didn’t want to admit it.
Slapping his hands on his thighs, Grady stood and swung off the porch. She didn’t have to tell the truth about what was going on with her leg—either way, he’d be careful not to cause her any more pain.
And once she was safely unporched, he’d deal with whatever injuries she might have incurred.
Grady was trained to be rational and mission forward, but it had been five years since he’d been face-to-face with an injured rescue. And the last time he’d had to rescue someone who was more than a stranger … he shuddered, the kick of memory making him fumble with the buckles strapping his tool kit to the pack across the back of Voyager’s saddle.
You’ve done rescues like this a million times, he reminded himself, flexing his stiff fingers against the compression of his leather gloves.
But when he glanced back at Ella, with her flushed face and glittering blue eyes, her tight shoulders and the determined tilt of her little chin, he knew this wasn’t like any rescue he’d ever done.
Grady’s instincts for danger had been honed over many years in some of the toughest, most devastated areas of the nation, from the treacherous rubble of collapsed buildings to the sodden chaos of flood plains.
The sharp, devastating slap of desire he felt when he looked at Ella Preston was by far the most dangerous thing he’d faced in a long time.
* * *
Ella had no idea what Grady Wilkes was doing—something that involved a scary-looking handsaw and a lot of cursing.
At the moment, it was taking all her concentration not to notice the heat radiating off his big, broad-shouldered body. Her skin was so sensitized by the electricity in the air between them, if he even brushed her shoulder, she jumped.
This is ridiculous, she thought despairingly. Why is this happening now, of all times?
But the fact that this surge of attraction was super inconvenient didn’t change how much she wanted to lean into the solid strength of him and hide her stupid blush against his neck.
Searching for a way to distract herself, she said, “You should post a sign, at least until you get this porch fixed. It’s common sense. This porch is a liability.”
He grunted irritably, still working away. “Nobody on Sanctuary is going to sue Jo Ellen Hollister.” The handsaw froze for a moment as his gaze shot to hers. “Unless you’re planning to.”
“Of course not.” Ella looked away from that too-penetrating stare. “I don’t want anything from her.”
She lifted her gaze to the peeling paint of the porch ceiling and held her breath, which had the added benefit of silencing her startled whimper when he bumped a little too close to her and jarred her leg against the jagged edge of a broken board.
Not a sound passed her lips, but he shot her another sharp look anyway, almost as if he knew she was hiding exactly how much pain she was in.
Uncomfortable, she splayed out her hands against the floorboards to keep from doing something crazy like reaching out to touch him. “Has Jo always lived in this house?”
That got her a sharp glance. “Yeah. She took care of her aunt here after she had her stroke. And then Miz Dottie left the place to Jo in her will.”
Annoyed by the way he was studying her—what, did he think she was after her mother’s inheritance?—Ella did a quick centering breath exercise. “Well, it’s a lovely house, underneath the disrepair.”
He relaxed enough to smile. “Hey, you’d be in some disrepair, too, if you were as old as this pretty lady. The house dates from 1899.”
“Historical building, structurally sound—mostly.” Ella craned her neck to peer down the wraparound porch to the wings stretching out to the sides of the main building. “Unspoiled natural setting, zero competition. And those wild horse herds, people love stuff like that. You know, this place would make a great bed-and-breakfast.”
Beside her, Grady went completely quiet. Something about his
Slapping his hands on his thighs, Grady stood and swung off the porch. She didn’t have to tell the truth about what was going on with her leg—either way, he’d be careful not to cause her any more pain.
And once she was safely unporched, he’d deal with whatever injuries she might have incurred.
Grady was trained to be rational and mission forward, but it had been five years since he’d been face-to-face with an injured rescue. And the last time he’d had to rescue someone who was more than a stranger … he shuddered, the kick of memory making him fumble with the buckles strapping his tool kit to the pack across the back of Voyager’s saddle.
You’ve done rescues like this a million times, he reminded himself, flexing his stiff fingers against the compression of his leather gloves.
But when he glanced back at Ella, with her flushed face and glittering blue eyes, her tight shoulders and the determined tilt of her little chin, he knew this wasn’t like any rescue he’d ever done.
Grady’s instincts for danger had been honed over many years in some of the toughest, most devastated areas of the nation, from the treacherous rubble of collapsed buildings to the sodden chaos of flood plains.
The sharp, devastating slap of desire he felt when he looked at Ella Preston was by far the most dangerous thing he’d faced in a long time.
* * *
Ella had no idea what Grady Wilkes was doing—something that involved a scary-looking handsaw and a lot of cursing.
At the moment, it was taking all her concentration not to notice the heat radiating off his big, broad-shouldered body. Her skin was so sensitized by the electricity in the air between them, if he even brushed her shoulder, she jumped.
This is ridiculous, she thought despairingly. Why is this happening now, of all times?
But the fact that this surge of attraction was super inconvenient didn’t change how much she wanted to lean into the solid strength of him and hide her stupid blush against his neck.
Searching for a way to distract herself, she said, “You should post a sign, at least until you get this porch fixed. It’s common sense. This porch is a liability.”
He grunted irritably, still working away. “Nobody on Sanctuary is going to sue Jo Ellen Hollister.” The handsaw froze for a moment as his gaze shot to hers. “Unless you’re planning to.”
“Of course not.” Ella looked away from that too-penetrating stare. “I don’t want anything from her.”
She lifted her gaze to the peeling paint of the porch ceiling and held her breath, which had the added benefit of silencing her startled whimper when he bumped a little too close to her and jarred her leg against the jagged edge of a broken board.
Not a sound passed her lips, but he shot her another sharp look anyway, almost as if he knew she was hiding exactly how much pain she was in.
Uncomfortable, she splayed out her hands against the floorboards to keep from doing something crazy like reaching out to touch him. “Has Jo always lived in this house?”
That got her a sharp glance. “Yeah. She took care of her aunt here after she had her stroke. And then Miz Dottie left the place to Jo in her will.”
Annoyed by the way he was studying her—what, did he think she was after her mother’s inheritance?—Ella did a quick centering breath exercise. “Well, it’s a lovely house, underneath the disrepair.”
He relaxed enough to smile. “Hey, you’d be in some disrepair, too, if you were as old as this pretty lady. The house dates from 1899.”
“Historical building, structurally sound—mostly.” Ella craned her neck to peer down the wraparound porch to the wings stretching out to the sides of the main building. “Unspoiled natural setting, zero competition. And those wild horse herds, people love stuff like that. You know, this place would make a great bed-and-breakfast.”
Beside her, Grady went completely quiet. Something about his
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