Justice Burning (Hellfire #2)(6)

“Is it still in your foot?” he asked, bending closer to study her bleeding toe. “Well, damn. You can’t go bleeding all over town.” Once again, he scooped her into his arms.

That familiar scent of him wrapped around her with his arms. Phoebe’s heartbeat did that quirky thing of stopping and then pounding hard as if she were racing for a finish line. “I’m so sorry to be such a mess. I didn’t think before I left…” She shook her head. Tears welled in her eyes. Before one could drop, she glanced away, refusing to appear weak in front of such a strong, virile man. If she wanted to be independent, she sure as hell had to start acting like it. “Put me down. I can manage.”

“The hell you can.” He juggled her body and opened the back door to the SUV, setting her on the seat. Then he pointed a finger. “Stay.” Before she could respond, he turned toward the rear of the vehicle and opened the hatch.

“I’m not a dog,” Phoebe grumbled. Just like her father, the deputy had given her a command and expected her to follow it. If she weren’t bleeding and barefoot, she’d get her ass out of the back of Grayson’s vehicle and march right out of his life. But she was bleeding…and barefoot. As Grayson appeared, Phoebe’s stomach rumbled loudly. And hungry.

It didn’t seem possible, but the deputy’s frown deepened. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

Phoebe didn’t want to think about food. She had a dead fiancé in the trunk of a stolen car. An even louder burble sounded from her belly. Pressing a hand to the tight wedding dress, she shrugged. “Yesterday evening at the rehearsal dinner,” she answered, although she hadn’t really touched the expensive filet mignon the chef prepared for her and the rest of her bridal party.

Sitting at the table with Ryan on one side and her father on the other, her mother across the table from her, laughing and flirting with one of her father’s business partners, Phoebe had experienced a wave of panic. Her stomach knotted and her hands clenched in her lap. She was marrying a man her father had selected. A man she’d dated and kissed several times, but she really didn’t know. How had she let this happen?

“Hey, it’s not all that bad. Just a little cut.” Deputy Grayson glanced up from the first-aid kit he laid on the ground.

Phoebe bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. So much for being tough and independent. “I’m okay. Really.”

“Trying to convince me?” He glanced up, his mouth quirking upward on one corner. “Or yourself?”

She laughed, though it sounded more like a sob. “Ever have one of those days that goes wrong in so many ways your head spins?”

He snorted. “As a sheriff’s deputy and a ranch owner, yes. More often than you can imagine.”

Phoebe stared down at the top of his cowboy hat as he bent to open the first aid kit. “You own a ranch?”

He nodded, extracting an alcohol prep pad. “My brothers and I own a ranch close to town. We run cattle and horses.”

“And you’re a deputy?”

He shrugged and tore open the packet. “I like to keep busy since coming home from the war.” He lifted her foot in one of his big hands and studied the cut. “I don’t see anything embedded in the wound.”

Phoebe wiggled her toes. “I can’t feel any.”

“This might sting a little.” He touched the alcohol-soaked pad to the pad of her toe.

A sharp flash of pain ripped through her toe. Phoebe instinctively gasped and jerked back her foot.

Grayson held her foot firmly in his hand and waited for her to relax. “Ready?”

She braced herself and nodded. “Just do it.”

He cleaned the wound and applied a sterile bandage. Then he tucked her into the back of the vehicle. “Let’s find some shoes, before you cut another toe.” He closed the door, effectively locking her in the SUV.

Phoebe sat in the back seat, her foot and leg tingling from the deputy’s gentle touch. Shoes, clothes and then she had to find a way to get out of Hellfire. The deputy was proving to be far too attractive. For a woman who should have been married by now, she was having highly inappropriate thoughts about a virtual stranger.

The handsome deputy stowed the kit in the back of the vehicle and climbed into the driver’s seat. Without a word, he drove a couple blocks, turned and parked in front of another building.

Phoebe grabbed the door handle and tried to open it, remembering at the last minute it was locked.

He opened it. Instead of backing away to let her get out on her own, he bent and lifted her into his arms.

