The Protector (Game of Chance, #1)(14)

Carlise sighed. Maybe she’d just lie here for a minute or two. It wasn’t as if either of them had anywhere they needed to be or anything that needed doing at the moment. In fact, it almost felt as if they were the only two people on the planet.

All her worries seemed to fade away as she lay under Riggs. She counted his breaths, and when he violently twitched next to her, she whispered, “Shhhhh.”

Amazingly, he quieted at the sound of her voice.

She felt completely safe at the moment. Susie would probably tell her she was crazy, that she was trapped in a cabin with a stranger who outweighed her and could hurt her without even trying. But even though Carlise hadn’t spoken more than two dozen words to this man, she wasn’t scared of him. He’d done everything he could to protect her. From the storm, the cold, and from the memories of bad men in his past.

If this was Tommy, she’d be on edge at all times, worried about doing or saying the wrong thing—and having him punish her for it.

Riggs wouldn’t hurt her. She knew that instinctively. As well as she knew her own name.

The fire crackled in the small room and the wind howled outside. She was more than warm enough lying half under Riggs, and she couldn’t deny she was exhausted.

Carlise’s eyes closed as she relaxed, and before she knew it, she’d fallen into a deep sleep.

When she woke, it took her a moment to remember where she was. It was still dark, indicating the sun had yet to rise, so she couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few hours. But she and Riggs had clearly been restless. They’d both moved in their sleep, and he was now behind her. One of his arms was wrapped around her waist, her head resting on his bicep.

He was basically curled around her. She could feel every inch of his body against hers, and instead of feeling threatened or nervous that they were so close, she felt . . . good.

Maybe it was because she’d been taking care of him while he was vulnerable. Maybe because he’d saved her life. Maybe it was simply because she was so tired. Whatever the reason, Carlise had never felt as content as she did right at that moment, in this stranger’s arms.

It was that thought that got her moving. Riggs was a stranger. He probably wouldn’t be happy to know he was spooning an equally strange woman who was living in his cabin, eating his food. Nor would he like being completely vulnerable to whatever she might do to him.

Riggs grunted as she slid out from under his arm. She stood next to his bed for a moment, watching him frown and fidget restlessly, as if looking for her now that she wasn’t in his arms.

“Fire,” she muttered to herself, realizing the room was chilly because the fire had died down while they were sleeping. Forcing herself to turn away from Riggs, she wandered over to the fireplace and added three more logs to the burning coals. Within seconds, they caught and the flames once more danced and crackled.

Carlise turned and walked back to the bed to check on Riggs. She hoped his fever had finally broken . . . but when she put a hand on his forehead, she realized he was just as hot as he’d been for the last two days.

“Damn,” she whispered. For the first time, she started to get truly worried. She’d assumed he had a twenty-four-hour bug or something. That the fever would break, and he’d be up and around in no time. But the longer this fever lasted, the more concerned Carlise got. It wasn’t as if she could call for an ambulance. Or even drive him to a hospital or clinic. She was on her own here, and it was a scary feeling.

She went to the bathroom, relieved herself, brushed her hair and teeth using the toiletries she’d had in her backpack, then took a deep breath before heading back into the main room. When it was light enough, she needed to check on the dog, get him—and herself—something to eat, bring in more logs from the front porch.

But first, she’d see if she could get Riggs to drink something and take more Tylenol. Then she’d tackle everything else before maybe reading one of the many books Riggs had on the shelves in the corner of the room.

Anything to keep her mind off the surreal situation she’d found herself in.



Chappy hurt.

All over.

There was only one other time he could remember being this miserable.

For a moment, he wondered if he was back there. In that cell. Chained to the wall with his buddies hurting all around him.

“Cal?” he called out.

But got no answer.

Agitated now, Chappy tried to open his eyes, but they were so heavy. He couldn’t do it.

“JJ? Bob?”

“Shhhhh, they’re fine,” a quiet voice soothed from nearby.

Chappy froze. That was new. There hadn’t been any women around that hellhole that he could remember.

The mattress dipped as if someone had sat beside him. A soft hand touched his face, and he turned into it. When was the last time he’d been touched? He couldn’t remember. And by a woman? It had been years.

“Drink this,” the melodic voice ordered. Chappy wanted to ask what it was, but he didn’t get the chance before he felt his head being propped up and something touch his lips.

He was leery until she said, “It’s just water, Riggs. I promise.”

He trusted her. He didn’t know why, but he did. So he opened his mouth and drank.

The water was cool, soothing his throat, which felt as if it were on fire.

“Easy. Don’t drink too fast or it’ll make you sick.”