Crystal Cove (Friday Harbor #4)(35)

Jason shook his head, stroking back a lock of salt-stiffened hair from her face. “I don’t want you to move any more than necessary. There can be an afterdrop with hypothermia, when your core temperature keeps going down.”

“Really, I’m—” Justine began to argue, but he ignored her, lifting her against his chest as if she weighed nothing.

“It seems you’ll be staying with us for the night, Mr. Black,” Sage said. “According to the latest report, the storm isn’t likely to end until tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry to impose on you.”

“It’s not an imposition in the least. There’s a pot of soup on the stove, and two loaves of Dark Mother bread in the oven.”

“Dark Mother?” Jason repeated with polite interest.

“A reference to Hecate. We’re nearing the autumn equinox, or what we call Mabon, which is the modern word for the celebration of—”

“Sage,” Justine protested, her voice muffled against Jason’s shoulder. “He doesn’t want to hear about that.”

“I do, as a matter of fact,” Jason said to Sage. “Maybe later this afternoon?”

Sage smiled at him. “Yes, I’ll show you our harvest altar. I think it turned out especially nice this year…” Still chattering happily, Sage headed to the kitchen.

Jason followed Rosemary through the lighthouse, into the master bedroom and connecting bathroom. The storm pummeled the stalwart limestone and wood-shingled lighthouse, rain hitting the multipaned windows like the sound of marbles being dropped onto the floor. The lighthouse, having withstood a thousand squalls and tempests, creaked as it settled in patiently for a long, wet night.

“I need to make a couple of calls,” Jason said to Rosemary.

“I’ve already phoned the inn to let them know that you brought Justine here safely. You probably won’t get a cell signal out here, but you’re welcome to use our landline in the kitchen.”

“Thank you.” Jason carried Justine into the bathroom. He lowered her feet to the floor, wrapped a towel around her, and lifted the toilet lid. “The kidneys go into overdrive when you’ve been exposed to extreme cold,” he said in a pragmatic tone.

Justine gave him an affronted glance. He was right, of course. But the way he was standing there seemed to indicate an intention to remain during the process. “I’d like some privacy, please.”

To her disgruntled surprise, Jason shook his head. “Someone should stay with you in case there’s a problem.”

“I will, of course,” Rosemary said from the doorway.

“Don’t leave her alone even for a minute.”

“I don’t intend to,” the older woman replied, her dark brows drawing together. “There’s another bathroom in the lighthouse tower bedroom—you may shower there.”

“Thank you,” Jason said, “but right now I have to go back to cover the boat and pump excess water from the bilge. It may take a while.”

“No,” Justine said in concern, not wanting Jason to go out alone in the storm. He had to be tired after all he’d done, rescuing her from the ocean, carrying her up all those stairs from the dock. “You should rest first.”

“I’ll be fine.” Jason paused at the door, keeping his gaze averted from her as he continued. “After your bath, go straight to bed.”

“You’re ordering me around again,” Justine said, although her tone was wry rather than accusatory.

Jason still didn’t look at her, but she saw the flicker of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Get used to it,” he said. “Now that I’ve saved your life, I’m responsible for you.”

He left the bathroom, and Rosemary stared after the extraordinary stranger with a stunned expression.

* * *

After Justine had settled carefully into the warm comfort of the bath, Rosemary dropped an herb-filled sachet into the water. “This will help with muscle soreness,” she said. “And the tea Sage brewed for you was a special medicinal blend. You’ll be back to your usual self soon.”

“I thought she must have put something in it,” Justine said. “I felt much warmer right after I drank it.”

The other woman’s tone was gently astringent. “I suspect sharing a quilt with Mr. Black might have helped the warming process considerably.”

“Rosemary,” Justine protested with a discomfited laugh.

“How long have you been involved with him?”

“We’re not involved.” Justine stared at the surface of the water, which quivered from the infinitesimal trembling of her legs. “We’ve gone out once for dinner, that’s all.”

“What happened to the last boyfriend? What was his name…?”

“Duane.”

“I rather liked him.”

“So did I. But I messed it up. We were having an argument about something stupid—I don’t even remember what it was—and I got so angry, I—” Breaking off, Justine sloshed her hand through the water, sending ripples across the surface. “The headlight on his motorcycle exploded. I tried to come up with an excuse for it, but Duane knew I caused it. Now every time he sees me in town, he makes the sign of the cross and takes off at a dead run.”