Stone Cold Cowboy(25)

The bandages around her ankles and wrists sent a bolt of fear rushing through her. The sense of being bound and hung by her hands made her skin break out in a fine sheen of sweat. Naked, she stared down at her body and every nick, scrape, puncture, and cut.

“Are you okay in there?”

“I’m fine.” She couldn’t hide the quiver in her voice.

“Sadie.” Rory’s deep, rich voice held so much concern. For her. The sister of the man who stole from him. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away. She’d held it together so far; she wouldn’t break down now. Not with Rory standing right outside the door.

“I’m almost done.”

She pulled the clothes out of the bag and set them on the sink. The panties were pretty. She should wear them more often. For whom? She had nothing but work and debt in her life.

The lace molded to her hips. She slid her hands over the soft material, taking in something soft and good when so much in her life was hard and went from bad to worse. She pulled the bra straps up her arms and adjusted the cups at her breasts, but when it came to trying to fasten it at her back, it hit a particularly nasty cut and stung. She tore the bra off and tossed it back in the bag, opting to put the black tank top on without it. She pulled the black leggings on, thankful Colt hadn’t brought her a pair of jeans. The soft cotton was much better on her legs than denim. Because of where the elastic waistband hit around her waist, she pulled it lower to avoid a particularly sore line of gouges at her sides and across her belly. She looked and felt like some abused voodoo doll a witch doctor used to curse her.

She leaned down to pull on her sock, but lost her balance when the movement hurt her sore back and shoulders. She let herself fall to the floor. Bad idea. She put out her hand to catch herself, only to hurt her wrist even more.

She groaned and sucked in a deep breath to stave off the pain.

The door flew open and Rory rushed in, bending down beside her and brushing his hand over her hair. She stared up at him, lost in the depth of concern filling his eyes.

“Are you okay, sweetheart? Did you fall?”

Sweetheart? Did she fall? Damn if her heart didn’t trip, then stutter back to some new beat. Yeah, maybe she was falling for this quiet giant, but it needed to stop. She was tired. Hurt. Looking for something good and decent to hold on to and here he was, but he wasn’t for her.

“Sadie.”

“When you say my name . . .” She shook her head and stared down at the floor.

“What?” he asked the top of her head.

If feels like you’re calling me home. She couldn’t say that to him. He’d think her mad. Or at least drugged out of her mind. Yes. That was it. Nothing but all the pain meds they’d given her. She’d be thinking straight and clear again tomorrow.

“Nothing. Never mind. I’m fine.” No you’re not. You’re losing it if you think Rory would ever be interested in you for anything other than finding your brother and killing him.

“I tried to put on my socks.” What else could she say?

Rory’s gaze narrowed on her and focused on her moving her hands back and forth, stretching her wrists. He tucked one arm under her up-drawn knees and the other at her back, his hand dipping under her arm. He picked her right up off the floor like a feather and settled her against his chest. He carried her into the other room and set her gently on the bed. Without a word, he went back to the bathroom, grabbed the bag, came back, and set it at her feet. He picked up her hairbrush from inside and stepped close next to her and began running the brush over her tangled mess of hair. Everything in her stilled at his soft touch, the rhythmic sensation of the brush sliding through her hair. A tidal wave of memories flashed through her mind.

“My mother used to brush my hair at night.” She’d tell Sadie how pretty she was, how much she loved her. Sadie didn’t feel either of those things right now. “I miss her.”

Rory didn’t say anything for a long moment, just kept brushing her long hair down her back. “My mother used to let me stay up on snowy nights,” he said at last. “She’d put all of us boys to bed, then come back and get me so my little brothers didn’t know. She’d take me downstairs to the big window in the family room. She’d sit in the overstuffed chair with me in her lap and we’d drink hot chocolate and watch the snow, the house dark and quiet. Her presence used to fill the quiet. I miss her most when it’s quiet.”

“You lost both your parents, right?”

“Avalanche covered their car on a back road through some steep terrain. They froze to death before help arrived.”