpions and awakened from a black fog, and yet the first thing she said to him was, “I couldn’t find my clothes.”
Creed stifled a grin. He didn’t want her to feel any more self-conscious than she obviously was. Already her fingers were tugging down the hem of his favorite T-shirt, stretching it out beyond repair and making it even more of a favorite.
“They were pretty dirty. Hannah took them to wash.”
“Hannah?”
“My partner.” He saw her glancing around his apartment and added, “She lives at the main house with her boys. You met her last night, but I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”
They had come back up from the dog kennels, though he certainly wouldn’t have minded lying there a bit longer. He’d managed to get maybe three hours of sleep. When he woke to see Maggie standing on the balcony above, he thought he was dreaming. The sunlight streaming down on her had made the white T-shirt practically transparent. She had looked like an angel — a quite shapely angel — totally unaware that he could see more than the bare thighs she was now trying so desperately to cover.
“She offered to bring your freshly laundered clothes back with some lunch.”
“Lunch? But you have something smelling wonderful here in your kitchen.”
“Oh, that’s actually for the dogs. I’ve got one with kidney disease. It’s always a challenge to get him to eat. And we have two new boarders who are missing their owners.”
“Ryder’s Dog Café?” She smiled at him, and he was glad to see she appreciated his effort rather than thinking he was silly. “Boarders? I didn’t realize that was part of your business.”
“It’s not. Hannah volunteers at a place called Segway House. They take in runaways, recovering drug addicts, pregnant teens, and a lot of returning military. They can’t have their dogs while they’re living there. A couple of our boarders are dogs whose owners have been deployed and there were no family members to take the dogs in.”
She was staring at him, and for a moment he thought perhaps she wasn’t feeling quite as well as she initially thought she did. “Wow!” she finally said. “That is really… admirable.”
And that was the last thing any man wanted to be called by a half-naked woman in the middle of his apartment.
“Sometimes it’s a pain in the neck. I end up with a dog I didn’t want.”
“The owner doesn’t come back for the dog?”
“Or he comes back in a flag-draped casket.”
“Oh.” It was obvious she hadn’t thought of that.
At the kitchen counter he filled glasses with orange juice, then led her to the sofa, pointing to the blanket draped over the back. He waited for her to settle in while he held her glass. She tucked a bare foot up underneath herself, revealing even more than she intended before yanking the blanket over her lap.
She’d been feverish last night but the crimson today was definitely a blush. He hated that she was uncomfortable and hated it even more that he found it sexier than hell. Especially after what she’d been through. He’d had plenty of women come to his loft apartment, some stayed the night, others just several hours, but this was more intimate than anything or anyone before, and he hadn’t even touched her.
Then he realized that she probably thought he had.
“Just for the record, Hannah and Dr. Avelyn undressed you last night. They put the baking soda paste on the stings.”