Rather than argue, Phoebe draped an arm around his neck and sighed. As soon as she had a pair of shoes, she could get around on her own. She didn’t need this man’s arms to carry her everywhere. Though they were solid, and muscular, and so very strong…

He backed through the door and carried her inside. “Peg, I have a customer for you.”

A small, athletic woman with graying strawberry blond hair leaned out from a rack of blue jeans. “Oh, hi, Nash.” She blinked, doing a double-take. “What on earth have you got there? Did I not get an invite to the wedding?” She grinned.

Nash’s jaw tightened. “I picked up this stray on the highway into town. I don’t suppose you could help her find some shoes to fit?”

Phoebe frowned. “I’m not a stray, and I can speak for myself.” She glared up at him. “Please, put me down.”

He set her on her feet. “You’re in capable hands. Peg will help you with whatever you need.”

With her weight balanced on her good foot, Phoebe gathered her dress around her. “Thank you.” She turned her attention to a large room with row upon row of clothes racks and felt overwhelmed. “Oh, dear, where should I start?”

Peg’s smile disappeared. “Sweetheart, let me help you.” She held out her hand. “Margaret Clayton. Most folks around here call me Peg.”

Phoebe took her hand. “Phoebe…S-Smith.” She glanced around. “I need shoes and clothes I can work in.” She held out the bills in her hand. “Whatever I can get for twenty-five dollars.”

Peg curled her hand around Phoebe’s without taking the money. “Honey, you keep your money. This thrift shop supports the women’s shelter. From the looks of you, I’d say you could use a little of that support right now.” She hooked a hand in the crook of Phoebe’s elbow and herded her toward a rack of clothes.

For the first time since he’d come across Phoebe on the side of the road, Nash was more than four feet away from her. As soon as she left his side, he felt a void where she’d been. When he should have been breathing a sigh of relief and stepping outside into the fresh Texas air, he stood rooted to the tile floor, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Rescuing a damsel in distress must have triggered some kind of residual protective instinct. That had to be it. He pushed his hat back on his head, semi-satisfied with his reasoning.

Then why hadn’t he had the same feeling when he’d rescued Maggie Parker from her abusive boyfriend? She was young and as pretty as Phoebe. Maggie was a friend. He knew her and he didn’t know Phoebe. Yet, he hadn’t felt this weird sense of territorial claim or belonging he was feeling toward the runaway bride who kept looking back, as if afraid he’d leave her stranded in the thrift shop.

Nash spun on his boot heels and started for the exit and clear, country air. He had his hand on the door when he made the mistake of looking over his shoulder.

Peg had disappeared in the maze of clothes racks.

Phoebe stood with her wedding dress bunched in her arms, her gaze on him, her eyes round and scared.

Damn.

Instead of pushing through the door, he stopped, turned his back to the windows and leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms as if he had all day to wait for Phoebe to get dressed in something besides that billowing poof of a wedding dress. He nodded toward her, keeping his face set and serious.

Phoebe’s shoulders relaxed, and she turned toward Peg, who approached with an armload of denim.

“Start with these. I guessed your size.” She was back in a moment with blouses of all shapes and colors. Like a child’s automated toy, Peg darted left and right, ducking in and out of racks, until she had a shopping cart filled with a mound of clothing and another filled with shoes.

At the sight, Nash groaned and chanced a glance at his watch. He keyed his mic and spoke into the radio on his shoulder. “Gretchen, could you notify the office I’ll be delayed another thirty minutes to an hour?”

“Sure, honey. Any problems? Need backup?”

Did he need backup? Hell yeah! A runaway bride, whose gaze could melt him in his tracks, was something he had never come up against. And by against…her warm, curvy body pressed to his had left a definite impression. “No. I don’t need backup,” he said, his voice a little harsher than he’d intended. He didn’t need backup. He needed someone else to take over so he could run as far away as possible.

Hell. And that really wasn’t an option. Not when she finally emerged from the dressing room wearing a pair of slim-fitting jeans that clung to her body like a second skin. Those and a pale green, short-sleeved sweater that hugged the rounded swell of her breasts and narrow waist had Nash shifting in his boots, wishing he could adjust the fit of his trousers to accommodate what the sight of her was doing to his libido.