"Mr. Dundee, would you please call Mimi and let her know how Nate is. Tell her that we're taking him home." Cyn frowned at Nate, her hard glare daring him to protest. "Make the call as quickly as possible and bring back a wheelchair. I don't think Mr. Hodges is going to be able to stand up much longer."
Dundee nodded agreement, smiling at Cyn and then at Nate before exiting the cubicle.
"He thinks it's funny," Nate said.
"He thinks what's funny?"
"That you're bossing me around." Nate wasn't used to having anyone in his life care about him, and he certainly wasn't used to some take-charge female issuing him orders. "The last thing a man needs when he's... he's been shot is some loud-mouth feminist telling him what to do."
"Oh, shut up, Nate." Cyn scooted a chair across the room, took Nate by the arm and eased him down. "Sit down and behave yourself. As soon as Mr. Dundee brings that wheelchair, we're taking you home."
"Romero. Need to stay...see about..." Nate's words began to slur.
"There's nothing you can do for Nick. I'll keep in touch with the hospital, and you can come back as soon as you get some rest."
"And if I don't... won't..." Nate slumped in the chair, his eyelids heavy, his breathing deep.
"You're going home, and you're going to do just what I tell you to do. Understand? And I'm not leaving you. Have you got that straight?"
"Come here," he said, motioning for her to lean down close to his face.
"What?" she asked, staring directly at him as she lowered her head.
"You're a bossy wench, Brown Eyes."
Laughing and crying at the same time, Cyn kissed him on the nose. "You bet I am." * * *
While the coffee brewed and the bacon fried, Cyn looked out the kitchen window at the slow, steady rainfall. It had been raining when she and Dundee brought Nate home a little after dawn this morning. That had been almost five hours ago, and Nate had slept the first four hours. When he had awakened, he'd refused to take any of the pain medication Cyn had found in his coat pocket, but she was determined that he would eat the hearty breakfast she was preparing in the makeshift kitchen. In her own kitchen she could have made biscuits, but since Nate's kitchen didn't have an oven, he would have to settle for toast.
She had found a wooden crate under the sink and had cleaned it to use as a tray. Laying a clean towel over the rough surface, Cyn set a plate filled with bacon, eggs and toast in the center and placed a mug of steaming black coffee to the side.
As she passed the den on her way to Nate's bedroom, she saw Sam Dundee admiring the varied array of knives that comprised Nate's extensive collection. A slight shudder passed through her at the thought of all those deadly weapons housed under one roof, indeed being proudly displayed by their owner. Perhaps she would never understand the warrior within Nate, the beast that lived within every man. She abhorred violence, but with her motherly nature, she could understand fighting to protect those she loved. She would fight to protect Nate, to keep him safe.
The door to Nate's bedroom stood open. Nate sat on the side of the bed wearing only his unsnapped jeans. For a brief moment, Cyn stared at him, at his hard lean body, at his long black hair. He was every inch a man. And that very maleness called to Cyn on some primitive level, telling her that she was his.
He glanced up, watching her as she came in and held out the crate-tray for him to take. Staring down at the tempting food, he grunted, then accepted her offering.
"Thanks, I'm starved." He gulped down the coffee, then attacked the stack of crisp bacon.
After picking up his rumpled coat and empty leather sheath, Cyn sat down in the chair beside the bed. She wondered what he'd done with his knife.
"It's still raining," she said. "Looks like it's set in for the day."
With his mouth half filled with egg, he mumbled, "Thanks for the weather report." He took another swig from the mug. "Where's Dundee?"
"Admiring your knife collection."
"Has Higdon called?" When he saw the puzzled look on her face, he said, "Nick Romero's boss. He's supposed to give me an update on Romero's condition, and... he's making arrangements to have you escorted to your father's place in Savannah."
"What?" Cyn jumped, throwing her body slightly forward. "I'm not leaving you, so you can just call this Higdon guy and tell him I won't need an escort anywhere."
"If Donna Webb hadn't been killed last night, the two of you would already be in Georgia."
"What are you talking about?"
"The woman who was with Romero last night was an agent unofficially assigned to take care of you until I finish things with Ryker. Plans were for her to drive you to your father's home and stay there with you."
Seeing the wounded look in Cyn's eyes made him hate himself for having to be so blunt with her. But dammit all, if he couldn't make her understand the real threat to her life, he'd never be able to make her leave him. "Your father has already been notified," Nate said. "He was told only what was necessary."
"Who called Daddy?" Cyn demanded, jumping up, balling her hands into fists and shaking them at Nate.
Setting the tray on the floor, Nate glanced up at Cyn. Well, she was mad as a wet cat and just as ready to spit and scratch. "If Higdon doesn't come up with some more unofficial protection for you, then I'm sending you off with Dundee."
"You're not sending me anywhere, Nate Hodges." Leaning over, she punched the center of his naked chest with the tip of her index finger. "I'm exactly where I want to be and exactly where I'm going to stay."
Nate reached out, closing his big hand around her stabbing fingers. Looking into her rich brown eyes, he saw fury and determination and... love. He couldn't remember a woman ever trying to help him, trying to take care of him. He hated to admit, even to himself, that he liked seeing her fuss and fume as she ordered him around.
Clasping her whole hand in his, he pulled her forward. Her forehead rested against his, his breath warm and coffee-scented against her mouth. "I've been shot," he reminded her. "When Ryker comes for me, I'll be at a slight disadvantage. If I have to worry about your safety, if I'm busy protecting you instead of myself, I'll be at an even bigger disadvantage."
"Nate—" She couldn't think when she was so close to him, her lips hovering over his, her body straining for contact.
"Don't you understand, Brown Eyes, if you stay with me, you'll die with me?"
Their breaths mingled as her lips touched his with whis-pery softness. "Yes, I understand."
She wanted to stay with him enough to die with him. The thought shot through him like a bolt of lightning. He knew she loved him, knew she didn't want to leave him and thought she understood the danger, but hearing her say that she was willing to die with him made him realize the extent of her feelings for him. This woman, his beautiful Brown Eyes, did nothing by half measures. She had a heart big enough to encompass every living creature, enough love and tenderness to soothe a thousand wrinkled brows, enough maternal instincts to try to mother the whole world. But she loved him, only him, as a woman loves a man.
Slipping his right arm around her, he pulled her to him as he pressed his lips against hers. She moaned into his mouth, opening for the potent thrust of his tongue. His kiss was frantic, wild with heady longing, ravaging with the need to possess.
Leaning into him, her slight weight toppled them over onto the bed. She fell against his uninjured side. He cradled her head on his shoulder, and buried his lips against her throat.
Dundee knocked on the open door, then cleared his throat. "Excuse me, but Higdon's here to see you."