You mustn't attack him, Elizabeth warned. Closing her eyes, she cautioned MacDatho that this stranger was an alpha male, a pack leader, the dominant animal.
Mac stopped dead still, eyeing Elizabeth as if questioning her, then he looked at Reece, dropped his tail, cringed low on his hind legs and began making licking movements with his tongue.
"What the hell's wrong with him?" The damned dog acted as if he'd suddenly become deathly afraid of Reece, and his actions didn't make any sense.
"It's Mac's way of accepting you, of letting you know he wants to be your friend." No need to explain to this stranger that she had convinced MacDatho that another male animal was the dominant one. He probably wouldn't understand, anyway.
"I don't want his friendship, or yours, either." The pain in Reece's head intensified, the tormenting aches in his body blazing to life as the numbness faded. "I'm hungry. I need some food. And some aspirin."
"If you'll come into the kitchen, I'll fix you something. Or if you want to rest in here, I'll bring out something on a tray."
"You're not going anywhere without me." Reece glanced around, looking for all the exits from the huge room. No matter what she said or how sweetly she acted, he couldn't trust this woman. He didn't dare.
He wouldn't hurt her. Hell, he wouldn't even hurt her damn, crazy dog. But he couldn't let her know that she had nothing to fear from him or she might destroy his only chance of escaping a prison sentence and proving himself an innocent man.
"Come into the kitchen. I have some leftover chicken stew from supper."
Elizabeth glanced back at the stranger as he followed her toward the kitchen. He walked on unsteady legs, his movements slow paced and lethargic. If he made it to the kitchen it would be a miracle. The man was dead on his feet.
Reece felt the dark, sinking nausea hit him. His knees buckled. He grabbed at thin air, trying to steady himself. Don't you dare pass out again! If you do, you'll wake up in prison! He heard the woman say something to him, but the loud, buzzing roar in his head obliterated her words.
"Please, let me help you. You need to lie down." Elizabeth reached out to him, trying to touch him.
Irrational panic seized Reece. The woman was lying to him, trying to catch him off guard. She didn't know him. Why would she want to help him? He couldn't trust her.
"Stay away from me!" Clutching the gun in his right hand, he pulled it out of his coat pocket, then shoved her away, pointing the weapon directly at her.
He swayed toward the wall, his shoulder hitting the wooden surface with a resounding thud. Blackness encompassed him.
Elizabeth watched, feeling totally helpless as the stranger slid down the wall, falling onto his side. Rushing to him, she knelt beside him and realized two things. He was still alive. And he held the gun in his hand with a death grip.
"Come on, Mac. We've got to take care of him. He's probably suffering from hypothermia and Lord knows what else." Elizabeth wished her abilities extended to healing. Unfortunately, she didn't have the magic touch, only a basic knowledge of herbs and the power of the mind to restore one's health.
"I don't know how we'll ever move him. He's such a big man." After prizing the gun from his tenacious grasp, Elizabeth proceeded to remove the stranger's coat, then his shoes and socks. When she saw the county jail identification stamped on the dark blue coveralls he wore, she realized that this man, this stranger who had invaded her mind and her heart months ago, was an escaped convict.
Her trembling hands hovered over his body. Her mind raced through the thoughts and images that had been bombarding her for months. She tried to sort through her feelings, to separate her emotions from logic. This man posed a threat to her. That was a certainty. But not physically. She sensed he would never harm her, that he did not have the soul of a killer.
But he was dangerous.
"If only he'd regain consciousness." Elizabeth spoke more to herself than MacDatho, although the wolf-dog listened intently. "He's too heavy for us to move, and he needs to be in a warm bed. He could have a concussion. Look at the dried blood on his forehead and the swelling right here." Her fingers grazed the knot on his head, encountering the crusted blood that marked a line between his eyebrows and down his straight, patrician nose. She lifted a lock of brown hair, matted with blood.
Elizabeth would never have been able to explain to anyone else how she felt at this precise moment, for indeed, she could not explain her feelings to herself. All she knew was that she must help this man, that she and she alone could save him from not only the immediate physical pain he endured, but from the agony of being trapped like a caged animal, doomed to suffer for wrongs he had not committed.
With utmost haste Elizabeth divested the stranger of every article of clothing except the white boxer shorts that were plastered to his body. Where earlier the stranger had felt cold, nearly frozen to the touch, he now felt somewhat warmer.
Elizabeth rubbed his face. "Please come to, just a little. I don't think Mac and I can get you to a bed without your cooperation."
Why couldn't he have stayed unconscious when he'd first passed out in the living room? At least it was toasty warm in there, the roaring fire close. She could have made him a pallet on the floor until he'd regained consciousness. But no, he had to pass out in the cool, dimly lit hallway leading to the kitchen.
Elizabeth slapped his face gently at first, then a bit more forcefully. "Come on. Wake up."
Reece moaned. Elizabeth smiled.
"That's it, come on. All I need is partial consciousness. Just enough to get you moving."
Reece moaned again. His eyelids flickered. He heard a feminine voice issuing orders. She was demanding that he awaken, that he get on his feet. Why didn't she leave him alone? He didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want to stand. He didn't want to move. But she, whoever the hell she was, kept prodding him, kept insisting that he help her. Help her do what?
Elizabeth said a prayer of thanks when she had roused the stranger enough to get him to sit up. His head kept leaning sideways, resting against his shoulder. He couldn't seem to keep his eyes open. Finally, summoning every ounce of strength she possessed, she helped him to his feet. He slumped against her, his heavy weight almost sending her to her knees. She struggled against her body's insistent urging to release the burden far too enormous for her to carry.
"Come on. Help me, dammit! I can't carry you." Elizabeth encouraged him, both physically by squeezing her arm around him, and mentally by concentrating on discovering his name.
For months she had been, unwillingly, a part of this man's life. She had witnessed his suffering, his anger and his degradation at being caged, but she had never been able to delve deeply inside him. She had sensed fragments of his emotions, caught quick glimpses of his past, present and future. But nothing concrete. Not even his name.
He leaned more and more heavily against her as she tried to force him to take a step. Finally she shoved him up against the wall, bracing her body against his, trying to keep him standing. If only she could get through to him. If only he wasn't shielding his mind.
She ran her fingers over his face, gently, caressingly. Lowering her voice she spoke to him, pleadingly, with great concern. She felt the breach, the slightest opening in his mind.
"I want to help you. You need me so much. Don't fight me."
Reece! His name was Reece. He had given her that much. If he hadn't been so weak, so helpless, she doubted he would have let down his protective barrier long enough for her to have gained even that small piece of information.
"We need to get you in a warm, soft bed, Reece. You're sick, and I need your cooperation so I can help you get well."